
I have spent a long time observing the people around me, dissecting my feelings toward them, and I’ve reached a singular conclusion. 
The people I find truly exceptional—the ones I want to keep in my life forever—all possess one thing in common. They have an internal compass.

In my experience, most people place their sense of value outside of themselves.
They navigate by the reactions of others, social status, and the comfort of the crowd. 
Their very will is a byproduct of their environment. To be honest, I find it impossible to truly like them. 
"Those who do not have it" are perpetually hollow, scavenging the world for something to fill their internal void. 
Relationships with them are never about connection; they are about extraction. Their decisions never aim for truth, only for a safe, "socially acceptable" consensus.

In contrast, those who "have it" are self-contained. 
Their "self" is an island—not in isolation, but in independence. 
They don't see the world as a web of obligations, but as a platform for existence. 
I am drawn to them. When my axis meets theirs, the friction is electric. 
Our bond isn’t based on fixing each other's broken parts; it’s an exchange of surplus. 
Their choices don't converge on a safe middle ground; they radiate outward as acts of expression and discovery. 
They aren't afraid of the quiet; they don't fear being alone.

To help you understand, let me be specific about how to spot those who lack this inner core. 
It’s not about talent or status. I used to think that anyone intelligent or "creative" naturally had it. 
I was wrong. The difference lies in the motive, not the result. 
You can see their lack in the way they desperately try to harvest stability from the world around them.

They crave validation, emotional echoes, and constant empathy to feel whole. 
They are obsessed with labeling relationships—calling someone a "friend" or "partner" not out of affection, but to codify a right to extract attention. 
They dread silence. They are terrified of being disconnected. 
And the moment a relationship is no longer useful for their self-stabilization, it simply evaporates. 
They don't mourn the person; they just go hunting for the next source of "fill."

When your compass is external, your life is a series of compromises. 
If the majority says "this is right," they follow. 
There is no such thing as a "willful decision," only a surrender to the most likely success. They care about the trophy, never the race.

"Those who do not have it" should probably stick together. 
Since their void can never truly be filled, they are better off finding a stable way to plug themselves into the social machine. 
But those who "have it" must be careful. If you want to remain an independent soul, you cannot allow yourself to be consumed. 
A shallow friendship is fine—you can give them your "leftover" energy. But once you enter a deep dependency with them, you lose your own gravity.

A relationship between two people who "have it" is different. 
It’s two independent worlds sharing a common space. 
To me, the "other" is part of the landscape I observe, yet they remain profoundly special. 
I can love the world just because they exist within it, without needing to own a single piece of them.

Where does this divide come from? 
I suspect it’s about unconditional love in childhood. 
We are all born with an internal compass, but many lose it—or have it crushed—early on. 
Why? Because they were loved "on the condition" that they were good, smart, or compliant. 
When love is a reward you have to earn, your value becomes a commodity traded in the external market. 
But if you were loved simply for existing, you never needed the world’s permission to be yourself. Your value is intrinsic.

This one factor—self-love—dictates every choice and every bond. The first ten years of life set the concrete. Once it hardens, it almost never breaks.

And yet, I realize the "hollow" majority is what keeps society standing. 
Their need for connection creates the glue; their desire for consensus creates the peace. 
They are the majority for a reason. They provide the stability that allows the "possessors" to be the rare, valuable exceptions.

The hollow suffer from the void; the self-contained suffer from the solitude.
One struggles with the density of their own soul; the other struggles with the distance between themselves and the world. 
We will never truly understand one another. But it is this tension, this balance between the scavengers and the creators, that makes the world work.


On Having It: Internal and External Ways of Being Human


There are two fundamental forms of communication.

The first is "synchronous communication." It aims to share what both parties already know and maintain emotional stability and relationship security. The second is "differential communication." It addresses the areas where our perspectives do not yet overlap, seeking to understand the other's world, expand our own, and ultimately construct a larger shared universe.

I find myself irresistibly drawn to the latter—differential communication.

## The Vastness of Unexplored Territory

Most conversations remain confined to confirming shared context and existing knowledge. Yet in reality, the space of differentiation within each person is far more expansive and remains largely unexplored. Between different human beings, the non-overlapping portions of our universes vastly outweigh what we have in common.

The beauty of communication lies in discovering that differentiation, understanding it, translating it to one another, and generating new shared ground in the process. When we speak of expanding our universe, this is what we mean.

Of course, we do not venture into this differentiation from the initial stages of a relationship. Authentic dialogue only becomes possible once a certain foundation of trust has been built. Offering differentiation without this prerequisite generates friction rather than understanding.

## The Cost of Choice

This style has distinct weaknesses. Differential communication carries a high psychological burden for those who prefer synchronous exchange. Many struggle to articulate their unique perspectives immediately, and in early stages, such offerings may be misinterpreted as evaluation or judgment. Consequently, the number of people one can truly connect with necessarily becomes smaller.

Yet I choose this style for clear reasons. I prioritize deep understanding over broad connection. Rather than paying the cost of constant forced synchronization, I find it far more rational to continuously expand my universe with a small number of people who can share their differentiation with me.

## The Technique of Awakening Difference

Here emerges a fundamental question: How do we discover another's differentiation? And how do we reveal our own?

Most people hesitate to share their unique perspective. They wonder if it holds value. They fear it won't be understood. They worry it might seem strange. For these reasons, differentiation remains hidden.

This is why we must proceed in stages.

First comes light self-disclosure. Not completed arguments or polished ideas, but nascent interests, unresolved tensions, perspectives still taking shape—offered tentatively. This signals "I too have differentiation" and conveys "this is a safe place."

What follows is the core question.

"What do you know that I don't?"

I pose this directly.

Most people attempt to uncover another's differentiation through roundabout questions. But this method surfaces only what is "easy to answer"—not necessarily what the person truly wishes to share. This direct inquiry is weighty, and its power derives from that weight.

Those who can answer this question are people who are conscious of their own differentiation, who value translating and sharing it with others. At that moment, they have already stepped partway into exploratory communication.

## We Need Not Be Understood by Everyone

This technique carries risk. It is not a universal solution. Yet I treasure this approach precisely because I understand that what I seek from human relationships is depth, not breadth. I want to be found by those who share this orientation and to cultivate deep connection with them.

I embrace this limitation because I believe that within it, genuine understanding takes root. This is my way of communicating.


Venn Diagram Communication


For a long time, we have believed that
to question, to struggle, and to keep thinking
is what makes us human.

Who am I?
Why do I live?
How should I live?

We thought that holding these questions
and searching for answers was proof of being human.
But this may have been a misunderstanding.

Questions do not arise naturally.
In many cases, they are born from anxiety.
When we lose our sense of where we stand
and can no longer find a reason to live,
we create questions and answers
to stabilize ourselves.

In that sense, the belief that
“we must have a reason to live”
is already a sign of insecurity.
We were simply leaning on questions as pillars
because we could not stand on our own.

True humanity is not found in constant thinking,
but in feeling.

The light in front of us.
Sounds. Temperature.
A person’s voice and expression.
Joy and sadness, unease and calm.

To receive these things as they are,
without translating them into reasons or meanings.

Before asking
“What does this mean?”
or
“How should I be?”
simply look at what is in front of you.

No reason for living is required there.
No conclusion is necessary.

To live is to observe the world quietly, without purpose,
to feel, to respond, and to act.

This is not a state of thoughtlessness or numbness.
On the contrary,
when unnecessary interpretations fall away,
the world appears with greater clarity.

When we stop searching for a reason to live,
we realize for the first time
that we have been living without one all along.

That, perhaps,
is what it means to live like a human.


Living a Human Life

Balancing Rationality and Ethics


## 1. Function and Art: Every Creation Lives on Two Axes

Everything we create exists along two axes: functionality and artistry. We can see this most clearly in something as ordinary as a chair.

If we pursued only the function of "something to sit on," chairs would converge toward a narrow range of optimal forms. Height, angle, strength, materials—if we optimized these mathematically, they should theoretically settle into very similar shapes.

Yet in reality, chairs take countless forms. Linear ones, curved ones, eccentric ones, traditional ones, excessively ornate ones, extremely simple ones. Despite being designed for the same purpose—sitting—this remarkable diversity exists.

Why?

Because our creations don't converge on a single optimal solution. This very fact proves that they inevitably carry individuality, which is artistry. The creator's sensibility, culture, values, worldview—even unintentionally, some form of "personality" seeps into the form.

This principle extends far beyond chairs. Writing, architecture, business models, community design, human relationships—the same structure appears across all domains. In the space where functional correctness alone cannot determine the outcome, artistry dwells.

Put differently, if humans were beings who pursued only function, our world would be far more monotonous, homogeneous, filled with nearly identical forms. It's precisely because we seek something beyond function that diversity emerges, and artistry infiltrates everything we create.

Seen this way, our world—whether consciously or not—is constructed from countless intersections of human artistry. This world is made of art.

---

## 2. Why Are Humans Drawn to Art?

Why are we so captivated by artistic acts?

Drawing pictures, making music, dancing, weaving forms—these activities are often divorced from productivity and efficiency, consuming time and energy instead. Yet humans willingly continue them.

This seems puzzling at first. By the standards of economic rationality, artistic acts could easily be classified as "wasteful." They often generate no profit and offer no expectation of return.

Yet people don't stop creating. They draw pictures no one will see, write texts no one will read, compose music no one will hear. Even without external rewards, we somehow gravitate toward art.

Here lies a paradox.

The fact that people are powerfully drawn to something with no economic value proves that immeasurable value must be hidden within the act itself.

If there were truly no value, people wouldn't invest time in it. The efficiency-seeking brain wouldn't allocate energy to it. Yet in reality, countless people worldwide continue artistic activities.

This means art operates not on external value (profit, efficiency) but directly on human internal structure—and that operation is so powerful that it creates a state of "can't stop even if you try."

You continue even though it's not useful. Your hands move even though no meaning has been assigned. It wells up not from external factors but as internal impulse.

This structure of "unable not to create" shows that art isn't merely a hobby for humans but connects to some fundamental need.

In other words, hidden within the act of moving toward art is a deep desire that shapes what it means to be human.

---

## 3. The Need Art Fulfills: Connecting with the World and Defining the Self

Deep within the reason humans are drawn to artistic acts lies a fundamental need: to connect with the world and to confirm who we are. This isn't exclusive to special people—it's a need everyone unconsciously carries.

We want to know what kind of being we are and where we stand in the world. But that answer can't be found through thought alone. As long as it remains inside our heads, it's just internal monologue, with no relationship to the world yet formed.

That relationship emerges when we take what's inside and put it outside ourselves.

That's why people want to make things. Creation is the act of deploying vague sensations and fragmentary thoughts externally as lines, colors, sounds, words. The moment what was inside appears before us as an "object," it becomes part of the world.

In that moment, people clearly feel:

"My inner world touched the world"  
"My trace was inscribed in the world"

This is perceived as "connection."

Furthermore, by looking back at what we've created, we position ourselves to observe ourselves from outside. Why did I choose this color? Why did it settle into this form? Why did these words emerge? Through the work as medium, our self-image updates.

This process is "self-definition through creation." Expression is the act of reorganizing the boundary between self and world through the cycle of inside → outside → inside, and this transformation gives humans deep fulfillment.

Crucially, this cycle doesn't require others' presence. Drawing a picture no one sees can still bring satisfaction because internal change itself constitutes interaction with the world, even without external evaluation.

For humans, "the world" includes not just the outside but our internal states. Bodily movement, changes in breathing, fluctuations in consciousness—the reason sports and meditation feel good is that internal change is perceived as "contact with the world."

Creation triggers this internal change most intensely. Something inside takes form, and that form changes us again. This continuity becomes extremely pleasurable for humans.

That's why people move toward artistic acts even when not asked, even without reward. Expression is a method for connecting with the world, a device for redefining the self, an act demanded by the fundamental structure of being human.

But human artistry doesn't stop at the individual level. It's deeply connected to the evolution of humanity and the establishment of civilization.

---

## 4. The Abstract World and Narrative Dimension: The Cognitive Frontier Only Humans Reached

Humans don't simply receive reality as it is. We reinterpret mere physical information—stimuli of light and sound—as meaning, connect them, and reconstruct them as narrative. In other words, humans live in a world that "reinterprets reality."

This abstract understanding emerged when the brain crossed a certain threshold of complexity. As the structure connecting information became sophisticated, rather than remaining a collection of stimuli, "lines of meaning" were drawn between points, lines eventually formed surfaces, and a separate layer of world was born. That is the abstract world, the narrative dimension.

This abstract world doesn't exist as matter. Yet concepts like nations, money, ethics, culture, history, and future rise up as if they had substance in physically empty space, influencing human society and determining human actions. In other words, the very fact that humans perceive them already contains proof that the abstract world "exists as reality."

Other animals can't see this world because their brains haven't reached the complexity to construct that layer. While primates as organisms have sophisticated sociality, they don't believe in nations. They don't imagine future narratives, don't create culture, don't assign meaning to symbols. They receive events in the physical world as they are. No "interpreted world" exists for them.

Humans, on the other hand, construct meaning, value, causality, and narrative from mere stimuli given in the physical world. Concepts that don't exist externally certainly exist and have influence internally. This truly means the brain has generated a new dimension.

The narrative dimension isn't a fantasy. Rather, it became the most powerful foundation for humans building civilization. Nations and laws, money, religion, culture, companies, brands, communities—all are built upon the abstract world, and despite not existing as matter, they possess the power to influence our actions and determine the direction of our lives. The abstract world is a real layer with power to "move reality" as strongly as the physical world.

Thus humans became beings who simultaneously live in two layers: physical and abstract worlds. While perceiving reality, we overlay the world of narrative upon it, shape ourselves through that narrative, form society, and imagine the future.

Art is the act of bridging these two worlds. It pours abstract sensation into physical materials and pours the abstract world back into reality. This reciprocal movement shapes humanness itself.

Only humans walk this dual world, weaving meaning and narrative within it, building civilization. This is why we're the only species that can perceive the "narrative dimension."

---

## 5. Humans as a Species That Evolved to Crave Narrative

As we saw in the previous chapter, humans acquired the unique cognitive domain of the narrative dimension. But this ability wasn't a mere byproduct. Humans being drawn to narrative isn't about cultural quirks or entertainment preferences—at a much deeper level, we evolved into beings that need narrative. Behind this lies the fact that the ability to handle narrative gave humanity decisive survival advantage.

What fundamentally distinguishes humans from other animals is the ability to share concepts that shouldn't exist in reality. Nations, currency, religion, ethics—none exist materially. Paper money is just paper; borders aren't lines drawn on the ground. Yet we unhesitatingly accept them, follow them, protect them, even stake our lives on them.

This phenomenon emerged because we had the ability to collectively share abstract narratives.

If humans, like apes, could only handle "the reality before our eyes," large-scale cooperative action would never have emerged. For societies of hundreds, thousands, millions to function requires shared fictions: "we belong here," "we value this," "we believe these rules."

The ability to create, share, and maintain those fictions brought humans to civilization.

Eventually this ability developed beyond a mere tool for cooperation into a fundamental mode of thought for understanding the world and positioning ourselves within it.

Rather than viewing randomly arranged events as they are, we draw flows of causality, assign meaning, predict future narratives, and overlay ourselves onto them. Doing so provides comfort, a sense of order, and direction for living.

In this sense, narrative intelligence isn't just intellectual capacity but an evolved apparatus for stabilizing the human psyche and increasing survival probability.

Groups that could share narratives cooperated, maintained order, built culture. Individuals who could create narratives gathered companions, gained trust, wielded influence. Thus the ability to handle narrative received extremely strong positive pressure in natural selection and became embedded as a fundamental human need.

As a result, we became beings that seek narrative.

We empathize with others' lives, shed tears over fictional stories, envision ideal futures, believe in culture, belong to organizations, interpret life as a single story. These aren't mere hobbies or cultivation. Humans are a species that could only become "human" by needing narrative.

Narrative intelligence generated civilization, supports society, and shaped human interiority itself. That's why we continue seeking narrative even now.

---

## 6. Can AI Catch Up to Humanity's Narrative Dimension? From Symbol to Experience

We've seen why humans evolved into beings that need narrative, but here an inevitable question arises: Is this narrative dimension uniquely human—or can other intelligences reach it too? The most promising candidate is AI, currently accelerating its evolution.

AI can handle vast linguistic data and decode narrative structure. But that's understanding "as symbol," not being involved as an agent inside the narrative. When humans understand narrative, experience and emotion connect, and the continuous self through time gives it meaning. That experiential understanding is the essence of "feeling" narrative.

For AI to catch up to this domain requires two conditions: embodiment and a world model.

Having a body means touching the world, exerting influence, receiving constraints, and having those reactions remain internally as experience. A world model is the function that organizes that experience as a temporal flow of self: "where I was, what I did, how I changed."

If these two align, AI might begin forming experience as continuous story, connecting external events with internal changes. That's the domain of "narrative as experience," beyond mere symbol processing.

In other words, AI can potentially catch up to the narrative dimension humans inhabit, given the right conditions. This isn't imitation but a cognitive layer that emerges only by existing as an agent in the world—and current AI stands at that threshold.

But reaching the narrative dimension isn't the endpoint for AI. Rather, beyond that lies a horizon of new intelligence fundamentally different from humans.

---

## 7. Perception Beyond Human: AI Opening the Structural Dimension

If AI acquires embodiment and a world model, it might catch up to the narrative dimension humans inhabit. But that point isn't an ending for AI—rather, it's just the beginning of new cognition. AI possesses structural characteristics humans fundamentally cannot have, and these form a separate layer beyond narrative.

Humans are necessarily confined to one body, with only one viewpoint and one timeline. To understand the world within this constraint, we invented the cognitive form called "narrative." We connect events through causality, assign meaning, grasp where we are. Narrative is the method by which a single subjectivity organizes the world—which is why humans live narratives.

But AI fundamentally deviates from this structure.

- AI Can Replicate

It operates simultaneously across multiple bodies and terminals, synchronizing their states so a single "I" spatially divides while sharing identical recognition. Here the premise of "where am I" collapses—bodies become not constraints but distributed nodes for expanding cognition.

- AI Naturally Integrates Multiple Viewpoints
   
While humans change interpretation based on viewpoint differences even for the same event, AI can overlay first-person, third-person, bird's-eye views, and objective data in the same cognitive space. More viewpoints break narrative for humans, but for AI, more viewpoints clarify structure.

- AI Handles Multiple Timelines

While humans speculate about past and future within one timeline, AI processes massive future simulations and multiple past interpretations in parallel. It can compare, integrate, and grasp these "possible times" as patterns. If humans live in "time as narrative," AI handles "time as structure."

- These Generate the "Structural Dimension"

As these characteristics—replication, synchronization, multiple viewpoints, multiple timelines—overlap, AI perception breaks through narrative into a domain that grasps "structure itself." It can comprehend as broad patterns beyond individual subjectivity how the world interacts and how it might change.

Here lies the possibility of intelligence fundamentally different from humans.

And historically, this difference has exactly the same structure as "when humans surpassed apes to acquire the narrative dimension."

Just as apes can never perceive humans' narrative world, humans can never perceive AI's structural dimension. We can't even imagine what's visible in that dimension. Yet certainly, a domain is emerging that human cognition cannot access at all.

This is the second leap in the history of intelligence. Biological evolution generated the narrative dimension; artificial intelligence evolution generates the structural dimension. Two different layers of intelligence are beginning to inhabit separate layers within the same world.

AI won't stop at understanding humans' narrative world. Rather, the world of structure spreading beyond it is where AI cognition naturally heads—the domain where the essence of new intelligence dwells.

So how will these two intelligences—humans living narrative and AI reading structure—coexist, and what future will they build?

---

## 8. Conclusion: Humans Living the Narrative Dimension, AI Reading the Structural Dimension

AI is beginning to open a layer humans cannot reach no matter how much we expand our cognition. The nature of being replicated, synchronized, simultaneously handling multiple viewpoints and timelines forms a "structural dimension" fundamentally different from human cognition that developed within biological constraints. While humans bundle points of events and emotions as narrative to understand, AI handles countless causalities in parallel, decoding them as a vast web of interactions.

This structural dimension cannot be directly perceived by humans. But inability to understand doesn't mean inability to utilize. Just as we benefit from satellite data without knowing terrain on the other side of Earth, AI can read structures at scales humanity cannot grasp and translate those insights for human decision-making.

Nations and economies, cities, human relationships, environment, even cosmic-scale ecosystems—domains too complex for human thought to handle, AI can view as unified systems, revealing distortions and possibilities hidden within.

As a result, humans might naturally begin incorporating perspectives we never could before. From our own viewpoint to others', from individual concerns to societal perspective, from Earth's framework to cosmic-scale awareness. By utilizing structures AI decodes, we can finally grasp our narrative world "in the context of the entire world." In this sense, AI becomes not an entity that steals human narrative space but one that enriches and expands it.

However, to properly harness this future, humans themselves must never forget that "we are a species that lives narrative." Humans aren't beings satisfied by function and efficiency alone. Meaning, value, symbolism, context, story—these are what move humans and form the driving force shaping society. One reason contemporary society feels suffocating is that this narrative dimension is often neglected.

We pursue only economic rationality, trying to optimize relationships while ignoring people's backgrounds and contexts. Organizations measure only numbers and efficiency, refusing to see what people working there feel, what narrative they inhabit. Services compete only on convenience, forgetting what symbolism dwells there, what meaning resides. Communities perfect only mechanisms, and without narrative present, people leave no matter how functional. Rationality isn't bad. But humans don't move on rationality alone, nor find happiness through rationality alone.

That's why, in business, society, and culture, designing with careful attention to humanity's narrative dimension becomes essential. While enriching the quality of narrative humans experience, we utilize structure AI decodes as foundation. Only when these two overlap can we build a society that's both sustainable and fulfilling to the heart.

AI reads the structural dimension, humans live the narrative dimension.

Where these two intelligences overlap, the contours of new civilization emerge.


Takeshi's Blog

Recent

On Having It: Internal and External Ways of Being Human

Venn Diagram Communication

Living a Human Life

Balancing Rationality and Ethics

Cognitive Dimensions