What if the essence of being human lies not in what we create, but in the very act of creation itself? This thought has been lingering in my mind ever since I delved into the fascinating intersection of science, art, and philosophy through the lens of Hideo Mabuchi, a professor of applied physics and a ceramicist. His unique perspective challenges us to rethink what it means to be human in an age dominated by technology and artificial intelligence.
The Art of Searching Through Making
One thing that immediately stands out is Mabuchi’s assertion that ‘making is searching’. This idea is profoundly counterintuitive in a world that often demands certainty before action. We’re conditioned to believe that we must know what to create before we begin, or that we need a clear plan before we embark on any endeavor. But Mabuchi flips this script entirely. He suggests that the act of creating—whether it’s throwing clay on a wheel or conducting experiments in a lab—is itself a form of exploration. It’s not about the final product; it’s about the process of discovery.
What makes this particularly fascinating is how it contrasts with the way we often approach life. We’re taught to prioritize outcomes over experiences, to focus on the destination rather than the journey. But Mabuchi’s perspective invites us to embrace the uncertainty, the friction, and even the failures that come with creating. It’s a reminder that the most meaningful aspects of life are often found in the messy, unpredictable process of trying, not in the polished end result.
Friction as a Catalyst for Perfection
A detail that I find especially interesting is Mabuchi’s analogy of friction in ceramics. When throwing clay, too much water makes it slippery and unmanageable, while too little creates friction that challenges the artist. But it’s this very friction, once overcome, that gives the final piece its silky, perfect finish. This metaphor extends far beyond the pottery wheel. In life, the challenges we face—the friction—are often what shape us into our best selves.
What many people don’t realize is that friction isn’t just an obstacle; it’s a teacher. It forces us to adapt, to refine our skills, and to think creatively. In a world where AI and automation aim to eliminate friction, Mabuchi’s insight is a powerful reminder of its value. If you take a step back and think about it, the friction in our lives—whether it’s a difficult relationship, a demanding job, or a personal struggle—is what makes us uniquely human. Machines can’t experience friction in the same way; they can’t grow from it.
The Creative Cycle and the Human Urge
Mabuchi’s ‘creative cycle’—seek/make, relate/reflect, teach/write—is another concept that resonates deeply. It’s not just a framework for artistic or scientific endeavors; it’s a blueprint for living. What this really suggests is that being human is about engaging in a continuous loop of curiosity, action, and reflection. It’s about having an ‘undirected urge to do something’, as Mabuchi puts it, rather than waiting for a problem or question to guide us.
From my perspective, this urge is what separates us from machines. AI operates on algorithms, on predictable patterns of input and output. But humans are driven by something far more enigmatic—a desire to explore, to create, and to connect, even when there’s no clear reason or reward. This raises a deeper question: as AI becomes more capable, will we lose touch with this fundamental aspect of our humanity? Or will it push us to reclaim it?
Rediscovering Humanity in the Age of AI
Mabuchi’s optimism about the future of humanity in the face of AI is both refreshing and thought-provoking. He believes that AI’s limitations—its lack of embodiment, its inability to truly understand the material and cultural world—will ultimately highlight what makes us unique. Personally, I think this is a crucial point. AI can mimic creativity, but it can’t experience the joy of shaping clay with your hands or the frustration of a failed experiment. It can’t feel the weight of tradition or the thrill of discovery.
This raises a broader perspective: perhaps the rise of AI is not a threat to our humanity, but a catalyst for its rediscovery. As machines take over tasks that require logic and optimization, we’re left with the distinctly human domains of art, craft, and creativity. What this really suggests is that the future of humanity may lie in embracing our curiosity, our imperfections, and our capacity for wonder.
The Ever-Evolving Question of Humanity
In the end, Mabuchi leaves us with a question that is as timeless as it is urgent: ‘What does it mean to be human, now, in this moment?’ This question is not static; it evolves with us, shaped by the technological, cultural, and philosophical shifts of our time. Ten thousand years ago, being human meant something entirely different than it does today. And ten thousand years from now, it will mean something else entirely.
What makes this particularly fascinating is the realization that there is no single answer. Being human is not about fitting into a predefined mold; it’s about embracing the dynamism, the uncertainty, and the endless potential of our existence. As I reflect on Mabuchi’s insights, I’m reminded that the essence of humanity lies not in what we are, but in what we become through the act of creating, exploring, and questioning.
So, here’s my final thought: maybe the most human thing we can do is to keep searching, keep making, and keep wondering. After all, it’s not the answers that define us—it’s the questions we dare to ask.
