Ah, but you’ve missed the forest through the fallen philosophers. Nietzsche didn’t just foresee the future, he relished its chaos, its upheavals, its brutal transformations. He didn’t weep over the death of old values; he danced on their graves and called it progress. A stark contrast to the reality of National Socialists utterly rejecting the corruptions of old values. The Übermensch wasn’t a promise, it was a provocation and challenge that Hitler accepted, attempting to bringing it to reality. Yet it wasn't quite there. Those not quite Übermensch, tall and certainly terrifying to the opposition blonde-haired blue eyed German giants, still fell to the corruption of other nations by international Jewry because sheer numbers of traitorous snakes overwhelm.

You’re right: inevitability doesn’t negate discussion, but let’s not pretend Baudelaire’s whining as he pined for his mother's supporting money and affections while lounging around lazily or Nietzsche’s prophecies changed the tide. They were critics, not captains. The camera came. The factories rose. The algorithms churn out dreck, and the prompters’ glee at the fallen artists previously starving and now almost completely out of work? (Few exceptions). It’s as old as time, the same schadenfreude that made Romans cheer at fallen gladiators, or Victorians gawk at lunatics in asylums. Always the carnival of spite and envy.

The psychological evaluation of AI’s cheerleaders changes nothing. The Luddites were righteous. The photographers were hacks. The prompters are smug. So what? The wheel turns anyway. You can critique the cruelty of the crowd or the hypocrisy of the moment, but the crowd won’t disband, and the moment won’t pause. This isn’t about ‘why talk about it?’ It’s about what talk does. Nietzsche’s words didn’t bring forth the undefeatable Übermensch. Baudelaire’s rants didn’t save hand-made art. Your dissection of prompt-artists schadenfreude won’t un-invent Large Language Models. The question isn’t whether we should discuss it, it’s whether we’re honest enough to admit we’re just howling into the storm against our inevitable downfall.