The Time Between Reading and Writing
On Saturday evening, three friends gathered at an old restaurant in Yaksu. One friend mentioned attending a book talk a few days prior for British anthropologist Tim Ingold's ⟨Lines⟩. The book discusses the concept of 'anthropology of the line,' arguing that walking, observing, storytelling, drawing, and writing all share the commonality of 'following a line.' Both humans and non-humans move toward a goal. However, humans look at the landscape along the way. It's not just the destination that matters; what we see, feel, and think along that path defines our existence. As we discussed this, the conversation suddenly drifted to, 'Then what is the difference between AI and humans?' If 'thinking' during the journey toward a destination is what makes us significant beings, could it be that humans are human precisely because they 'think'? If so, what does it mean that this 'thinking' is disappearing?"
Here, I brought up an essay I had read a few days earlier. It was Derek Thompson's 'You have 18 months'. The editor asked him to write about "AI taking all jobs within 18 months," but Thompson said something different. The problem isn't AI taking jobs; it's that humans are already destroying something very important they already possess. The most important human quality he identified was the mind. And the two pillars supporting that mind are reading and writing. Since the advent of LLMs and generative AI, we no longer read or write for ourselves. If we stop reading and writing, we lose the ability to think, and that means losing the most uniquely human thing we possess.
Thompson used the fitness concept of 'time under tension' as an example. Squatting for 2 seconds versus 10 seconds with the same weight is different. The latter is harder but builds more muscle. Thinking is the same. The time spent patiently sitting with ideas that are barely connected—that time weaves thoughts into something new. But since generative AI, we can't endure that 'time under tension' anymore. It's become routine to think a little and then hand the baton to AI. The time needed to build the muscles of thought is disappearing.
After discussing this far, we clinked our makgeolli cups with a self-deprecating laugh, saying, 'Well, it seems we're doomed forever,' as if to say humans have now degenerated in both reading and writing. Another friend said that not only reading and writing are deteriorating, but now even listening is starting to decline. We'll reach a point where we can't understand each other's words, becoming increasingly isolated, living in a time where we neither communicate nor encounter one another. I shook my head and gave a bitter smile, but it led me to think: how am I living to avoid such permanent ruin or degeneration?
I deliberately carve out empty time in my life. I've turned off YouTube's search history collection feature, so my screen is as blank as a Google search bar. I hardly watch Instagram Reels either. Instead, I sit in the recliner in the living room, tune the antenna to FM 93.1, listen to Classical FM radio, and solve difficult Sudoku puzzles. Recently, I've even started piano lessons. Left hand, right hand, rhythm, pedals, harmony… There's so much to focus on that there's no room for other thoughts to creep in. I empty my mind completely by dedicating time to focusing solely on one thing.
Paradoxically, to generate thoughts, one needs time to not think. There are two kinds of 'emptying of thought' we face. Passive emptying, like watching Reels and letting your brain melt, and active emptying, like being wholly focused at the piano keys. The former is passive emptying, being pulled along by stimuli designed by others, constantly moving on to the next thing. The latter is active emptying, chosen concentration, existing wholly in the present. Thanks to those moments, my true, unique thoughts ferment quietly within me, untainted by external noise. Amidst technology's relentless efforts to steal my agency and attention, it's a struggle to preserve my inherent humanity.
I didn't act this way from the start. As generative AI became commonplace, especially within months of first using Claude, my time for independent thought steadily dwindled. After barely three lines of thought, I'd rush to show Claude my idea. Repeating this for months, I began to feel it was dangerous. Wouldn't I completely forget how to think and write for myself? Wouldn't I lose the ability to tell if an idea was mine or Claude's? When these worries surfaced, I started creating detailed instructions for Claude. One of them was 'Support Healthy Thinking Independence'. I set it so that when I was in lazy thinking mode, it wouldn't give me an immediate answer. Instead, it would first ask, "How do you think about this?" It would only help when I was truly stuck, giving me time to think for myself otherwise. After setting this up, I felt a definite decrease in my dependence on Claude compared to before. Perhaps it was frustrating that Claude didn't give me a quick answer anymore.
But how long can this last? Even if I make this effort alone, if the relentless wave of technology keeps crashing in, can I, as an individual, hold out? 'I guess we're doomed forever.' That line, clinking makgeolli glasses on a Saturday night, might not just be a self-deprecating joke. Maybe this is already a lost battle. Blocking algorithms alone, creating instructions for AI, practicing piano—none of this changes the world. Yet, I sit before the piano keys again today. Left hand, right hand, matching the beat—before I know it, thirty minutes have flown by. And during that time, somewhere in my mind, the next sentence of this piece is quietly taking shape.
I don't know if this is meaningful resistance or just personal solace. But at least I want to remain someone who asks this question. Someone who, while running toward a goal, pauses to look around and think: Is that truly something only humans can do? Someone who never lets go of that question.