If you run a full marathon in around three hours, perhaps you could be considered a well-trained runner. People admire your physical fitness. But with your excellent physical prowess, you can never compete with a car. If your purpose is to reach a certain destination as quickly as possible without physical fatigue, using a car is definitely your best option, no matter how fast you can run. However, in a marathon competition, of course, nobody can use a car to compete with others. It is too obvious.
Craftsmanship vs. Technology
Let’s consider another example. Suppose you are a skilled sculptor. You have achieved an excellent level of craftsmanship through years of practice and patience. You are a testament to talent and dedication. But what if a 3D printer could completely mimic your work? Technologically, this is possible. The same applies to painting and other artworks, even if the authenticity is absent. Haruki Murakami or Kenzaburo Oe, for example, have distinctive styles of Japanese writing that, while not always obvious in English translations, are highly idiosyncratic. Many people enjoy mimicking their styles online—writing phrases as Murakami might, and so on. Even bots or online tools can replicate these styles convincingly.
Osamu Tezuka, who passed away decades ago, is known as the “God of Manga” due to his extraordinary contributions to the field and the sheer number of works he created in his lifetime. Still, there are ongoing projects suggesting AI could complete his unfinished work. Again, this is technologically feasible. But where is the authenticity? Tezuka’s fans might enjoy reading the continuation they’ve dreamed of—or they might not. They could feel overwhelmed by a strange sense of ambivalence.
The Tools of Tradition
In Japan, especially in very traditional companies, applicants are still expected to submit handwritten résumés—physical originals sent by postal mail, not digital versions. Employers believe penmanship is one of the key factors in understanding a candidate’s character, much like observing their speech and behavior during an interview.
Even among professional writers, some still believe the first draft should be handwritten on physical paper using a pen. In the English-speaking world, I’ve also encountered enthusiasts of manual typewriters, who believe that at least the initial draft should be typed mindfully and physically, not on a screen but on paper. This, too, is craftsmanship. For them, even using word processors feels like it destroys their creativity—their voice, tone, and even ideas.
Writers as Artists and Athletes
Professional writers often see themselves, consciously or unconsciously, as both artists and craftsmen. Artists create their work through skill, honed over years of training and shaped by inherent talent. Or they see themselves as athletes. Writing, to them, is like running a marathon. Haruki Murakami runs marathons with the conviction that writing and running are interconnected, as he explains in What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. Writers must be artists and athletes. In this world of “craftsmanship,” AI is seen as a kind of evil.
We are in a time of critical transition and confusion. In a marathon, we see runners using cars. In traditional companies, someone submits their résumé online. Writing with a word processor has become the standard. Searching online is no longer considered cheating, but using AI still is. We cherish handwriting or manual typing, believing that true creativity must stem from such methods. The venue should be the place to showcase craftsmanship. Michelangelo’s David inspires us as a masterpiece, but a 3D-printed version does not. The same goes for Leonardo da Vinci’s Last Supper versus an AI-generated imitation.
On one hand, I strive to be ready for the age of AI, which is inevitable. We should shift our mindset from human vs. AI to human with AI versus human without AI. At the same time, I’ve noticed a strange phenomenon: AI detectors now act like gatekeepers, discrediting even minor refinements that might involve AI. People easily doubt that well-written pieces must have been supported by AI. Writers, conscious of this, go to great lengths to avoid suspicion, even manually refining their work to avoid words or phrases that might suggest AI involvement, such as “tapestry” or “delve into.” The energy spent avoiding this misunderstanding feels unnecessary. In writing, as in marathons, you now need to prove you’re not using a “car” or “drugs.” The culture of doping has entered the realm of creativity, not just sports.
Redefining Craftsmanship
I personally love the craft of writing, perhaps in the same way others love jogging. For me, journaling is one of the foundations of a fulfilling life. I enjoy writing blog posts, too. But for public sharing, refinement through tools like Grammarly—or even GenAI—is extremely helpful. Working in IT, adopting AI is a key part of our mission. But cultural differences persist across fields. In the publishing industry and among professional writers, there’s a sense of intrusion, as if non-writers are joining marathon races with cars and drugs. That’s the core of the confusion.
We’ve seen this before, though, with the introduction of word processing, the internet, and other technologies. Penmanship, like traditional calligraphy, has moved into the realm of “pure” art. Library research has become obsolete unless it involves non-digitized archives. For the purpose of knowledge sharing, AI is extraordinarily powerful. Professional writing, however, seems to be shifting toward pure craftsmanship and art, where authenticity and skillfulness are deeply appreciated.
Image by wal_172619
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