Model Benchmarking, Part 2
AI Ethics. 500 words, 2 minute read. With ChatGPT 4.5.
In the muted glow of the office LEDs, Martin Bauer stared at his screen, his jaw tightening as he reread the email. The stark headline from the Hugo committee glared back at him: "Official Stance on AI-Assisted Submissions." His pulse quickened with frustration.
"Ridiculous," Lena Chambers hissed from her desk nearby, her chair squeaking sharply as she swiveled toward him. She held her phone out, her knuckles pale with tension. "They've banned AI-assisted stories from the Nebulas, too. Can you believe it?"
Martin exhaled slowly, leaning back heavily in his chair, eyes closing briefly against the looming turmoil. "They're trying to cage something inherently wild—creativity itself."
"It's turning into a witch hunt," Lena spat, her voice trembling slightly with anger. "How exactly do they plan to enforce this? Mind-reading oracles?"
Martin gave a hollow laugh, shaking his head. "Expect digital inquisitions. Trial by Twitter."
Within days, Martin’s grim prophecy became reality. Twitter ignited with accusations, young authors who had finally found their footing suddenly scrutinized, their careers teetering on public suspicion. One young writer, a mentee of Lena's, appeared at Martin's office door pale and shaking, clutching her manuscript like a lifeline. The pain in her eyes spoke volumes.
At Bauer & Chambers Publishing, the mood around the conference room table was heavy with unease, the scent of stale coffee a tangible reminder of the anxious hours spent deliberating. Agents and writers sat stiffly, their gazes wary or downcast, pens tapping nervously against notebooks.
"We're losing voices," Elena Soto finally broke the oppressive silence, her voice raw with urgency. "Good authors are afraid to submit their best work for fear it'll be labeled fraudulent."
"Then we rewrite the story," Martin spoke quietly, cutting through the despair with calm determination. All eyes turned to him. "If the established awards choose exclusion, we create something that celebrates collaboration."
Lena's brows knit thoughtfully, the tension easing from her shoulders. "A new award—specifically for AI collaborations?"
Martin nodded, a small spark igniting in his gaze. "Exactly. We honor openness and innovation, not fear them."
"And this new award—what would we call it?" Elena asked hesitantly, cautious hope creeping into her voice.
Martin allowed a smile to grow slowly across his face, sincere and assured. "The Anthropies," he said gently. "Honoring the human element in partnership with AI."
Quiet murmurs of agreement rippled around the room, the tension finally releasing into a collective, hopeful sigh.
The Anthropies premiered to overwhelming enthusiasm. Writers previously branded as frauds stepped confidently into the spotlight, their achievements openly acknowledged rather than whispered about. The inaugural ceremony was rich with humor and genuine warmth—each playful speech underlined by the deeper sincerity of acceptance. One young author, previously shamed online, now stood on stage with tears of relief and pride, openly thanking her "co-author, GPT-7, whose insights made me brave."
Watching from the wings, Lena nudged Martin gently, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Did we just disrupt literature?"
Martin glanced around the room, at the joyous faces no longer shadowed by doubt or fear, and felt a deep, satisfying peace settle within him. "No," he replied softly. "We simply allowed it to evolve."