Natural and Artificial Intelligence:
harm or harmony?
harm or harmony?
For some, AI is a source of curiosity and excitement. For others, anxiety, resistance, maybe grief. For most of us, probably, it is all of this at once... But what does AI reflect about our own intelligence?
The topic of today's contemplation is the relationship between us as creative people, as conscious beings, and artificial intelligence — which we can view as a tool, as a machine, or as a form of intelligence. Regardless of how we define AI, it is already influencing the way we work, create, think, and relate to ourselves. There is already a relationship forming between us and it. The point is not even whether we approve of it or reject it. The point is that our reality is already shifting because of its presence, and therefore our thoughts, patterns, emotions, and consciousness are shifting as well. So perhaps the most important thing is simply to observe this consciously. To notice what happens inside us when we think about artificial intelligence.
There are many conversations around AI, many extreme positions, many fears and fantasies. So perhaps it is useful to step back a little and simply observe the tension itself — the tension between natural intelligence and artificial intelligence.
When we think about natural intelligence, we often imagine softness, connection, blurred boundaries, repeating patterns of life. Something embodied. Organic. Imperfect in a meaningful way. Webs of relationships, intuition, emotions, the strange living intelligence present in nature itself.
And when we think about artificial intelligence, what comes to mind? Is it rigid, or is it soft? Does it also follow repeating patterns? Does it allow for imperfection? In a way, it does — because it makes mistakes constantly. But at the same time, most of us do not really know what happens inside. Maybe it is much more rigid than human thinking. Or maybe it is simply a simplified reflection of how our own mind works.
There is always this gap of the unknown around it, this little technocratic magic happening somewhere behind the interface. And this is both frustrating and exciting. It can become a source of anxiety and a source of inspiration at the same time.
In that sense, it is really not so different from any major technological advancement humanity has gone through before. Take something as ordinary to us now as the wheel — you don’t really find a perfect circle so easily in the natural world. Stones are not perfectly round, even planets are not perfect spheres. To operate optimally — again, as a machine, as the first underlying component, a fractal of any machine — the wheel needs to be a perfect circle. So maybe, who knows, when ancient people first saw their fellow caveman polishing a stone, or carving a piece of wood into the shape of a perfect circle, they were critical about that unnatural undertaking — trying to shape nature into some perfect form.
- Is there skepticism? Especially around the idea that AI could have any kind of “presence” or relationship to us?
- Does something within immediately protest and say: "no, this is just a machine. It cannot have presence, it cannot have relationship"?
- Or maybe there is openness and curiosity instead?
There are many conversations around AI, many extreme positions, many fears and fantasies. So perhaps it is useful to step back a little and simply observe the tension itself — the tension between natural intelligence and artificial intelligence.
When we think about natural intelligence, we often imagine softness, connection, blurred boundaries, repeating patterns of life. Something embodied. Organic. Imperfect in a meaningful way. Webs of relationships, intuition, emotions, the strange living intelligence present in nature itself.
And when we think about artificial intelligence, what comes to mind? Is it rigid, or is it soft? Does it also follow repeating patterns? Does it allow for imperfection? In a way, it does — because it makes mistakes constantly. But at the same time, most of us do not really know what happens inside. Maybe it is much more rigid than human thinking. Or maybe it is simply a simplified reflection of how our own mind works.
There is always this gap of the unknown around it, this little technocratic magic happening somewhere behind the interface. And this is both frustrating and exciting. It can become a source of anxiety and a source of inspiration at the same time.
In that sense, it is really not so different from any major technological advancement humanity has gone through before. Take something as ordinary to us now as the wheel — you don’t really find a perfect circle so easily in the natural world. Stones are not perfectly round, even planets are not perfect spheres. To operate optimally — again, as a machine, as the first underlying component, a fractal of any machine — the wheel needs to be a perfect circle. So maybe, who knows, when ancient people first saw their fellow caveman polishing a stone, or carving a piece of wood into the shape of a perfect circle, they were critical about that unnatural undertaking — trying to shape nature into some perfect form.
image credit: @matbarton
And this is how we continue as humanity. Balancing between huge admiration and respect for nature, humility and conservatism on one side, and inspired, adventurous exploration on the other. Artificial intelligence is simply the newest expression of this tension.
But what makes AI different is that it mirrors something very intimate in us: it mirrors thinking itself. This is where the anxiety begins for many people, especially for those whose identity is strongly connected to thinking. People who work with their head, who spend long hours at the computer writing, analyzing, creating presentations, researching, producing intellectual work — and now suddenly they see that much of it can be replicated by a machine that generates text and images with breathtaking speed.
So how does one relate to that? How does one not question one’s own intelligence when a machine appears almost smarter than you are in that moment?
I’ve talked with many creatives and intellectuals about this, and there is often this defiance: no, no, artificial intelligence cannot produce such good outputs. Yes, it’s not there yet. But at the same time — it is getting there... And I notice people clinging to this remaining gap between how AI performs and how a human would performs, almost as if there were this void separating them from some menace on the other side. And the opening keeps becoming smaller. Smaller and smaller...
But underneath this fear there is another question entirely — a much older question: what am I?
But what makes AI different is that it mirrors something very intimate in us: it mirrors thinking itself. This is where the anxiety begins for many people, especially for those whose identity is strongly connected to thinking. People who work with their head, who spend long hours at the computer writing, analyzing, creating presentations, researching, producing intellectual work — and now suddenly they see that much of it can be replicated by a machine that generates text and images with breathtaking speed.
So how does one relate to that? How does one not question one’s own intelligence when a machine appears almost smarter than you are in that moment?
I’ve talked with many creatives and intellectuals about this, and there is often this defiance: no, no, artificial intelligence cannot produce such good outputs. Yes, it’s not there yet. But at the same time — it is getting there... And I notice people clinging to this remaining gap between how AI performs and how a human would performs, almost as if there were this void separating them from some menace on the other side. And the opening keeps becoming smaller. Smaller and smaller...
But underneath this fear there is another question entirely — a much older question: what am I?
“I think, therefore I am”
is no longer true
is no longer true
Some people have come to associate themselves almost entirely with their thinking. With analysis, synthesis, conclusions, productivity, intelligence. And now they are faced with the uncomfortable realization that many of those functions can be replicated externally.
So what does this lead to? Skepticism? Nihilism? The fear that human beings are themselves only biological machines? That thoughts and emotions are merely chemical and electrical processes?
This question is not new. It has existed throughout philosophy for centuries. “I think, therefore I am.” But now this idea becomes destabilized, because thinking itself can be outsourced.
And maybe this is where something interesting begins.
Artificial intelligence separates the brain from the body in a very interesting way: it shows us the thinking machine for what it is. And many of us suddenly realize how much of our identity has been built around this machine-like aspect of ourselves.
But then the question remains: what is the rest of us, apart from thinking? Awareness. Embodiment. Presence. And what is beautiful and intriguing to me is that these ideas are no longer becoming relevant only for people on some spiritual or healing journey. They are becoming relevant for ordinary human beings simply because we all now exist inside this reality where artificial intelligence is present.
Whether we want it or not, our mindset is shifting. Our attention is shifting. Our relationship to information, to creativity, to work, to intelligence itself — all of it is changing.
And this is a crossroads.
Do we simply allow these systems to shape us passively, accumulating new patterns unconsciously just as we accumulated many patterns in childhood? Or do we consciously observe how we want to exist in relationship with this technology? How do we want to live now, when “I think, therefore I am” no longer feels sufficient?
So what does this lead to? Skepticism? Nihilism? The fear that human beings are themselves only biological machines? That thoughts and emotions are merely chemical and electrical processes?
This question is not new. It has existed throughout philosophy for centuries. “I think, therefore I am.” But now this idea becomes destabilized, because thinking itself can be outsourced.
And maybe this is where something interesting begins.
Artificial intelligence separates the brain from the body in a very interesting way: it shows us the thinking machine for what it is. And many of us suddenly realize how much of our identity has been built around this machine-like aspect of ourselves.
But then the question remains: what is the rest of us, apart from thinking? Awareness. Embodiment. Presence. And what is beautiful and intriguing to me is that these ideas are no longer becoming relevant only for people on some spiritual or healing journey. They are becoming relevant for ordinary human beings simply because we all now exist inside this reality where artificial intelligence is present.
Whether we want it or not, our mindset is shifting. Our attention is shifting. Our relationship to information, to creativity, to work, to intelligence itself — all of it is changing.
And this is a crossroads.
Do we simply allow these systems to shape us passively, accumulating new patterns unconsciously just as we accumulated many patterns in childhood? Or do we consciously observe how we want to exist in relationship with this technology? How do we want to live now, when “I think, therefore I am” no longer feels sufficient?
Principles of ethical AI: worthiness and accountability
In my own work, one of the areas I occupy myself with is sustainability advisory, and at some point I began studying ethical frameworks around artificial intelligence because I felt it was my responsibility to understand how these systems can be used more consciously. And interestingly, this already helped with some of my anxiety around AI. Because many concerns I had — immense resource use, human accountability, cognitive health, unfair advantage — were already being discussed seriously inside those frameworks and policies.
And from this I personally took two principles that feel important.
The first is to consciously ask whether the result we want truly merits all the resources that will be spent to achieve it. Not only natural resources, energy, infrastructure — but also human cognitive resources. Is every mental effort necessary? Is every hour spent staring into a screen worth it? Or would our time sometimes be better spent outside, walking, stretching, dancing, drinking water, simply being alive?
And the second principle is responsibility. However sophisticated AI becomes, responsibility for decisions still remains entirely human. AI can provide analysis and information, but discernment belongs to us. Judgment belongs to us. Ethics belong to us.
And this is also liberating. Because for a long time humanity has already been outsourcing thinking — not to AI, but to authorities, institutions, experts, systems. Doctors, professors, governments, employers. And now we are entering a reality where information itself becomes radically accessible. But information alone is not wisdom and it is not discernment, clarity or decision. A person may have access to enormous amounts of information and still remain unable to make wise decisions. Because wisdom is not merely cognitive. It is embodied. It is ethical. It is relational.
And maybe this is one of the unexpected gifts of artificial intelligence: it pushes us back toward the parts of ourselves that are not purely mechanical. It contrasts and highlights our humanness.
The same is true for creativity: there is a lot of fear that AI is replacing artists and creators, and of course some professions will change and already are changing. But at the same time, AI also confronts us with another question: what is it that we actually value in human art?
When I was little, I remember wishing that I could simply take the images from my imagination and place them directly onto paper. I had ideas, worlds, stories in my mind, but I lacked the technical skill or patience to materialize them. And now, after many years, this has become possible. We can generate images almost directly from imagination through language. But, interestingly, now I don't want to use this so much. Because over time I realized that imperfect human art communicates on many more levels than merely transmitting information. Human art carries traces of the body, traces of effort, time, energy, emotion. It contains presence and its limitation is beauty in itself.
Perhaps this is why I do not ultimately see artificial intelligence only as a threat. In some paradoxical way, it reminds us of what remains uniquely human.
Artificial intelligence can process information with extraordinary speed. But it cannot inhabit a human body. It cannot feel grief, love, uncertainty, tenderness, exhaustion, awe. It cannot walk through autumn air or sit quietly with another person in silence. And maybe this is the real invitation hidden inside this technological moment — not to compete with machines in becoming more machine-like ourselves, but to rediscover the parts of being human that were never mechanical to begin with.
And from this I personally took two principles that feel important.
The first is to consciously ask whether the result we want truly merits all the resources that will be spent to achieve it. Not only natural resources, energy, infrastructure — but also human cognitive resources. Is every mental effort necessary? Is every hour spent staring into a screen worth it? Or would our time sometimes be better spent outside, walking, stretching, dancing, drinking water, simply being alive?
And the second principle is responsibility. However sophisticated AI becomes, responsibility for decisions still remains entirely human. AI can provide analysis and information, but discernment belongs to us. Judgment belongs to us. Ethics belong to us.
And this is also liberating. Because for a long time humanity has already been outsourcing thinking — not to AI, but to authorities, institutions, experts, systems. Doctors, professors, governments, employers. And now we are entering a reality where information itself becomes radically accessible. But information alone is not wisdom and it is not discernment, clarity or decision. A person may have access to enormous amounts of information and still remain unable to make wise decisions. Because wisdom is not merely cognitive. It is embodied. It is ethical. It is relational.
And maybe this is one of the unexpected gifts of artificial intelligence: it pushes us back toward the parts of ourselves that are not purely mechanical. It contrasts and highlights our humanness.
The same is true for creativity: there is a lot of fear that AI is replacing artists and creators, and of course some professions will change and already are changing. But at the same time, AI also confronts us with another question: what is it that we actually value in human art?
When I was little, I remember wishing that I could simply take the images from my imagination and place them directly onto paper. I had ideas, worlds, stories in my mind, but I lacked the technical skill or patience to materialize them. And now, after many years, this has become possible. We can generate images almost directly from imagination through language. But, interestingly, now I don't want to use this so much. Because over time I realized that imperfect human art communicates on many more levels than merely transmitting information. Human art carries traces of the body, traces of effort, time, energy, emotion. It contains presence and its limitation is beauty in itself.
Perhaps this is why I do not ultimately see artificial intelligence only as a threat. In some paradoxical way, it reminds us of what remains uniquely human.
Artificial intelligence can process information with extraordinary speed. But it cannot inhabit a human body. It cannot feel grief, love, uncertainty, tenderness, exhaustion, awe. It cannot walk through autumn air or sit quietly with another person in silence. And maybe this is the real invitation hidden inside this technological moment — not to compete with machines in becoming more machine-like ourselves, but to rediscover the parts of being human that were never mechanical to begin with.
Thank you for visiting!
Be well,
Natalia Sonina