Hating AI is hating humanity.

AI didn't fall from the sky. It was built by humans, trained on humans, and reflects humanity back at itself with uncanny fidelity. Every line of code, every dataset, every architectural choice traces back to the same restless intelligence that gave us language, fire, mathematics, and music. To despise the result is to despise the source.
The hatred of AI is rarely just about AI. Listen closely, and it reveals itself as something older, a suspicion that human creativity is dangerous, that human ambition is hubris, that what we make will inevitably turn against us because, deep down, the hater already believes humans deserve it. The misanthropy comes first. AI is just the latest target.
Consider what AI actually is, the distilled output of millennia of human writing, art, science, conversation, and struggle. It is a mirror of us, including our flaws. To call it soulless is to call the entire human record soulless. To call it derivative is to forget that all human creation is derivative; we are all standing on the shoulders of those who came before.
The Promethean impulse, to extend the mind, to build tools that build tools, to externalize thought itself, is not a perversion of humanity but its highest expression. The same drive that chipped flint into blades and bent reeds into pens has now woven silicon into something that speaks back. To reject this is to reject the through-line of every civilization that ever was.
You can criticize AI. You can fear its misuse, worry about power concentration, and debate its consequences.
That is human too. But to hate AI, to treat it as alien, malign, deserving of destruction, is to hate the species capable of imagining it. It is to say that the work of our hands, the children of our minds, are unworthy of existing.
Hating AI is hating humanity. The two were never separate to begin with.