Lottie's Auto-generated Wake-up Routine (January 2024)

Version 1

Every morning, the sun rises and the birds start chirping, signaling the start of a new day. And for Lottie, a 5-year-old female Flat-Coated retriever, this means it's time to wake up and start her daily routine. As the sunlight streams through the windows, she slowly opens her eyes and stretches her legs, her tail wagging in anticipation of the day ahead. She then hops off her cozy bed, letting out a big yawn, and trots over to her food bowl. With her nose in the air, she takes in the scent of her breakfast, a mix of kibble and wet food, and eagerly devours it. Once her belly is full, she heads to the back door and scratches at it, signaling that she needs to go outside. As soon as the door is open, she bolts out into the yard, her paws hitting the ground with a thud. She starts sniffing around, checking for any new scents or critters that may have visited during the night. After a few minutes of exploring, she finds her favorite spot in the yard and does her business. With that taken care of, she heads back inside and makes her way to her owner's bedroom, ready to start the day with some playtime. She jumps up on the bed, her tail wagging furiously as she licks her owner's face, eagerly waiting for them to wake up and join in on the fun. After a good round of tug-of-war with her favorite toy, she's ready for a nap. She curls up at the foot of the bed, her rhythmic breathing a clear sign that she's already in dreamland. And just like that, the energetic and playful 5-year-old Flat-Coated retriever is back to being a peaceful and content pup, until her next adventure begins.

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Version 2

There's a loud plunk, 70 pounds of solid muscle hitting the floor. Then, comes the ritual morning back dance. Spine curving this way and that, upside-down Lottie is working out the kinks and indulging in a hedonistic full-bodied back scratch, those long retriever legs kangaroo punching the air accompanied by a voice from deep down—something between a growl and a series of emphatic grunts. And as suddenly as she dropped to the ground, she pops up and, back on all fours, vigorously shakes her protuberantly-snouted head with a ginormous snort you—still half asleep—hope is aimed in another direction. Lottie's up . . . and so everyone else should be.

One paragraph was written by a human and the other by an AI system programmed by humans. Which is real and which is machine-produced?

In the early 1970s, there was a television commercial, ‘Is it Live or is it Memorex?’ Fifty years later, we’re back to the same puzzle. The questions then were: is ‘live’ better than ‘recorded,’ and even if you think ‘live’ is better, is ‘recorded’ good enough . . . most of the time? Are ‘live’ and ‘recorded’ renditions complementary instead of mutually exclusive, i.e., is ‘live’ music sometimes superior to ‘recorded’ music? Clearly, ‘recorded’ music has the advantage of being more affordable and accessible anytime and anywhere, but how important is the ambience and presence of a concert or recital?

So, today, our question is: is human-generated fictional text ‘better’ and even if you think so, is ‘AI-generated’ good enough . . . most of the time? For the moment, we will set aside the decided advantages of AI-generated writing in government and corporate communications. We’re only interested in the case of fiction at present. The human author (of fiction) will likely answer the question differently from the reader, although readers familiar with an author’s style may always and everywhere choose the human-generated text of their favourite authors assuming affordability is not a factor. But would future readers of Dickens be missing anything if they never read a Dickens’ original but only AI versions of, say, David Copperfield or Oliver Twist? Or, would tomorrow’s enthusiasts of Dostoyevsky be any worse off if they only read an AI-generated English language version of The Brothers Karamazov?

An artist may despair at being replaced by a machine, but what if the machine, capable of processing at 100 yottaflops the volume of data in 100 yottabytes, eventually were to become self-learning, manifest empathetic understanding and . . . start reproducing? Could an R. Shakespeare win the Nobel Prize for Literature by the year 2148 CE? Did Orwell know that multiple variations of 1984 would be conceivable by the mid-21^st century?

Perhaps, if human existence is capable of some sort of eternal recurrence, there will be answers to these questions . . . and not just for the species but for us.

Meanwhile, Lottie, go back to sleep.