Lorin Hochstein writes about generative AI in the context of incident reports, but the points are more broadly applicable. I have seen a big wave of “don’t let AI do your thinking for you” posts recently¹, so I think lots of folks are pulling back a little bit on the “just let AI do everything” rhetoric (a good thing in my opinion!). As to why Lorin isn’t a fan:

In my view, LLM-generated incident write-ups are more dangerous than using LLM for coding or for AI SRE style tasks. For coding tasks, there’s always a testing step to check that the code exhibits the desired behavior, even if nobody looks at the code itself for meaningful details. For AI SRE tasks, either the LLM output helps you resolve the incident, or it doesn’t. In both cases, Nature is the ultimate arbiter of the LLM output. But incident write-ups aren’t like that. The consequences of a poor report aren’t immediately apparent the way incorrect code or an incorrect operational diagnosis are in the moment. Instead, we get incident reports that have the superficially correct form, but are actually incorrect, with no obvious test for correctness.

While I’m side-questing into health stuff I might as well link this one that I’ve been sitting on as well. Gavin Francis writes about mental health diagnoses from the perspective of a GP. This one is likely even more controversial than the “enhanced self” post from earlier, but also worth the time to get another perspective¹:

The subject is important, because according to modern psychiatric definitions, the 21st century is seeing an epidemic of mental illness. The line between health and ill-health of the mind has never been more blurred. A survey in 2019 found that two-thirds of young people in the UK felt they have had a mental disorder. We are broadening the criteria for what counts as illness at the same time as lowering the thresholds for diagnosis. This is not a bad thing if it helps us feel better, but evidence is gathering that as a society it may be making us feel worse.

And if this quote doesn’t get you to click through, nothing will…

We have developed a tendency to categorise mild to moderate mental and emotional distress as a necessarily clinical problem rather than an integral part of being human – a tendency that is new in our own culture, and not widely shared with others. Psychiatrists who work across different cultures point out that, in many non-western societies, low mood, anxiety and delusional states are seen more as spiritual, relational or religious problems – not psychiatric ones. By making sense of states of mind through terms that are embedded in community and tradition, they may even have more success at incorporating our crises of mind into the stories of our lives.

My wife is a therapist and I see daily the impact of the amazing work she does with clients with complex trauma. One of the many things I learned from her is this idea in Internal Family Systems that there are “No Bad Parts” in us. These feelings of low mood, anxiety, etc. are not meant to be ignored or eliminated. We are meant to understand why they are there, and learn and grow through that understanding.

That is easier said than done, of course, and where my opinion diverges from Francis is that I think it is a good thing that this generation has more/better language to talk about mental health than we (meaning Gen X) did when we were growing up. I don’t doubt that over-diagnosis is a problem, but that’s kind of expected once we have the language to describe how we feel. I trust we will find our balance, and ultimately find that this was a net positive development.

I’ve been reading the work of L.M. Sacasas for a very long time, certainly since before he moved his writing to “a Substack.” He is a modern philosopher who I often agree with, and also sometimes vehemently disagree with—but never in a way that made me kick him out of my RSS feed.

I say all this because I haven’t linked to him in a while, and when I say “I think you should read this article by a philosophy dude” I don’t want you to dismiss it out of hand. In Do Not Resign From Life he takes on what we now all know as “the AI revolution”, and argues that even though there is plenty to complain about, one thing it shouldn’t do is make us think that we don’t matter as humans any more.

I don’t want to say much more about this essay, I just really hope you decide to read it. If you’re intrigued enough, stop here and click the link. If you’re not there yet, here’s a taste of the argument:

I will set aside for a moment the question of whether machines, LLMs specifically, can think or reason or use language in a manner that corresponds to the human use of language, etc. But let us grant for argument’s sake that they can. They can certainly generate passable simulations of such things. But why should this mean that I ought not to think for myself and with others? Why should I cease from inhabiting the playground of language because a machine can pretend to play in it as well? Why should I abandon the exercise of judgment or the pursuit of knowledge? We must pursue these things not because the dignity of our humanity is on the line, but because our joy is.

The machine cannot make us yield our ground. It is true that other humans can turn the machine against us, but that is a different problem. Here, I simply want to encourage us not to abandon those activities that bring us purpose, meaning, and delight, which are often the very activities that also bring us together.

Hard yes to Camille Fournier’s Guidelines for Respectful Use of AI, especially this one:

Don’t ask someone to read/review what you haven’t read or reviewed yourself.

This is one of the most common frustrations I hear amongst people working on AI-heavy teams. Whether it’s code that the owner didn’t really bother to understand before submitting for review, or documents that they generated and didn’t bother to read, too often people try to steal productivity from their colleagues by streamlining their production of work while asking their colleagues to do all of the quality control themselves. […]

It’s easy to get into a loop where you ask the AI some questions, skim the answers, output a document and send it to others. I’m guilty of this myself! But what makes sense when you’re skimming one answer at a time may not make for a good overall document, and there is a big difference between answering individual questions and writing for a human reader. In particular, the context that you have in your own head as you are talking to the AI may not come out at all in the document; if you don’t bother to read it thoroughly before sending it out, you won’t catch the gap in framing.

Well here’s a disturbing point I somehow hadn’t thought about before. Are we training AI, or is it training us?

When I sat down to write this article, in which, to be clear, I did not use AI, I found myself writing the following sentence: “It’s not just in places we’re conditioned to see AI—Google AI overviews, LinkedIn influencer posts, and Facebook feeds—I’ve started seeing AI…” I stopped typing, freaked out, and deleted the sentence. Have I always written this way? I honestly don’t know.

This negative parallelism—“it’s not just x, it’s y” is maybe the most infamous AI writing-ism there is. It is something that is regularly called out as being obviously AI, and is the formation in the sentence Mamdani wrote that Spero called out. But I didn’t use AI. Did I use that construction because I’ve been immersed on an internet full of generic AI writing on every platform all day everyday for years? Or did I just happen to think that was the best way to phrase it at the time?

Related, I like Kai’s take on why we feel so… duped when we see clearly AI-generated text:

I’m not categorically against using AI to help out with tedious work. But there’s a difference between using a tool to say something you actually mean, and using a tool to manufacture the appearance of meaning something.

I know it’s a bit naïve to appeal to common decency when the same technology is busy guiding weapons systems, but please don’t outsource sincerity. Don’t pretend to care about someone or something just to get their attention.

The damage isn’t just annoyance. It’s suspicion that gets attached to genuine messages. Emails I would have read warmly now carry an asterisk. Did a person write this? Does this person actually care about my work, or is this just another prompt in the dark?

I sent this essay to my wife because doing self-owns is kind of my brand. It’s about husbands who can’t stop talking about AI, and despite how uncomfortable it made me, it’s not wrong and also wonderful writing. This is so good:

I should also say I didn’t bother speaking to any of the actual husbands for this story. I’m sick of hearing from the men of AI. So many of us are. They have podcasts and Senate hearings and magazine profiles and probably a group chat with the president. They’ve been talked to—and I can’t stress this enough—enough.

Ben Roy explains why prompting an LLM to write an essay misunderstands what writing actually is:

People fundamentally can’t prompt good essays into existence because writing is not a top-down exercise of applying knowledge you have upfront and asking an LLM to create something. AI agents also can’t create good essays for the same reason. Even though their step-by-step reasoning is more complex and iterative than human prompting, a chain of thought is still trying to accomplish a predefined goal. By contrast, real writing is bottom up. You don’t know what you want to say in advance. It’s a process of discovery where you start with a set of half-baked ideas and work with them in non-linear ways to find out what you really think.

I will continue to argue that for general business writing LLMs are fantastic if they are given the right context and guidance, and that it can save hours of work (with high quality results). But all my experiments with using LLMs for creative writing has so far fallen flat. Maybe—likely?—that will change within the next few months. But for now, the brain work this kind of writing requires remains. Not a bad thing imo.

Tracy Durnell explores non-visual negative space—what happens when writing leaves room for the reader to think:

The current design trend of business and self-help style books is to use tons of subheadings and callout boxes and always, a list of the key points at the end of the chapter. While this is a highly skimmable format and often nice visual design, it essentially sucks the negative space out of the text — the places in which the reader might step back and consider their own examples or anticipate what point the author is trying to make. There’s no time for hunches here.

And:

The negative space of the text helps build the aesthetic experience. Small details flavor the text with a sense of reality. Drawing out events — leaving questions unresolved and conflicts unsettled — can build tension. And textual space creates a gap for the reader to make the personal decodings of the text that build meaning.

Not everything has to get to the point immediately. Sometimes the best thing a writer can do is leave room for the reader to get there on their own. I’m thinking about this because I’m currently reading The Will of the Many. It is slow, and long, and one of the best books I’ve read in ages. The negative space is probably a big reason why I love it so much.