I don’t know why that title came to mind, perhaps Doug Johnson’s post, “Why be afraid of AI?” coaxed it out of me. With the launch of ChatGPT 5, the not-quite AGI, I find myself re-reading Doug’s points:

I suppose I should keep a closer eye on the developments regarding AI. But here in my recliner, sipping coffee bought with pension money, and required to produce absolutely nothing, I feel little threat, let alone terror, about these new systems and more optimism than is probably warranted. 

But I will keep an eye out for any robomowers chasing the minions who cut my grass.

No doubt there are many retired who look on the evaporation of precious resources, radical changes that may cast many into unemployment, who say, “My race is run, I have no fear of the fleeter runners, machine or human.” And, shouldn’t that be OK? I mean, when I retire, I will happily lay aside my tools and take up other pursuits.

The Big Bad Wolf

Generative AI is the big bad wolf, though. It can write, code, design, and “analyze” faster than squishy, drippy meat sacks. It’s threatening entire professions, making traditional curricula obsolete overnight in a single chomp. Worse, human collaborators are reaping great benefits (billions and billions of dollars), giving Gen AI wolf massive strength and reach.

While it may lack emotional intelligence, ethical judgment, build relationships, it does appear to be accomplishing a convincing facsimile of some of those. Many, like writers, artists, programmers, are afraid of the Wolf. Critical thinking, strong community relationships, trust that transcends the cold efficiency the Gen AI offers may be our only hope.

But at my age, I am not afraid. My race is almost run. In my day, there were wolves, too. Time isn’t the enemy, it’s my friend.

Hope humbly then; with trembling pinions soar;
Wait the great teacher Death; and God adore!
What future bliss, he gives not thee to know,
But gives that hope to be thy blessing now.
Hope springs eternal in the human breast:
Man never is, but always to be blest:
The soul, uneasy and confin’d from home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come.

An Essay on Man

As an English major, I enjoyed Alexander Pope’s poetry (a brief excerpt appears above from An Essay on Man) and spent many an hour trying to emulate it. In the end, after writing my fair share of doggerel, I decided to simply read and enjoy it, much like “An Essay on Gen AI” composed with Claude 4.0 via Boodle Box:

An Essay on Gen AI

In circuits deep where algorithms play,
A new Prometheus steals fire today.
What once took years of human toil and thought,
In microseconds now is cheaply bought.

Behold the oracle of silicon dreams,
That speaks in code and data’s endless streams.
It writes our poems, paints our art with ease,
Yet knows not beauty, love, or summer’s breeze.

“Who fears this wolf?” cry those who cannot see
Their straw-built trades blown down so carelessly.
While others, wise, with bricks of knowledge new,
Adapt their skills and learn what AI can’t do.

The artist cries, “My craft is stolen quite!”
The coder weeps through each sleepless night.
But history shows us tools don’t kill the trade—
They change the game that human hands have played.

As printing press once made the scribes afraid,
So Gen AI disrupts the games we’ve played.
Yet human hearts still yearn for human touch,
For empathy that circuits can’t clutch.

So let us not in Luddite fury rage,
But write with wisdom on this digital page.
For those who master both the old and new
Shall find their worth not lessened, but renewed.

The question’s not if we should fear or fight,
But how to blend our darkness with its light.
In man and machine, a partnership begun—
Two minds that think, but only one that loves the sun.