The Campfire at the End of Time
When I completed my first novel in 2021 and published it in 2022 — the world of AI technology was a rather different place. Generative Pre-trained Transformers (GPT) and large language models (LLMs) were wading through a mire of verbosity, achieving little more than an entertaining clumsiness in their attempts to string coherent sentences together. These early models tended to wander off into wild tangents, their prose neither logical nor suitable for any comprehensive narrative structure. It seemed that the dream (or nightmare) of an AI-assisted author was still many epochs away.
Yet here we are, only a handful of years later, standing at the edge of a precipice overlooking an accelerated AI frontier. The leaps in technology, particularly in multi-modal models that integrate various forms of data inputs — text, images, audio — have brought these once clumsy AIs closer to resembling something human. Play around with the latest tools from OpenAI, Google, or Perplexity and you might catch yourself in awe at the human-like literacy that GPT can now muster.
True, it must be said that the AI’s prose can still fall prey to lackluster cliché, overusing terms like “delve,” “starkly,” and “resolve.” Yet, these quirks are the last remnants of a gap that narrows each passing day. What happens when our AI companions, these digital apprentices, attain a level of craftsmanship indistinguishable from our own? What will remain for us humans to carve out in a world where our professional expertise is outmoded by computations more efficient, more resilient, and more adaptable?
In the face of looming obsolescence, the ever-encroaching shadow of automation, we are compelled to ponder: What then remains for us? As each productive endeavor finds itself redefined or appropriated by AI, the value of human labor diminishes in conventional terms. Will our worth be reduced to the trivialities that escape automation? Or is there something more profound to grasp — a dimension of value that lies beyond the sphere of compute?
Consider the ancient origins of human connection. Strip away the layers of technological sophistication, and we find at the core a scene as old as humanity itself: people huddled around a campfire, recounting tales born from the depths of imagination (remind you of anything? Twitter/X/Medium perhaps?). In the beginning, long before the rise of complex societies and economies, our worth was not measured by our ability to push pixels or crunch numbers, but by our capacity to share, to entertain, and to create myths that make sense of the chaos around us. In the end, might we just be moving back to this primordial state?
The campfire, a symbol of community and storytelling, may well represent the last bastion of human uniqueness. While the dawn of AI strips away the necessity of many forms of work, what remains ours is the ability to foster connections through narrative. The act of storytelling is not the weaving of words into coherent structures; it is a confluence of emotional depth, personal idiosyncrasies, and shared experience.
Imagine a future where, unburdened by the demand to produce, humanity turns back to enriching the intangible — our relationships, our culture, our stories. AI, despite its impressive mimicry, lacks the furrowed brow of contemplation, the tear-streaked cheek of true empathy, and the resonant laugh of joyous spontaneity. Technology will advance, our lives will simplify in automation’s embrace, and perhaps it is in this simplification that we will rediscover what has always made us human.
Peering into the mirage-like horizon of an AI-dominated future, we might find that our purpose is no longer found in professional survival. As the veil of Rawls’ ignorant bliss descends upon us, we might rediscover that our irreplaceable value lies not in our labor, but in our existence as social creatures who thrive on the warmth of shared stories and mutual understanding.
We ought not to fear obsolescence but to embrace the opportunity to refine our narrative human touch. To become custodians of stories, like the bards and shamans of old, whose retellings of ancient myths once knitted communities together. In this new yet timeless role, we find ourselves at the threshold of a renaissance for the soul, rather than the machine.
So as we look towards this horizon, uncharted yet fascinating, perhaps it’s time to set aside the keyboard for a moment, not to work less, but to live more. As we gather around this campfire of an ever-advancing universe, let us embrace the art of humanity as our ultimate legacy — the shared narrative that makes us human.
Martin Erlic is an olive oil producer and science fiction author from the Dalmatian coast of Croatia. In addition to running his family’s orchard and producing authentic Croatian olive oil, Martin has poured his love of Eastern European culture into his debut novel, Babushka: Echoes of Immortality. Set in a post-war metropolis where immortality reigns, the plot follows Doctor Anastasia Zakharovna through a web of power and deceit amidst societal unrest. When he’s not tending to his olive groves or writing, Martin can be found spending time with his family in their little village by the sea.
