whose bread is it anyways?
a recipe for originality
Originally published in Every’s How to Write with AI student gallery. Read more here. Cross-posted
Ever scroll through LinkedIn and feel like it’s the movie, Groundhog Day? Same creator, same viral posts. 1,000 comments every time.
What’s his secret? AI-generated content, including his video avatar explaining the daily showcased app.
Picture an AI-assistant chef in your content kitchen, perfectly chopping thoughts, accurately seasoning sentences, and plating paragraphs in just the way your diners like it.
But how much creativity is there in the work if you’re only adjusting settings and hitting “generate” until credits run out? Did the creator infuse any of his personality to craft something unique?
On the other hand, if AI can handle the repetitive parts of content creation, can we focus our creative attention on more human aspects of the process?
This shift in creation raises important questions about creativity, authenticity and the role of human input in an AI-assisted world. The issues have wider implications, particularly for younger generations who will grow up with generative AI tools at the rule, not the exception.
What makes good content?
If adults struggle to understand the flood of Frankenstein content flowing through the basic feed, how much harder is it for students?
They have free access to enough basic generative AI features to disrupt traditional homework. Fewer will have the experience to figure out when it is appropriate to use these magical functions. It’s crucial that we equip students with the wisdom to navigate these tools ethically and effectively.
How do we find the right balance between relying on our own abilities and leveraging technological assistance? I feel this is the issue of our time, regardless of the subject taught.
As an educator, I guide students to think critically and express creatively. With the arrival of quickly made text and images, the issue of provenance and where things come from becomes important. Consider a student using an LLM to synthesize an essay outline from research, then build on that scaffold with their personal insights.
How much of that work is theirs?
The final essay might be human-authored, but it is the outcome of a dance between creative prompting, computer-accelerated suggestions, and careful decisions of what to accept and modify.
It’s like using a calculator for math, a thesaurus for alternate words, a grammar check for a draft, or a search engine that has scoured the web for relevant results. It’s difficult to distinguish the contribution between humans and computers.
We rely on technology so much that it is impossible to describe every single service—seen and unseen—that makes our knowledge work possible. While straight-up plagiarism (claiming someone else’s work and process as yours) is still a concern, generative AI provokes bigger questions:
When AI can create infinite combinations, what does “original” mean?
How much must you change something for it to be distinctly yours?
What authorship should a human receive if they used any AI in the process?
Those focused only on copying-prevention avoid these nuances. One tactic is to clamp down on the usage of the tools or ignore it all together. However, it is here to stay. You can’t put the technological toothpaste back into the tube.
It’s not the first time new technology has forced us to pause. We’ve seen the printing press democratize knowledge. Photography challenged traditional notions of visual representation. Despite initial resistance, adaptation followed. Artists and practitioners expanded their understanding and established new norms. Now with AI, we have the opportunity to go beyond our comfort level and redefine what it means to make.
As generative AI dominates content creation, we must reimagine creativity and authorship.
Shift the focus from merely policing plagiarism towards recognizing the opportunity of AI tools to enhance our unique perspectives.
Prioritize the process over the outcome.
If it’s not just about the final product, how can we understand the process better? What does it mean to make? Is there something we create everyday that can lend insight into our question?
Let’s consider a familiar realm of creation: the culinary world. It doesn’t matter if you are a professional chef or can’t scramble two eggs. It’s a case study for considering the relationship between originality and collective knowledge.
When’s the last time you cooked something delicious? I recalled making a childhood favorite: Chinese pastries. This memory was the perfect combination: mixing ingredients to create a new dish, using recipes passed down through generations, and combining tradition, technique, and your personal touch. This analysis of the different factors can be applied to other realms: product design, sculpture, and especially writing.
This culinary lens offers a fresh perspective on creativity and inspiration, inviting us to reframe our notions of originality. It prompts us to wonder: What does it mean for someone to have cooked something?
Your tastes matter
As we exited the elevator, the fresh pastry scent brushed our noses. The workshop host had pre-baked samples for us to taste our final product.
Have you ever baked before? Those Thursday night sourdough loaves are based on generations-old starters. Luckily, we don’t need that for our menu, but we’ll still make delicious items that combine technique, tradition, and your own touch.
My friend and I exchanged glances. Could we make something edible?
Online recipes offer many opinions on making this pork-filled pastry bun. Maybe one day, we’ll write programs to generate and optimize all possibilities.
This recipe was passed down from my grandma to my mom and now to me. Every time, it changes based on our preferences and available ingredients. But it’s still a char siu bao no matter the adjustments.
Culinary art intrigued me, as I preferred specific instructions on how to do things. Yet, there’s wisdom in knowing when to follow the recipe exactly and when to improvise and experiment.
After all our hard work, we cleaned up and waited for the pastries to finish heating to the right appearance: the balance of golden brown on top, while ensuring everything was cooked through.
Believe it or not, there were leftovers to bring back to my roommate.
“Who made this? Did you get it from the local bake shop?”
I initially wanted to say I made it, but I realized it was complicated. The ingredients were store-bought. The recipe came from our host, passed down generations. I sort of did the work, though with many corrections. And what was the purpose of it all? Fun, food, and fellowship.
Rethinking wordcraft
With that baking story in mind, I empathize with those in the text-based world who worry about plagiarism and want to establish authorship claims. It’s disappointing when others claim your work as theirs. The entire product can be duplicated with Command-C, Command-V.
In order to raise our awareness of originality in the age of AI, it’s helpful to consider three philosophical concepts I’ve grown to appreciate. Even though these were not originally conceived with AI in mind, they are still valuable as it relates to creativity.
The Library of Babel
Picture this: standing in an infinite library, surrounded by endless shelves, housing every possible combination of words. You reach for a book, flip it open, and…gibberish. Flip again? Fail. Only a rare retrieval yields a readable story.
It’s Jorge Luis Borges’ short story, “The Library of Babel” (1941). Decades later, AI can instantly generate combinations of thoughts, faster than you can say “writer’s block.” No longer an absurd fantasy, but a prophetic vision come true.
Ship of Theseus
Next, let’s set sail on the Ship of Theseus. Along our journey, every piece of the ship is replaced one-by-one, until not a single original component remains. This ancient Greek paradox leaves us with this question: is this still the same ship?
Or think about how we grow each day, with cells dying and new ones forming. Every day we make mistakes. We learn from them. We’ve changed and yet are we still the same person? Remember the English class exercise, rewriting the author’s words when citing passages in your essay? How many words do you need to change to make it your own? Furthermore, there are only so many ways to express something. What if your words are the same as your classmate’s?
This ambiguity in originality motivates us to understand the writing process and how the writer reached the final outcome.
Four Causes
After browsing the Library of Babel and boarding the Ship of Theseus, let’s blend one more concept to the mix: Four Causes. This fundamental idea in Aristotle’s philosophy explains the what/how/who/why of something coming to be, whether a sculpture or a piece of writing.
What is it made of? (Material)
How was it made? (Formal)
Who made it? (Efficient)
And what was it made for? (Final)
Consider a statue:
Material: the marble
Formal: the shape after which it is modeled
Efficient: the sculptor
Final: the sculptor’s purpose in creating it
Everyday products aren’t created by a small group or one company. They involve a vast network of contributors, from raw material suppliers to designers, manufacturers, and marketers. Who is responsible for bringing a product from a boardroom idea to a consumer’s shelf? The “authorship” is distributed across many minds and hands.
How did we get here?
But what happens when we use this framework for the written word? Applying Four Causes to physical objects reveals the complex factors behind creation. This insight challenges us to reconsider how we craft with words, highlighting the many influences that shape a written piece. The result of language is the outcome of many factors, so what does it mean for a piece to have been written?
Material: the arrangements of words
Formal: the process of outlining this document, instructions from teachers, ideas encountered in other classes
Efficient: the entirety of all your education and being, learning in the mind and physical growth, to allow you to type or write
Formal: the issuing of and turning in of the assignment
In light of the new generative AI tools, this is my main concern for students’ work: Can you show and explain your process? Do you share your influences and suggestions to the best of your recollection?
If a student can respond confidently and easily, they can use as much AI as needed.
Is the text just a product of whoever arranges those words first? Or is it, like a physical object, the result of countless inputs, influences, and processes - some human, some machine? Did I really write this essay?
In the spirit of transparency, authors acknowledge key contributors at the conclusion of their work. This gratitude practice becomes more crucial as the line is blurred between human and computer generation. At the end of this essay, you’ll see my own list of acknowledgments, but even then, I can’t practically name everyone involved.
(And yes, if you are wondering, an assortment of AI tools were used for this piece.)
I walk away with these questions as I consider my next piece of writing:
What does it mean to copy in this era of AI-assisted creation?
How do we define ownership of ideas when the process is increasingly influenced by generative AI?
Is it possible to accurately trace and credit our influences with the integration of technology in the creative process?
As we grapple with these questions, traditional notions of originality and plagiarism are challenged while we maintain the need for intellectual property, academic integrity, and most importantly, valuing human creativity—however we define it. If we only focus on the prevention of copying, I believe that is too narrow.
We must embrace the thoughtful use of these new tools.
We aren’t left with tidy answers or clear conclusions. We have a tapestry of intriguing prompts. Will you engage in these conversations beyond the confines of written text? Whether early adopter or skeptic, lean forward, share where you are coming from and your concerns about creativity. Find a colleague and break bread. It’s okay if you don’t know how it was made.
To give them some traffic, scroll to the bottom for my acknowledgments. Lex.page is the editor spun out of Every. Give it a spin with a free trial.
- gets a special shout out because he unknowingly propelled this journey behind-the-scenes. It was so subtle that I neglected to acknowledge him in the original piece 😊
Subsequent image gen: mix between ChatGPT, hand sketch, back into ChatGPT, Canva for color correction
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Thoughts that came in after the post:
I don’t begrudge anyone who uses AI as a sounding board for their ideas, nor to get feedback on their writing, nor to query at whatever springs into their heads, nor those who use it to overcome the professional disadvantage of English as a second language.
Three-part from
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And as I wade through that minutiae, I will inevitably encounter new ideas that spring from my own brain.
Beautiful analogy to the process of bread making. The recipe for originality (work that is both unique and meaningful), I take from your insight, is to shape your message using perspective based on your own personal experiences. Apply critical thinking and reflective practice. Embrace experimentation, iteration, and creative adaptation while respecting the contributions of others. Be wary of using AI-generated content to the extent that your authentic voice and style are lost.
“If a student can respond confidently and easily, they can use as much AI as needed.” - for me, this is it. Not just for a student but for anyone. It’s the difference between learning and producing content for a goal (a grade, money, likes). Really enjoyed this one. Well done. Loved the food comps - made me think of the fun climax in Ratatouille when the title dish Remy makes sends the food critic back to his childhood. Good stuff.