Everything Is Everything: AI, Art, and the Human Condition
Surviving and thriving as creatives in the era of artificial intelligence.
More often than not, we miss the underlying intention behind questions about artificial intelligence: whether we use it and how. I genuinely don’t believe the inquisitive subjects are thoroughly invested in the specific appliances an acquaintance partakes in regarding AI; it’s valuable information—but not essential.
What they desperately yearn for is context. They want a clue about what the heck is going on. And asking a colleague for context seems to be a reasonable and even instinctual way to answer that query. And while it helps to some extent, it entirely overlooks the kernel of the matter.
What they are really asking, irrespective of their awareness of it, is not whether you prefer this app over that one. Or what the nature of your prompts is. Or tricks and shortcuts no one knows about yet. What they are hinting at, is to the intrinsically human crusade for survival.
“AI is a tool”—it has become the default response to any seething doubt in our brains about if we are doing the right thing by indulging in this time-saving, neuron-preserving, craft-enhancement technology.
“AI is a tool”—it has become the cliché of clichés. Not that it’s a lie! It may be true, but it sounds more like a woosah type of mantra to soothe the anxiety and dread evoked by the possibility that it might not be just a tool.
“AI is a tool”—may be a stand-in for: “What if we are the tools, nurturing the next iterations of sentient beings who will soon rule over us? Are we really that dumb to allow that?”
There’s something to be done before tackling that quiz—and that is: Dispelling any notion that the question is puerile and Sci-Fi-ish. Or that if it is indeed puerile and Sci-Fi-ish, is no less at that than global warming, or even that ever-prevalent yet forever distant fact the Sun would eventually implode; all these phenomena are equally worthy of serious consideration and inclusion in our ways of traversing existence. And none of them should, at least not for protracted periods of time, bring sorrow or despair—more on this in a while.
Well, now that we have established the validity of the question at hand, let’s dig into the answer. Which is: Yes.
Yes, there is a possibility that AI might turn against us. Yes, it’s possible we are giving it the tools to do so. And yes, there is a possibility we are that dumb. But we are not that dumb. We are in fact, atavistically wise.
The biggest misconception in the scenario of the human race being subdued by technology, the biggest blunder in that thought-provoking thought, the biggest misapprehension is that we forget that: Everything is everything.
The error starts with believing that nature is just fauna, and flora, and the blue skies, and the starry night, and all that feels breathable and pleasant, at least until it isn’t (ask Christopher McCandless—he knows more about that than I do). But we are wrong in that regard.
Let’s take global warming. We have learned to live with the guilt of what we have done to Earth. And it is valid indeed. And by all means, something should be done to preserve our home—and it is being done. But also, it’s imperative to remember that we are, by definition, nature. Thus, whether you classify what has happened to our planet as good or bad: make no mistake about it, the planet did it to itself.
Not that the planet is suicidal. It’s just that its primeval disposition might answer to a call beyond our limited senses. And our understanding or lack of it makes no difference in the goodness of the affair.
This simile applies to technology. We tend to hear that word, “technology,” or say, “synthetic,” or “plastic,” and feel them artificial. But that’s just not the case. A robot is, unequivocally, a mélange of components that existed here long before it was assembled. Same as us. Same as anything you could consider poisonous or life-serving. Everything is everything.
AI gets a bad rap because of the consciousness aspect of it. But remove that and what you get is technology, which we have been using for our creative quest since the beginning of time. From cave’s walls to canvases. From egg tempera or pigments extracted from minerals to oil hues.
And once in a while, these innovations merge with artistic techniques to the point that they redefine them, blurring the line between technology and style—that is to say, Cubism in painting was as forward-thinking and revolutionary as the advent of ink and paper to mass printing.
Our perspective tends to be either abysmally narrow or too closely focused on the object being analyzed. But if by grace or chance we are able to pull back, we would see that an image of a woman generated by MidJourney is no less 'real' than one vividly described in a novel.
In whatever realm they exist, they exist together. One may or may not have more depth than the other. But in all other regards, they are alike.
But what does this leave for creativity? Are creatives going extinct?
Extinct? No. At risk of extinction? Perhaps. But that doesn’t mean they will vanish. Far from it. Some species have been in danger of extinction for millions and millions of years. And they are still around. The best of their kind survived. And that’s what’s happening with creatives.
Albert Camus, reflecting on the democratization of the novel, remarked:
“If you stop to think of it, this explains the worst novels. Almost everybody considers himself capable of thinking and, to a certain degree, whether right or wrong, really does think. Very few, on the contrary, can fancy themselves poets or artists in words. But from the moment when thought won out over style, the mob invaded the novel. That is not such a great evil as is said. The best are led to make greater demands upon themselves. As for those who succumb, they did not deserve to survive.”
Artificial Intelligence will be able to paint faster than the greatest painter who has ever lived. But it cannot surpass the quality of that individual’s work. Don’t get me wrong, it can be just as good. But not better. Subjectivity makes art the last frontier for the machine. In a way, it makes humans indispensable.
Legend has it that when Da Vinci saw the Sistine Chapel, he said to Michelangelo:
“It’s a shame, really, that one ceiling both inaugurated and concluded Mannerism as an art style. No one had done it before, and no one will ever do it better.”
And that includes artificial intelligence.
To sum it up, and regarding the matter of consciousness and the arguable perils of begetting a sentient form of intelligence, fretting about it would be unnatural and as unreasonable as a xenophobe’s distaste toward other races. This would-be machine was made by elements all around us—including us. And we were made by elements that will soon be all around that would-be machine—including the machine itself. Because since we are all made of the same star stuff, if you remove time from the equation, it becomes rather irrelevant who invented whom. And time, if you look far enough into the cosmos, is always removed from the equation.
So, if you are to take first place in a painting competition only to find out the close second was given to a machine who did it in five minutes. Resist sorrow and despair—remember, everything is everything. Try and understand that to shine through, you just have to be better than everything, whatever that “everything” is, human or machine.
Besides, it wouldn’t be wholesome of you to accuse the robot trailing behind of not being real or not playing fair, when you yourself used top-notch technology such as a canvas, or synthetic oil hues. The game is fair, because as you know, just like your utensils: AI is a tool.