Text is an interesting medium of expression because while it follows a set of syntax, much like that in code, there is a lot of nuance in how one reads it which changes its meaning. A lot of what we understand of writing depends on our experiences in life and of our perceptions. The message conveyed then is not necessarily objective but depends both on the writer and the reader.
So how does someone learn language without the experience of life? Is it then just an infertile string of characters following a particular pattern or specific rules? What becomes even more interesting – after someone ‘learns’ a language without the experience, does the writing of this person have any original meaning or is it just ‘borrowed’ meaning?
While we keep these questions in mind, we can play with generative text to understand better how a system learns.
GPT-3 is the youngest, but perhaps the most matured, algorithm that exists to create human-like text. Using this we explore on text generation prompted by a sample text. This sample text was as set of 5-6 lines from poems from a single poet. Along with each set of lines, we also provide a premise, a short description of those lines.
I chose Sri Aurobindo for this. And the following poems:
The Birth of Sin ( an excerpt)
Better than still to serve desirelessly,
Pursued by a compulsion dull and fierce,
Looking through all vast time for one brief hour
Of rest, of respite, but instead to find
Iron necessity and pant in vain
For space, for room, for freedom.Life and Death
Life, death,– death, life; the words have led for ages
Our thought and consciousness and firmly seemed
Two opposites; but now long-hidden pages
Are opened, liberating truths undreamed.
Life only is, or death is life disguised,–
Life a short death until by life we are surprised.A tree
-Collected Poems, Sri Aurobindo
A tree beside the sandy river-beach
Holds up its topmost boughs
Like fingers towards the skies they cannot reach,
Earth-bound, heaven-amorous.
This is the soul of man. Body and brain
Hungry for earth our heavenly flight detain.
And well this was what was generated from GPT-3:
The soul,– if it attain the kinship there
That draws the tree from topmost branch to air,
Will never heed the enticements of the soil.Premise: Time is in circles
– GPT3
Poem: Time moves endlessly
Round cycles manifold
And beholder seems at first incident
To move across them. Heurs and trouvailles,
‘Tis they compose the weave he breviates
To fit the marriage of content and dream,
And space seems infinite that round him spreads.
Light breaks in light of day beyond his night,
Evening scents linger till the evening bright,
He may with quickening of heart murmur: “Mine!”
When horses pass
We further went into groups to see what we could do collectively. To combine and mix all that we had into one ‘coherent’ piece. Trying to really create a chaotic output, as that was one common theme amongst us, we thought of creating a set of recursive instructions.
Step 1: Input an existing poet and their poems
Step 2: Generate an output with GPT-3
Loop {
Step 3: Input an existing poet and their poems and append
previous output
Step 4: Generate an output with GPT-3
}
Input 1: Premise: Better to be free than be oppressed Poem: Better than still to serve desirelessly, Pursued by a compulsion dull and fierce, Looking through all vast time for one brief hour Of rest, of respite, but instead to find Iron necessity and pant in vain For space, for room, for freedom. Premise: Life and death are a cycle Poem: Life, death,– death, life; the words have led for ages Our thought and consciousness and firmly seemed Two opposites; but now long-hidden pages Are opened, liberating truths undreamed. Life only is, or death is life disguised,– Life a short death until by life we are surprised. Premise: Souls aim for better but are distracted by desires Poem: A tree beside the sandy river-beach Holds up its topmost boughs Like fingers towards the skies they cannot reach, Earth-bound, heaven-amorous. This is the soul of man. Body and brain Hungry for earth our heavenly flight detain. Output 1: The soul,– if it attain the kinship there That draws the tree from topmost branch to air, Will never heed the enticements of the soil. Premise: Time is in circles Poem: Time moves endlessly Round cycles manifold And beholder seems at first incident To move across them. Heurs and trouvailles, ‘Tis they compose the weave he breviates To fit the marriage of content and dream, And space seems infinite that round him spreads. Light breaks in light of day beyond his night, Evening scents linger till the evening bright, He may with quickening of heart murmur: "Mine!" When horses pass Input 2: Premise: Chaos is integral to the cartographies of the web. Poem: If we were to imagine an information map-a cartographic projection of the Net in its entirety, we would have to include in it the features of chaos, for example, in the operations of complex parallel processing, telecommunications, transfers of electronic "money," viruses, guerilla hacking and so on. Premise: Chaos is subject to complex logics. Poem: Each of these "areas" of chaos could be represented by topographs similar to the Mandelbrot Set, such that the "peninsulas" are embedded or hidden within the map-such that they seem to "disappear." Premise: Presence and absence indicate the Net's problems. Poem: This "writing", parts of which vanish, parts of which efface themselves-represents the very process by which the Net is already compromised, incomplete to its own view, ultimately un-Controllable. The soul,– if it attain the kinship there That draws the tree from topmost branch to air, Will never heed the enticements of the soil. Premise: Time is in circles Poem: Time moves endlessly Round cycles manifold And beholder seems at first incident To move across them. Heurs and trouvailles, ‘Tis they compose the weave he breviates To fit the marriage of content and dream, And space seems infinite that round him spreads. Light breaks in light of day beyond his night, Evening scents linger till the evening bright, He may with quickening of heart murmur: "Mine!" When horses pass Output 2: on wind-swept cliffs in night, When day retracts a part to spectral night, The outward glory seems indifferent fame And forms and sound with gifts of mind efface That third self of time that jealously claims Its autonomous hours. Premise: Time yokes and divides people Poem: In spite of every benefit of civilization apart or per capita, despite increased interdependence or computing capacity or special, technical or medical niche promotion, inequality of individual power and status recreates the contradictions of class. Poem: The soul of slaves is in chains of secrecy From a chief fashioned that existence be, Willed in the whole to keep coveting fast, Forever grappling with Input 3: Premise: Conceptual art is freedom. Poem: Conceptual artists are mystics rather than rationalists. They leap to conclusions that logic cannot reach. Premise: Allow yourself to experience new things. Poem: Irrational judgements lead to new experience. Premise: Follow your heart. Poem: Irrational thoughts should be followed absolutely and logically. on wind-swept cliffs in night, When day retracts a part to spectral night, The outward glory seems indifferent fame And forms and sound with gifts of mind efface That third self of time that jealously claims Its autonomous hours. Premise: Time yokes and divides people Poem: In spite of every benefit of civilization apart or per capita, despite increased interdependence or computing capacity or special, technical or medical niche promotion, inequality of individual power and status recreates the contradictions of class. Poem: The soul of slaves is in chains of secrecy From a chief fashioned that existence be, Willed in the whole to keep coveting fast, Forever grappling with Output 3: the wolf or the beast, And to have very freedom"s license dream" Premise: Freedom is imagination, which plays off constraints. Poem: Contradiction is your mind: capable of seeing relations as similar, with analogy and contrasts, or seeing disjuncts.Contradicts once intrinsic to experience make the idea of contradiction natural, unremarkable.Poem: One thought begets expressions, from other thoughts anew, rising and falling as pleasure takes them, returning hard and slow like rhythmic breath. Poem: Let all who take sail on waves of empathy, into lives unfamiliar or close, aware charity moves history and mankind. The vastness binds their minds and expands their hearts, without the centralizing.
Then by consolidating the outputs, we see some coherence even though they were not generated at the same time.
Outputs Consolidated: The soul,– if it attain the kinship there That draws the tree from topmost branch to air, Will never heed the enticements of the soil. Premise: Time is in circles Poem: Time moves endlessly Round cycles manifold And beholder seems at first incident To move across them. Heurs and trouvailles, ‘Tis they compose the weave he breviates To fit the marriage of content and dream, And space seems infinite that round him spreads. Light breaks in light of day beyond his night, Evening scents linger till the evening bright, He may with quickening of heart murmur: "Mine!" When horses pass - on wind-swept cliffs in night, When day retracts a part to spectral night, The outward glory seems indifferent fame And forms and sound with gifts of mind efface That third self of time that jealously claims Its autonomous hours. Premise: Time yokes and divides people Poem: In spite of every benefit of civilization apart or per capita, despite increased interdependence or computing capacity or special, technical or medical niche promotion, inequality of individual power and status recreates the contradictions of class. Poem: The soul of slaves is in chains of secrecy From a chief fashioned that existence be, Willed in the whole to keep coveting fast, Forever grappling with - the wolf or the beast, And to have very freedom"s license dream" Premise: Freedom is imagination, which plays off constraints. Poem: Contradiction is your mind: capable of seeing relations as similar, with analogy and contrasts, or seeing disjuncts.Contradicts once intrinsic to experience make the idea of contradiction natural, unremarkable.Poem: One thought begets expressions, from other thoughts anew, rising and falling as pleasure takes them, returning hard and slow like rhythmic breath. Poem: Let all who take sail on waves of empathy, into lives unfamiliar or close, aware charity moves history and mankind. The vastness binds their minds and expands their hearts, without the centralizing
Reading through the outputs you might find meaning, thoughts and opinions. While we are aware that this was generated by GPT-3, oblivious to this we may be led to believe this is actually someone writing with intent and expressing themselves. Our first thought might be of fear for fake media and information for all valid reasons.
However, what strikes me most is that this system, an artificial intelligence, without any ‘real life experience’ has clearly been able to appear thoughtful and filled with ‘original’ ideas. This writing is in some sense superficial, but seems meaningful.
What then can we say of the literature which has been written by humans, an organic intelligence superior to the artificial? Could some of that literature which we hold up to the highest of regards be actually only a collection of superficial words? Is there true and personal experience or thought behind those books?
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