Subscribe
There is a contradiction in the American publishing world that deserves attention: while some major publishing houses ask writers to disclose any use of artificial intelligence, those same organizations are experimenting with these tools internally, sometimes without adequately informing the authors involved. Beyond the dynamics of the industry itself, this raises a broader question: how much do transparency, accountability, and respect for other people’s work really matter when they come into conflict with economic convenience?
The issue came into particularly sharp focus following an investigation published by WIRED on October 9, 2026, according to which employees at three major American publishing groups—HarperCollins, Simon & Schuster, and Hachette—reportedly raised concerns about the use of systems such as ChatGPT and Claude to prepare communications, promotional copy, book blurbs, and other publishing materials. These tools promise speed, efficiency, and lower costs, but, according to the accounts gathered, they are also fueling concerns among workers who fear that tasks entrusted until recently to their expertise will gradually become automated.
The problem, therefore, is not simply to determine whether artificial intelligence is good or bad. It is to understand who may use it, under what conditions, and with what degree of transparency. Generative artificial intelligence is now a reality that many industries must confront. It can facilitate research, proofread texts, suggest ideas, and help produce advertising materials. A business has the right to innovate, improve its organization, and reduce costs: to deny this would mean confusing the protection of employment with the rejection of progress.
Problems arise, however, when innovation involves works protected by copyright, unpublished manuscripts, or confidential information. The Authors Guild, the leading professional association for American writers, has expressed concern about the use of authors’ works and data in artificial intelligence systems without proper authorization, recommending that written consent be obtained before submitting manuscripts to publicly available chatbots. Not every use of AI constitutes a copyright infringement, just as not every automated activity necessarily leads to job losses. The specific circumstances, contractual agreements, and safeguards in place all matter. But that is precisely why clarity is essential.
From a conservative perspective, this situation brings several fundamental principles into focus: individual responsibility, the protection of private property, respect for contracts, and freedom of enterprise. These principles should not be invoked only when they happen to be convenient. Intellectual property, after all, is not a privilege to be granted to writers only when it does not interfere with publishers’ economic interests. It is the recognition of the value of creative work, ingenuity, and individual experience. A manuscript is not an anonymous raw material available to anyone who happens to possess it: it is the result of study, talent, sensitivity, and often years of work.
And yet, contemporary society increasingly seems to embrace a conception of human value measured exclusively in terms of productivity. Whatever can be accomplished more quickly is considered better; whatever costs less is preferred; whatever fails to generate an immediate advantage risks being deemed superfluous. Artificial intelligence makes this tendency particularly evident because it raises an age-old question with renewed force: what makes intellectual work authentically human?
It is not enough to answer that a machine has neither emotions nor consciousness. The issue is also cultural and civic. Writing does not simply mean arranging words in the correct sequence, just as publishing does not simply mean packaging a product for sale. A book is also a testament to the time in which it is created, to the personality of its author, to their contradictions, and to their freedom of thought. If we reduce everything to a matter of speed and efficiency, we risk losing precisely what distinguishes culture from mass production.
This does not mean idealizing authors or regarding artificial intelligence as incompatible with creativity. Rather, it means recognizing that the tool cannot erase the responsibility of the person using it. A system can generate convincing text while simultaneously reporting inaccurate information, inventing sources, or flattening an original voice. Technology can assist thought, but it should not become an excuse for abandoning critical judgment.
This is where the most significant contradiction emerges. If writers are asked to disclose their use of artificial intelligence, the same demand for transparency should apply to publishers when their use of AI significantly affects the editing of a work, the content intended for publication, or the handling of a manuscript. There is no need to turn every automated correction into a formal disclosure: that would be excessive bureaucracy. What is needed, however, is to ensure that transparency does not become an obligation for those with less bargaining power and a discretionary choice for those who have more.
Economic freedom, in fact, does not mean having the freedom to do absolutely anything. A healthy market is built on trust, respect for commitments, and the ability of each party to make informed choices. Authors must be able to know how their work is being handled, especially when it is unpublished, and to assess the risks before granting authorization. Freedom of enterprise deserves to be defended, but precisely because it is a freedom, it must be accompanied by responsibility.
The same applies to employment. Businesses have the right to innovate; workers have the right to be informed about the changes affecting them and to acquire new skills. Protecting jobs does not mean preventing companies from evolving, just as supporting progress does not mean treating workers as expendable. A society that systematically sacrifices people on the altar of efficiency risks becoming economically faster but humanly poorer.
Perhaps, ultimately, the question of artificial intelligence forces us to reflect on the very meaning of progress. Progress does not simply mean doing things faster, but also learning to do them better, with greater awareness and respect. True modernity does not consist in accepting every innovation without question, but in knowing how to govern it without abandoning the principles that make a society free and civilized.
Artificial intelligence can be a valuable ally for those who write, publish, and read. What is needed are clear rules, informed consent where necessary, manuscript protection, human accountability, and consistent standards for everyone. There is no need to ban new technologies or fill contracts with incomprehensible clauses. We need only remember that trust cannot be built by demanding a level of transparency from others that one is reluctant to practice oneself.
And, speaking of artificial intelligence, a small piece of advice for publishing houses: if you ask writers to disclose when they have received help from a machine, you might start by setting a good example yourself. Because innovation is a wonderful thing, but consistency remains a distinctly human virtue. And, at least for now, there is no known algorithm capable of replacing it.