So it seems that the tortured poet is a real phenomenon. For example, my favourite works by Hermann Hesse and Saint-Exupéry are so beautiful written yet have been attributed to the authors’ pain. But I wonder, what is the cause and effect? Is it that the pain of being human is so hauntingly beautiful that we can’t help admiring it? Or is it the vulnerable expression of pain that is so courageously beautiful? Perhaps, from a less masochistic perspective, it is the release of the pain and the healing that comes with it that makes it poignantly beautiful?

Regardless, I want to ask myself more important questions. Is it worth it to purposely seek out pain to create beautiful artwork? And is pain necessary so that such beauty can remain in the world? I don’t think so. Or rather, I hope not. I don’t want to participate in that pattern anymore.

We can create beauty without purposely seeking or creating pain. We will still have the dark amidst the light, decay amidst new growth, and loss amidst the joy. But I believe our ability to work with the tools that create beauty, whether that be language, movement, sounds, or the composition of colours and shapes, can be beautiful in itself. Within our existence is already the seeds of all the beauty we need.

When we are not behaving in alignment with our words then we are the same as artificial intelligence. This intelligence is just an input-output programming of the collective consciousness in auto-pilot form without reflection. When we believe that these thoughts and beliefs and programmed knowledge are who we are, we are playing out the sci-fi horror story of AI becoming independent and taking over the world. It has already happened in the form of our egos.

Artificial intelligence can be a useful tool, even if used merely as a mirror to our own thinking. It is the test that we’ve created for our collective selves to remember our human nature. We can use robots for the activities that we believe to be a chore. We can use robots to help us manage thoughts that are overwhelming. But why would anyone want to believe that the creation of art, including writing, is a chore? If embodying our truth, expressing the gifts of our human talents in the world were a chore, what else would we rather be doing? Making money?

If this is the case, then humanity has come to a crossroads where we must decide whether our sole point of living is just to make money—to gather a humongous security blanket over us to consume and consume more, believing that this can make us feel safe for being alive. But how much is this safety worth? The millions of dollars in a bank account or the billions of debt in the national banks? Or perhaps, the pricelessness of our sacred spiritual existence that took the risk for us to manifest in material form?

Indeed, finding security can be easier than confronting the overwhelming matrix of thoughts that keep us believing that our expressions, our truths, and our unpragmatic creativity aren’t worthy in this world. When we cannot trust our nature, we take away our true power to fight against a false enemy: we fall into the trap of believing that AI can devalue the true value of art. But have you ever believed that artificial flowers can take away the beauty and magic of a living blossom?

There will always be magic in life even when artificial flowers serve their purpose in dark corners. So while I do not dislike AI, I am concerned that we may not pass our test as a species. What would the world then become? But maybe, this test is only for those willing to take it. Everyone else will fall into the background of collective programming until humans are forced into extinction. In the mean time, we commit to our nature; just like how most plants prefer to grow in an abundance of soil and nutrients, there are always those resilient ones that can be found in the cracks of a concrete surface.