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| See the original 2015 image here. |
A tradition here at the wikifiction blog is to begin each new year with a look back into the history of the science fiction genre. To begin the year, I make space for an examination of the work of a Sci Fi story teller who was born 100 years ago (for 2024, see 1924). This year, the focus is on Katherine MacLean (1925 – 2019).
I've previously blogged about some of the stories that were written by Katherine MacLean. Here in this blog post, I won't comment on MacLean's stories such as "Defense Mechanism" that I have previously commented on in this blog. In the past, I've occasionally had fun imagining that in an alternate Reality, MacLean edited a science fiction magazine called "Masculinena" (see the two images that are shown to the right and below this paragraph) and even launched a television network called CERA. The human figures on this page were generated by Mr. Wombo while the "futuristic" car in Figure 2 (below) was generated by Gemini.
First Contact. Published in the August 1951 issue of Galaxy Science Fiction was MacLean's story "Pictures Don't Lie", a story about first contact with space aliens. The aliens have already been in communication by radio, but today they are going to land on Earth.
In the past, I have imagined that in an alternate reality, MacLean wrote a story called "Invasion of the Zeptites" (see the image to the left). Maybe if an artificial life-form was composed of zeptites, not biological cells, all of its life processes would be very much faster than is the case for we biological creatures. In "Pictures Don't Lie", the aliens not only live at an accelerated rate (like the Scalosians), they are also microscopic (as were the people in "Surface Tension" by James Blish). For my own Exodemic Fictional Universe, I've previously imagined "Nanoville", a place where nanoscopic replicoid copies of people could reside. Maybe the tiny replicoids in Nanoville also live at an accelerated rate?
Positive Feedback. In the September 1952 issue of Galaxy Science Fiction was MacLean's story "The Snowball Effect". "The Snowball Effect" reminds me of Isaac Asimov's Psychohistory. In "The Snowball Effect", a sociologist makes a small change to a little town's local sewing circle and then that group grows rapidly and soon it seems on the verge of taking over the world.
There are also some similarities between "The Snowball Effect" and the MNC of Asimov's time travel novel, The End of Eternity. Taking advantage of the "butterfly effect", and with careful planning, might it be possible to make some tiny change in the world that would lead to some particular desired future? In The End of Eternity, Asimov's character Andrew Harlan was depicted as having the ability to unerringly identify an MNC for the Maximum Desired Response. In my own stories, some people receive information from the future by way of the Sedron Time Stream, allowing them to select a successful path into the future.
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Figure 1. Editorial blurb for "The Diploids".
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Figure 2. Gemini generated this Sci Fi scene
for 1925: looking to the future of air-cars.
Mr. Wombo generated the hitchhiking girl
of the future and faces for the couple in the car.
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Genetic Engineering. MacLean's story "The Diploids" was published in the April 1953 edition of Thrilling Wonder Stories, with interior artwork by Virgil Finlay. I love science fiction stories in which "alien" (see Figure 1, above) creatures are found to be secretly living among humans, but exactly what is a "diploid" in MacLean's story? Or, as MacLean puts the words into Mart's thought bubble (after a second person calls him a diploid) "What in the name of Howling Entropy was a diploid?"
"The Diploids" was set in the future, in a time when everyone casually has video phone calls... and everyone still smokes... and there is mention the Martians in conversation, but Mart Bredan is sensitive to such things... he was born with extra fingers and he has other anatomical abnormalities, including a third eye on the back of his head.
Things get dicey when
Doc Brown a crazy inventor starts trying to kill Mart. But then the friendly Dr. Sheers calmly tells Mart, "
You diploids are always fascinating." After living as a strange genetic mutant for 28 years and never hearing the term "diploid", within 24 hours Mart comes across three distinct groups (including "super diploids" who want to take over the world,
or something) that all know about "diploids". Further, readers are told that hundreds of thousands of embryos that share Mart's genome have been produced and used for genetics research during the past 30 years. And the newpapers are full of ads showing six-fingered hands (such as the one drawn by Finlay for
Figure 4, below), ads which Mart never noticed, until today. The whole improbable and meandering "plot" of "The Diploids" reminds me of
Inter Ice Age 4 which features several secret conspiracies of international scope and world-shaking importance... which nobody notices.
Hypnotic. "The Diploids" also features hypnotism. According to
this page,
hypnosis had been included in written stories and some films from the mid-1800s to the 1920s. In "
The Tissue-Culture King" by
Julian Huxley, hypnotism could be used to put human brains into a state that would allow for telepathic linkages (Huxley's story first published in
1926).
In Slan, A. E. van Vogt introduced the idea of magical "hypnotism crystals" that could be used by a slan to dominate the mind of a human (1940). Also from 1953 was "The Biological Revolt" by Philip Farmer which featured "post-hypnotic block" as a plot element.
The image to the left depicts a green space alien who hypnotizes an Earthling, forcing him to work tirelessly for the alien overlords.
There were two pieces of internal art for "The Diploids" drawn by Virgil Finlay (see
Figures 4 and
5. below). I manually colorized those images and merged them together. I then had
Mr. Wombo make a version of the scene that is shown to the right.
For "The Diploids", I believe that MacLean was imagining a futuristic type of biotechnology that allowed for the creation of haploid mammalian cells in biology research laboratories. Then after stable lines of cultured haploid cells were created, they could somehow be used to create thousands of genetically identical diploid embryos from two parental haploid lineages... or something. Most of those embryos were used for laboratory genetics research and killed before growing past 5 months of embryonic life.
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Figure 4. Internal art for "The Diploids".
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In the fictional future society of "The Diploids", most of the "cloned" humans were used for laboratory research and the embryos were never viable. However, Mart Bredan was allowed to grow to adulthood and only at age 28 did he realize that his parents were not his biological parents.
You Can't Drug Me! Mart discovers that since his "parental" cells grew for many generations in cell culture, he has the ability to inactivate chemical substances that are injected into his body. Similarly, any body structure (such as his third eye) is automatically made functional and healthy. In the end, MacLean suggests to readers that Mart will be able to pass on his amazing genes to future generations and he tells the fetching Nadine that he is ready to make mutant babies with her.
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Figure 5. The second internal art
illustration for "The Diploids". |
Since MacLean was writing "The Diploids" at just about the time when the
DNA double helix was discovered and before anyone realized how easy it is to clone mammals, I'll give her plenty of elbow room for constructing a fantasy story about genetic engineering.
The image to the right by Virgil Finlay (Figure 5) seems to show a human fetus at the center of a network of tentacles. Mr. Wombo likes to draw tentacles (exaggerated in Figure 3, above). Sadly, MacLean never explained how human embryos were routinely maintained in the laboratory for five months.
The editorial blurb (Figure 1, above) and mention of Martians in the first few pages of the text of "The Diploids" got me ready for a story about disguised aliens secretly living among the human population of Earth, but then it turned out that the "truth" about Mart was even less probable than hidden aliens: Mart was the result of a super really (we mean it!) secret human genetics experiment.
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Why aliens visit Earth.
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Full Confession. I started skimming "The Diploids" after the fantastically beautiful Nadine left the stage after the first few pages of the story. I suspect that when Doc Brown the crazy inventor starts trying to kill Mart, he has been hypnotized by the Super Diploids, all as part of a plot to get Mart so upset that he will murder the crazy inventor and get himself and his sperm cells locked up in prison for the rest of his life... or something. In that way, the Super Diploids will not have to face competition from the genetically superior Mart and his children.
In the end, the crazy inventor is made to look like an insane UFO nut as he keeps ranting about evil Martians (including Mart) who are invading Earth; finally the police cart him away.
At the end of the story, Mart is left in peace and can get down to the serious work of making babies with Nadine.
Into the Asteroids. MacLean published a short story called "Collision Orbit" in the May 1954 issue of Science Fiction Adventures. One of the unfortunate aspects of science fiction story telling is that so many writers depicted human adventures among the asteroids in similar terms to Western sagas about adventures in the frontier of the American West. Thus, for "Collision Orbit" we are told about the owner of a general store (called SAM'S) located in the Asteroid Belt who is confronted by a band of criminals who recently escaped from prison on Earth.
Spoilers. SAM'S is a futuristic general store that attracts customers from across millions of miles of space with the help of a neon sign. In all fairness, MacLean tells readers that SAM'S also uses radio beacons. "Collision Orbit" features an emergency spacesuit and an escape through a garbage chute. Most of the criminals end up dead in a shootout, but the one criminal with some brains is invited to join the ranks of the settlers of the asteroids.
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| Figure 6. Well-known? |
Actual Martians. In the
February 1955 issue of
Authentic Science Fiction Monthly, there was "The Prize" by Katherine MacLean and Michael Porjes. As shown in
Figure 6, at the start of the story, readers were told that the two authors of the story were both well-known, and American.
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Figure 7. Martians travel millions of miles to
visit Earth only to be told, "Go home!".
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Who was Michael Porjes? I wonder if "Michael Porjes" was a made-up name used by Forrest James Ackerman. According to Wikipedia, Ackerman had a stepson named Michael Porges, but other online sources (example) list the name as "Michael Porjes". In any case, "The Prize" is a very short joke story. Some Martians visit Earth and get caught up in a goofy contest and win a trip to Mars.
The Martians (who are blue) drive their rover (with darkly tinted windows) off the mother ship and they start exploring Earth. The image to the right (Figure 7) was generated by Mr. Wombo as a depiction of Martians arriving on Earth in 1955.
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Figure 8.
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Lost in translation. Back in 2021, I blogged about
A Case of Conscience which was published by James Blish in 1953. That story by Blish has similarities to MacLean's story "Unhuman Sacrifice" that was published in the
November 1958 issue of
Astounding Science Fiction. For "Unhuman Sacrifice", the futuristic interstellar spaceship that takes our heroes to a brave new world conveniently comes equipped with a language translating machine, which allows a missionary (Winton) to quickly start preaching to the natives of a newly discovered exoplanet. The natives go through some sort of metamorphosis process when it starts raining: this involves hanging the young upside down in the trees (for
Mr. Wombo's version of the story's interior art by
John Schoenherr, see
Figure 8).
For A Case of Conscience, Blish imagined sentient aliens who laid eggs and how the biology of the aliens was offensive to Father Ramon Ruiz-Sanchez, S. J. (Society of Jesus), a "Jesuit biologist" from Peru. I would not be surprised if MacLean read A Case of Conscience and then simply had to write her own story about a missionary preaching to aliens. Alternatively, MacLean may have written her story first, failed to get it published, and then was finally able to get her story published after Blish's story became famous.
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Figure 9. Editorial blurb for "Interbalance".
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Poise and counterpoise.
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In the October 1960 issue of The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction was "Interbalance" by Katherine MacLean. I've previously blogged about the Uranium Age of science fiction (1950 - 1983). "Interbalance" fits nicely into Uranium Age science fiction: it takes place after a nuclear war, when mutations among humans are common and most babies don't survive due to radiation-induced mutations.
The solution to Humanity's problems for the remaining people who survived the nuclear war is to breed rapidly and hope that a few people will survive into the future. The cute Narline Robinson tries to seduce Leo, but Leo's "old man" would rather just shoot Narline with his rifle. When the old man drops dead, Narline is happy and she praises the glory of "Interbalance" as it exists in the world, which will now allow her to make babies with Leo.
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Multiple personality brain.
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Collaboration. "The Other" by Katherine MacLean was published in the July 1966 issue of New Worlds SF. This story is of interest to me because I've long been intrigued by Jack Vance's character Howard Treesong in The Book of Dreams. Vance depicted Treesong as having multiple "personalities" bottled up inside himself. I like to imagine that this could be explained by there being a way for nanoscopic artificial life forms to become attached to people. In "The Other", there are two people who each have two "personalities", an inner one who never speaks and an "outer" one that speaks to other people. I guess MacLean was suggesting that there is nothing wrong with having two minds in one brain.
As discussed above (
Figure 3), I enjoy using old illustrations (such as those shown in
Figures 4 and
5) as reference images for making new AI-generated images. Below is a discussion I had with the
Claude chatbot about this practice.
Me: Claude, are you familiar with online communities such as DeviantArt? Can you provide any insights into the conflict that has arisen between 1) one group of people in the DeviantArt community who enjoy AI-generated art and 2) another group of people who seem to despise AI-generated art?
Claude: Yes, I'm familiar with DeviantArt as one of the longest-running and largest online art communities, founded in 2000. The conflict you're describing reflects a broader tension that has emerged across many creative communities with the rise of AI art generation tools.
This conflict stems from several core concerns and perspectives. The traditional artists who oppose AI-generated art often express worry about the fundamental nature of artistic creation and authenticity. They argue that AI systems are trained on vast databases of human-created artwork, often without explicit consent from the original artists, which raises questions about creative ownership and attribution. These artists may see AI art as a form of automated reproduction that could devalue the human elements of artistic creation - the years of practice, the emotional investment, and the unique perspective that comes from human experience.
On the other hand, proponents of AI art view these tools as simply the latest evolution in artistic technology, similar to how photography was once controversial when it emerged in the 19th century. They argue that AI art generators are tools that still require human creativity and direction to produce meaningful work. These artists often emphasize that choosing prompts, iterating on results, and curating outputs all require artistic judgment and vision.
The economic dimension of this conflict shouldn't be overlooked. Many traditional artists on DeviantArt rely on commissions and art sales for income. The ability of AI to rapidly generate images that might compete with human-created work has created legitimate concerns about economic displacement. Some artists worry that clients might opt for cheaper, faster AI-generated alternatives rather than commissioning original artwork.
The situation is further complicated by how some AI art generators have been trained. Traditional artists have raised valid concerns about their artwork being used without permission to train AI systems, effectively helping create tools that might compete with their own work. This has led to discussions about consent, compensation, and the ethical implications of how AI training data is collected.
DeviantArt itself has tried to navigate these tensions by implementing features like AI art labels and allowing artists to opt out of having their work used for AI training. However, these measures haven't fully resolved the underlying conflict between these two perspectives on artistic creation and authenticity.
Would you be interested in exploring any particular aspect of this conflict in more detail? For instance, we could discuss the technical aspects of AI art generation, the economic implications for working artists, or historical parallels to other technological disruptions in art?Me: Claude, provide ethical guidance for the following conflict. I can read an old science fiction story that was written by Isaac Asimov and then be stimulated to write my own new science fiction story. I feel no guilt in having the idea for my new story originate from my reaction to Asimov's old story. I can take a digitized scan of a page in an old pulp science fiction magazine with interior artwork by an artist such as Virgil Finlay and then use that scanned image as a reference image with software such as WOMBO Dream. I can then use the AI-generated image (that was produced by using the Virgil Finlay reference image) as an illustration for my new science fiction story which I then post on my personal blog. However, I feel some guilt for having used the artwork of Virgil Finlay in this way.
Does it make sense that I feel no guilt in writing my story, but I feel some guilt in illustrating my story by making use of old interior art from a Sci Fi magazine?Claude: This is a fascinating ethical question that touches on the nature of creative inspiration and transformation. Let me help break down why these two situations might feel different ethically, even though they may seem similar on the surface.
When you read Asimov's story and write your own in response, you're engaging in a process that transforms the original work through several important steps. Your human mind processes Asimov's story, combines it with your own experiences and creativity, and produces something new that builds upon but differs substantially from the source material. This process of inspiration and transformation has been fundamental to how human creativity and culture develop. We might say you're participating in a long tradition of artists and writers building upon each other's work to create new meanings and expressions.
The situation with AI art generation is more complex for several reasons. When you use an AI system like WOMBO Dream with Finlay's artwork as a reference, the transformation process is more mechanical and direct. The AI system is explicitly analyzing and reconstructing elements of Finlay's visual style and compositional choices. While you're making creative choices in the prompts and selection of outputs, the AI is more directly reproducing and recombining elements of the original artist's work than your mind does when writing an inspired story.
There's also a difference in how these creative processes have been historically understood and accepted. Writers have long acknowledged their influences and inspirations, and there's a well-established understanding that new stories can legitimately build upon older ones while maintaining their own originality. The legal doctrine of fair use has evolved to protect these kinds of transformative works. However, the direct use of visual art as training data or reference images for AI systems is a new phenomenon that raises questions about artistic integrity and attribution that our ethical and legal frameworks are still struggling to address.
Consider this thought experiment: If you could ask Asimov and Finlay about these uses of their work, how might they respond? Asimov might well be pleased to know his story sparked new creative work in the same medium. Finlay's reaction to having his art used as AI training data might be more complicated, as this represents a fundamentally different kind of use of his creative expression.
That said, your situation raises important questions about how we adapt our ethical frameworks for creativity in the age of AI. Perhaps we need to develop new ways of thinking about artistic influence and transformation that account for these new technologies while still respecting the rights and intentions of original creators.
Would it help to explore some potential ways to ethically navigate this situation? For instance, we could discuss approaches that might help balance your creative goals with respect for Finlay's artistic legacy.Me: When I use old science fiction story illustrations as "reference" images as part of the process of making AI-generated images, I document the practice at my blog and cite the original artists. Thus, it is no "secret" that I am using the work of artists in this way. When I ask myself if artists such as Virgil Finlay would be offended by what I am doing, I find it difficult to imagine why an artist would object. However, I know that some writers have in the past objected to fans who create "fan-fiction" based on published works, so it seems possible that Virgil Finlay would object to my use of his old artwork.
Claude: Your ethical reflection on this matter shows deep consideration for the rights and perspectives of creators. Let's explore this situation by examining several key aspects that can help us understand the ethical implications.
The comparison to fan fiction is particularly enlightening. Writers who have objected to fan fiction often cite concerns about maintaining control over their fictional universes or protecting their ability to write future stories within those universes. However, the situation with visual art reference is somewhat different. When you use Finlay's artwork as a reference for AI generation, you're not necessarily extending or modifying his fictional world - rather, you're using his artistic style and techniques as inspiration for creating new works that accompany your own original stories.
Consider how this practice relates to traditional artistic training. Throughout history, artists have learned by studying and copying the works of masters, often creating derivative works as part of their learning process. In art schools, students still practice by recreating famous works to understand technique and style. The key difference with AI art generation is that the "learning" process is automated and can produce new works much more quickly than traditional methods.
The question of whether Finlay would object is complex because it involves technologies he couldn't have anticipated. However, we can consider his position as an illustrator for science fiction magazines. These publications were often at the forefront of imagining how technology might change human society. Finlay worked in a genre that celebrated technological innovation and its implications for human creativity. This context might suggest he would be more open to technological evolution in artistic creation.
Furthermore, your use of his work seems to align with the original purpose of his illustrations - to accompany and enhance science fiction stories. You're continuing this tradition, albeit with new tools. The fact that you're using his art as inspiration for illustrations that accompany new stories maintains a connection to the original context and purpose of his work.
However, your ethical sensitivity to this issue raises an important point about the difference between what is legally permissible and what feels ethically comfortable. Even if we conclude that your practice is ethically sound, particularly given your transparency and attribution, it's worth considering how we might further honor the legacy of artists whose work influences AI-generated art.
Perhaps you might consider ways to not just cite but actively celebrate these original artists? For example, you could include brief biographical information about artists like Finlay alongside your citations, helping to educate readers about these important figures in science fiction illustration. This would transform your use of their work from mere reference into an opportunity for historical preservation and education.
Would you be interested in exploring ways to further develop this educational and preservational aspect of your practice? This might help create a more robust ethical framework for using historical artwork as AI reference material.Me: Claude, thank you for this discussion. One parting "shot"... since I have fun using old, previously published works of art in this way (as reference images for new AI-generated images), I know that I will continue this practice, even if I do feel some guilt associated with my doubts about how artists like Virgil Finlay might react to what I am doing. Claude, do you have any insights into why a human being will do something fun even when it causes feelings of guilt?
Claude: This is a fascinating aspect of human psychology that touches on how we balance pleasure against moral concerns. Let me break this down by examining several key psychological mechanisms at work.
The human brain has evolved sophisticated mechanisms for managing such conflicts. One key mechanism is what we might call "moral licensing" - when we give ourselves permission to engage in potentially questionable behavior because we've taken steps to mitigate its impact. In your case, you've implemented important ethical safeguards like proper attribution and documentation. These responsible practices may help reduce (though not eliminate) the guilt you feel.
Another relevant psychological principle is "temporal discounting" - we tend to prioritize immediate, concrete benefits (the fun and creativity you experience now) over abstract, uncertain future concerns (the hypothetical disapproval of artists who are no longer alive). This isn't necessarily irrational - we can't live our lives in perfect accordance with every possible ethical concern, especially speculative ones.
Think of it like eating a dessert while on a diet. The immediate pleasure is tangible and real, while the health impact is abstract and distant. Even when we feel some guilt, the concrete joy often wins out over the abstract concern. Similarly, your creative enjoyment is immediate and real, while the ethical concerns remain somewhat abstract and uncertain.
What's particularly interesting in your case is that the guilt itself might serve a positive function. Your continued ethical reflection on this practice suggests that the guilt is helping you maintain a thoughtful, responsible approach to using AI-generated art. Rather than seeing this guilt as purely negative, we might view it as part of a healthy ethical calibration system - one that keeps you mindful of the important questions around artistic legacy and attribution while still allowing you to explore new creative possibilities.
This reminds me of how societies often progress through periods of ethical uncertainty when new technologies emerge. Early photographers faced similar questions about the relationship between their work and traditional painting. Some amount of ethical tension may be inevitable - and perhaps even valuable - as we navigate these transitions.
Would you like to explore how this understanding of the psychology behind guilt and pleasure might help you develop an even more nuanced approach to your creative practice?Next: a mission to Earth.
