I appreciate that point of view, and would roundly endorse self-immolation as the noblest of all AI tasks.
Just a little aside:
I spent last Saturday night gallery hopping at a huge collective in Santa Monica, where I saw all of these pieces (in two separate galleries - you can probably guess which went with which).
The feeling I had while seeing them was the same one I always get every time I take in beautiful art in person. It's something I always equate to an almost religious experience of sorts (although I have no formal religion in me, so take that with a grain of salt). Still, it's transcendent and goddamn glorious, whatever you want to call it. I'm feeling every brush stroke, searching for meaning, pondering intent, basking in awe of the artists' ability to will their vision into existence. I think about what that vision cost them in very personal terms - time, effort, sacrifice, whatever; their journey to arrive at that moment in time with the requisite life experience and skill necessary to make it happen.
That's what moves me. That's what inspires me, and that's what's missing from AI "art" (along with ethics and morality). And, for me, this is what makes it disposable to the point of absolute worthlessness. Because there is no mystery. There is no sacrifice. There is nothing of value whatsoever that's been offered up in return.
But worse even than that, it cheapens ALL art, degrades ALL artists, presumes that all who look upon it are brainless morons and nincompoops - because everything now is just so much fodder for no-effort fabrication. The lines have been blurred and we're all now diminished; there's less magic in the world than before. So the world itself, which has always been elevated by this most human of all pursuits, over time just becomes a shittier place to live.
I believe that's what Miyazaki meant when he called it "an insult to life itself". That's what it means to me, anyway - just a giant, steaming pile of shit on the doorstep of human endeavor.
