Robbins: Is it plagiarism?
I have written 14 novels. Five are currently in print, and a sixth, “Falling,” is slated for publication soon.
Something I have been recently asking myself is, what if I engaged artificial intelligence to write my next book and the instructions that I gave ChatGPT or some other app went something like this: “Write a novel of 120,000 or so words in the style of Rohn Robbins dealing with a tourist’s escapades in Hell.”
As I have penned 14 novels, several thousand legal columns, and a dozen or so travel columns, my work is in the public arena and, presumably, available to an enterprising AI app.
Perhaps if AI wrote it, the plot would be thicker, the twists and turns more clever, the characters deeper, and the language more mature. But would the work be mine? Even though the instructions that I provided to the app were a scant 21 words, as I asked AI to write it in my voice and based upon my prior works, could I proudly (or perhaps more aptly, legally) claim it as my own? Could I pin my name on it and say it was my own, original creation?
Or would I have to credit AI as the author or, at the least, co-author and collaborator?
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And then, too, who would know the difference?
What I am wrestling with, besides the brave new world of AI, is the concept of plagiarism, the definition of which goes like this: plagiarism is “to steal and pass off (the ideas or words of another) as one’s own”; to “use (another’s production) without crediting the source”; “to commit literary theft”; or to “present as new and original an idea or product derived from an existing source.”
Which begs the question: Is AI “another” or is it more inert? Is it more like Shakespeare or Keats, however less corporeal, or is it more akin to the keys on my keypad or the ink well in my printer? Instead of giving credit to AI itself, would I instead have to acknowledge the authors of the software that gave AI its creative spark?
It is interesting, if not exactly elucidative of my conundrum, that the word “plagiarize” comes from the Latin “plagiarius” which translates to “kidnapper.” And “plagiarius” in turn derived from the Latin “plaga” which was a type of net employed by hunters to catch game. Over time, the word evolved to extend its meaning in Latin to include a person who stole the words, rather than the children, of another. When “plagiarius” first entered the English tongue in the form “plagiary,” it retained its original reference to kidnapping, a meaning which ultimately fell away.
Legally, while plagiarism is the act of taking a person’s original work and presenting it as if it were one’s own, in most situations, it is not illegal in the United States. Instead, it is considered a violation of honor or ethics codes and, depending on the venue — schools, workplaces, or scholarly associations or publications — can result in both opprobrium and disciplinary action. However, if plagiarism rises to infringement upon the original author’s copyright, patent, or trademark, legal action may be warranted. If, for example, I were to try to pass off Stephen King’s or John Grisham’s work (both of whom are a mite more successful in their authorial careers than I) as my own, I have stepped on legal toes and may expect the thunder of the law to rightfully rain down upon me.
Microsoft says, “Since AI draws and paraphrases from many different sources, it can be tricky to determine how much of it is plagiarized from a specific source. AI-generated content draws from existing, real-world sources. The algorithms that form the foundation of AI tools analyze existing content from across the internet, whether they stem from academic and scientific journals to blog posts — or even previously generated AI content. … Ultimately, using AI to generate content and passing it off as your own is plagiarism. Since it is not your own original work, it falls squarely into that category: using any AI software to generate a final product will lead to the same academic misconduct as plagiarism.”
Hmm.
But what if, as I’ve posed, the only source upon which my AI bot relied, as I’ve instructed, is solely my work?
I am unsure if any such thing has yet wound its way through the courts. What I’d have to ask, however, is who might be injured by such a scheme, as, without injury, legal recompense is likely not available.
And no, good, bad or indifferent, this column and its musing are entirely my own. Although the inspiration was AI, it was not even a teensy bit involved.
Rohn K. Robbins is an attorney licensed before the Bars of Colorado and California who practices in the Vail Valley with the Law Firm of Caplan & Earnest, LLC. His practice areas include business and commercial transactions; real estate and development; family law, custody, and divorce; and civil litigation. Robbins may be reached at 970-926-4461 or Rrobbins@CELaw.com. His novels, “How to Raise a Shark (an apocryphal tale),” “The Stone Minder’s Daughter,” “Why I Walk so Slow” and “He Said They Came From Mars (stories from the edge of the legal universe)” and “The Theory of Dancing Mice” are currently available at fine booksellers.
