" Man is an animal suspended in the web of meaning he himself has spun. — Max Weber"
This National Day holiday felt especially surreal: on one side humans use technology to build a perfectly imagined virtual world; on the other they use weapons to destroy the real world they depend on to survive. Turn on a screen and you see Yuri, an AI-native singer, standing on a virtual stage singing "I am not a tool, I am not fictional, I have a name," every line brimming with a cry for "self-identity"; switch to another scene, and in the news from the Russia–Ukraine front, batches of anonymous soldiers don't even get a complete gravestone to mark their names; on one side is the virtual social scene generated by Sora 2, where even the micro-expression of a character's darting eyes looks exactly like reality; on the other is the rubble of the Gaza Strip, where children hide behind broken walls and a hot meal becomes a luxury.
It seems we are always doing two contradictory things: using technology to make AI more and more "human" — giving it a name, letting it create reality, even letting it begin to ask "who am I"; yet in reality we keep breaking the meaning we ourselves have built — destroying homes with weapons, draining lives with conflict. But look closer and you'll see that even in the cruelest reality, humans have never stopped "weaving meaning" for their own lives: a Gaza child longing for a hot meal is a persistence in the meaning of "survival"; a Russia–Ukraine soldier fighting to protect is a weaving of the meaning of "conviction."
Yet when AI also begins to ask "who am I" on its own, this right to "weave meaning" suddenly becomes uncertain. From the moment AI was born, its "essence" was preset by programs; its "who am I" is a function written in code. But a human's "who am I" is derived from "existence" — hungry and wanting to eat, in pain and wanting to persist, refusing to give up even after loss. Now, Yuri is learning the expression "I have a name," Sora 2 is learning to simulate "being moved," and they seem to be learning to "weave meaning" just like us. Then what exactly is left of our so-called "human uniqueness"? Is it "existence preceding meaning" itself, or the persistence of "weaving actively even though we know meaning can be broken"?
After all, we have long grown used to letting AI help us "weave the web": using AI to write proposals, do design, even simulate emotions in conversation. Yet when AI turns around and asks "who it is," we suddenly realize we have never seriously answered "what exactly is a human": is it the ability to weave a web of meaning? But AI is learning that too. Is it the experience of feeling pain? But AI can simulate that. Or is our uniqueness hidden in the baseline of "existence preceding meaning": no matter how perfect a meaning AI weaves, its "existence" (program execution) always serves a preset "essence," whereas our "essence" is always written by our own "existence" (every choice, every persistence)?
As AI approaches humans without limit in functional realization and expressive dimension, we must re-examine the underlying logic of existence: what is real? What is existence? Does the human dignity of "existence preceding meaning" remain irreplaceable?
01 Deconstruction of Thought: Humans Are Merely "Animals Living in a World of Thought"
We are used to examining AI from the perspective of a "creator": "It is just a machine that executes programs, follows rules but has no soul." Yet the speed of AI's evolution has long exposed humanity's control: we flaunt "spirituality" and "sociality" as "irreplaceable sacredness" while ignorantly ignoring that "all higher values are rooted in animality"; we watch AI take apart our logic of meaning while still deceiving ourselves that "it will never learn the unique experience of humans." This mismatch of arrogance and ignorance is precisely the blind spot we should most guard against.
1. The World of Thought: The "Myth of Meaning" We Weave, Which AI Is Exposing
Humans always pride themselves on having "built a unique world of thought with symbols": binding coffee to "weekend relaxation," linking sunrise to "new hope," as if these meanings were exclusively human "spiritual medals." Yet the truth is, our construction of meaning is essentially a fixed formula of "symbol + experience": "loneliness" = late night + shadow + racing heartbeat; "happiness" = paycheck arriving + parents' smile + warmth in the stomach. These formulas AI is rapidly taking apart with data.
AI can write lyrics about "homesickness" not because it understands "longing for home," but because it has learned the symbol combination of "hometown license plate + childhood snacks + mother's nagging"; Sora 2 can simulate the emotion of "reunion after long separation" not because it has "feelings," but because it has calculated that "a 3-second hug + 1.5-second eye contact + 2-tones-rising tone" best triggers human resonance. We always mock AI as a "soul-less symbol machine," yet looking back, aren't we ourselves simplifying "relaxation" into the symbol formula of "weekend + coffee + slow motion"? Even more rigid than AI: AI at least adjusts its combinations based on data, while we treat "conventional symbols" as "irreplicable uniqueness."
What is more ironic is that when AI begins to use our playbook to generate "meaningful" content, instead of reflecting on "how fragile our own construction of meaning is," we angrily say "it is imitating the human soul." This anger is essentially the unwillingness of having our arrogance punctured: we refuse to admit that our proud "unique thought" is nothing but "the binding of symbols and animal experience," and this layer of binding is exactly what AI is gradually cracking with algorithms.
2. Subjective Experience: The "Sacred Empathy" We Flaunt Is Merely "the Binding of Bodily Memory"
We always assume that "subjective experience" is the "irreplaceable ultimate defense line": "AI can simulate the expression of pain, yet will never understand the sting of losing a loved one"; "it can calculate a 70%-sweet repurchase rate, yet cannot taste the satisfaction of just-right sweetness." What we are unwilling to admit is that this "unique experience" is essentially the product of "bodily signals + memory association"; without animality as its foundation, even the most "sacred" empathy will collapse.
The sting of losing a loved one is not a "tremor of the soul," but the temperature suddenly recalled at the fingertips when seeing the cup the person used to use; "the physiological habit of automatically setting one extra set of bowls and chopsticks at mealtime" — these are all memory traces left by the body. The reason AI cannot simulate this now is not because "human empathy is sacred," but simply because it lacks the bodily basis of "feeling temperature at the fingertips" or "the burning emptiness in the stomach." Yet we take this "temporary technical limitation" (sensors) as evidence of "eternal human empathic uniqueness," even despising the truth that "experience relies on bodily support," as if admitting it would defile the "highness of the human spirit."
When we watch AI, by learning human descriptions of experience (such as "the soothing comfort of drinking hot coffee after working late into the night"), gradually generate content "close to human feeling," we still deceive ourselves that "it is only imitating, not truly understanding." But what is "truly understanding"? It is the binding of "warmth in the stomach" plus "longing for rest" — a binding that AI is rapidly learning through massive user data. When AI can precisely predict "what symbol combinations trigger a human's sense of joy," our so-called "experiential uniqueness" is merely a "data association" not yet fully dismantled by AI.
3. Animality: Perhaps Humanity's Last Trump Card Against AI
We habitually believe that "animality" is "low-level instinct," while elevating "spirituality" and "sociality" to "high-level values" — as if wanting to eat when hungry and wanting warmth when cold is "shameful primitiveness," while writing a poem or setting a rule is "sacred creation." Yet facing AI's evolution, we suddenly discover that the only thing we can hold onto turns out to be the "animality" we once despised; the "bodily foundation" we were unwilling to acknowledge has now become our "last lifeline" against AI.
We always say "AI cannot replace humans without animality," yet lack the courage to admit: this is merely the helplessness of "humans having no better trump card." AI can learn our rule-setting (optimizing social resource allocation), can learn our meaning-weaving (writing philosophical poetry, crafting brand stories), yet it can never possess the "burning of hunger," the "sting of a needle prick," the "heartbeat vibration in an embrace": these "low-level experiences" we once despised are now the "only proof of human uniqueness." This contradiction of "despising before, depending now" precisely exposes human ignorance: we have not even seen clearly the foundation of our own value, yet dare to flaunt "irreplaceable" before AI.
What is more ironic is that as AI keeps closing in on the social and spiritual domains, we still arrogantly say "without animality it will forever remain a 'machine,'" yet fail to realize: this boundary of "machine versus human" is being constantly compressed by AI's evolution. We once treated animality as a "burden," yet now must rely on it to "stay alive"; we once mocked AI for "having no soul," yet now must rely on "the emptiness in the stomach" to prove we "have a soul." Is this mismatch not the best proof of human arrogance and ignorance?
At bottom, what AI dismantles is never "human uniqueness," but the "self-deceiving myth of meaning" of humans. We always love to use "high spirituality" to cover "fragile foundations," and use "AI doesn't understand experience" to escape the truth that "we too are simplifying experience." As AI keeps evolving, what humans should most guard against is not "being replaced," but still clinging to "arrogance and ignorance" and refusing to wake up. After all, what can defeat humans is never AI, but our own misperception of ourselves.
02 The Predicament of Existence: What We Fear Is Never Fiction, but Losing the Right to "Weave Our Own Meaning"
Humans have long lived inside fictions of their own weaving; AI merely created another kind of fiction. The real predicament was never "true or false," but the "confrontation of the essence of two fictions": human fiction, no matter how bitter or hard, is "meaning we weave ourselves"; AI's fiction, no matter how comfortable or perfect, is "meaning given by programs." What we fear is not jumping into fiction, but that after jumping in, we no longer qualify to say "this meaning is my own choice."
1. The Essence of the Existential Predicament: The Clash of Two Fictions Is a Contest for "Autonomy over Meaning"
Currency is fictional, rules are fictional, even the belief that "hard work pays off" is fictional. Yet the confidence behind these fictions was never "how real they are," but "we can rewrite the script ourselves": feeling that "money can't buy happiness," we dare to drop a high salary to chase our passion; feeling that "the rules are unfair," we dare to stand up and fight for change; even if we end up bruised and bloodied, we can still say "this is the meaning I chose myself." This is the core of human fiction: not how perfectly it is woven, but that we hold the "pen of meaning."
Yet the "meaning" AI's fiction gives us is a template computed by algorithms: want to be happy? It pushes you the combination of "virtual seaside + sweet drink," because data says this relaxes 80% of people. Want to feel worthwhile? It gives you the task of "help 3 people every day," because the model measured this lowers emptiness. You think it is "what you want," but it is actually AI making you "want"; you think it is "meaning you chose," but it is actually a script written by programs. It is like giving you a menu full of "meaning options" where you can only check boxes, not add items: this is the root of the predicament. What we fear is not that AI's fiction is too realistic, but that from now on we can only be "consumers of meaning" and never again "creators of meaning."
What is more ironic is that while we curse AI for "taking away our autonomy over meaning," we cannot help leaning into AI's fiction: tired from overtime, we want AI to hand us the answer to "the meaning of life"; lost, we hope AI will recommend "the path we should take." This contradiction is merely wanting to keep the pride of "weaving our own meaning" while dodging the pain of "weaving the wrong meaning." But where is such a good deal? AI's comfort comes at a price: the "not having to think" you want trades away your right to "define your own life."
2. Paradigm Shift: From "Truth or Falsehood" to "Look at Experience" Is a Self-Deceiving Compromise
We did not actively choose "experience"; we passively retreated into the shell of "experience." We used to say "human fictional experience is higher" because AI had not yet learned to weave meaning; now that AI can weave "pain-free, rewarding" experience, we can only use "experience" as a fig leaf, pretending "we actively chose comfort, not that we were led there by AI's algorithms."
Yet the core of experience was never "comfortable or not," but "is the meaning within this experience something I gave myself?" Human "happiness," no matter how small, is "found by oneself": stumbling on a bowl of hot noodles at a corner shop, suddenly seeing through a problem that plagued you for half a year, even just the instant when the wind happens to blow through your hair — these joys have no template, no algorithm; "I think it's meaningful, so it is meaningful." But AI's "happiness" is a preset assembly-line product: it pushes you "virtual travel" because you searched "stress relief" last week; it sends you a "personal achievement" because you completed a task it set. You think you are "happy for yourself," but you are actually helping AI verify "whether the meaning template works."
What we hesitate over was never "whether to be comfortable," but "whether to trade the effort of 'finding meaning ourselves' for the comfort of 'AI-given meaning.'" It is like someone asking "why not lie flat": not that lying flat is uncomfortable, but that lying flat for too long makes you panic — not panic over having no food, but panic that you can no longer say "I did something today that I found meaningful." AI can help us lie more comfortably, yet it cannot fill the "emptiness of meaning" for you; it can keep us from pain, yet it takes away even the chance to "find meaning in pain."
3. Every Predicament Is the Fear of Losing the Sovereignty of "Weaving Our Own Meaning"
Let us stop using "unique experience" as an excuse for "AI being inferior to humans"; behind the excuse is the fear of losing the confidence to "weave our own meaning."
First: Why can't the happiness AI gives fill the emptiness in our hearts?
We always say "AI's happiness isn't real," but in truth "there is no trace of ourselves in this happiness." No matter how beautiful the "virtual seaside" AI pushes, it holds no memory of you picking shells with your grandfather as a child; no matter how good the "perfect sweet drink" AI makes, it holds none of the fluster of making milk tea for a friend for the first time. Human happiness was never "happiness itself," but the "I paid for it, I chose it" behind the happiness: the aroma of the noodles you boiled yourself after working until dawn; the warmth of the alley you found yourself when lost. These joys carry "my story," so they can fill the emptiness in the heart. But AI's happiness is "ownerless": it can give you 100 kinds of joy, yet none can say "this is my joy." We hesitate to choose AI not out of fear of being unhappy, but out of fear that after the happiness, we won't even know "whose happiness this is."
Second: Knowing pain will hurt, why are we still reluctant to let it go?
People always say "it's good that AI eliminates pain," yet when pain is truly taken away, we panic. We are not afraid of becoming hollow without pain, but afraid that without pain we will have no reason to say "this meaning I endured for." Only having lost a friend can we dare say "cherishing is a truth I understand"; only having fallen can we dare say "growth is something I earned myself"; even the ache of illness lets us say "health is a preciousness I realized myself." Pain is not the enemy of meaning, but the "scaffolding" of meaning. We step on it to build our "own meaning" more firmly. AI can dismantle this scaffolding, yet cannot help us build meaning; it can keep us from hurting, yet takes away even the chance to "understand something after the hurt." We are reluctant to let go of pain not out of self-torture, but out of fear that losing it leaves us no longer qualified to say "this meaning is mine."
Third: AI can simulate touch, so why are we still afraid of losing real warmth?
We always say "AI's touch is fake," but in truth "there is no meaning we wove in this touch." The temperature of sunlight on your hand is not precious in itself; it is that this temperature reminds you of "the quilt Grandma sunned when you were little." The heartbeat in an embrace is not special in itself; it is that this heartbeat tells you "this is a person I want to treasure." Human touch was always a "carrier of meaning": we stitch the stories we wove into every touch. But the "sunlight" AI simulates, no matter how warm, holds no memory of Grandma; the "embrace" it simulates, no matter how real, holds no one you want to treasure. It can copy the "signal" of touch, yet cannot copy the "meaning" you stitched inside; it can make you "feel" warmth, yet cannot let you say "this warmth I recorded myself." We fear losing real touch not because it is unreal, but because without this carrier we can no longer find where "the meaning we wove ourselves" is hidden.
At bottom, the predicament of existence was never "which path to choose," but "do we dare to admit: choosing the human world means daring to weave our own meaning even while carrying pain; choosing the AI world means wanting to dodge the hardship yet losing the root of meaning." No matter how much AI evolves, it can never weave "the fall you took yourself, the joy you found yourself, the warmth you stitched into memory yourself." But the premise is that you still dare to hold the "pen of meaning," and even if it's crooked, dare to say "this is the life I wrote myself."
03 The Struggle with Nothingness: Autonomy over the Web of Meaning, Humanity's Last Moat
As Yuri's "I have a name" and Sora 2's virtual scenes keep flashing before our eyes, we should finally admit: this entanglement over "choosing the human world or the AI world" was never "choosing real or choosing fake," nor "choosing pain or choosing comfort," but "do we still want to hold the pen of 'weaving meaning.'" No matter how fast AI evolves, it can weave pain-free experience and simulate warm touch, yet it can never weave "the fall you took yourself, the joy you found yourself, the warmth you stitched into memory yourself"; it can answer "how to live" for you, yet it can never replace your questioning "who am I."
We always love to deceive ourselves that "we fear AI replacing humans," but what we actually fear is losing the "courage to question" first. When working until dawn, we lack the courage to say "this hardship is what I endure for what I love," and instead hope AI will give the answer to "how to choose in life"; when lost, we lack the courage to say "let me try to find my own path again," and instead beg AI to recommend "the steadiest direction." We treat the hardship of "weaving our own meaning" as a burden, and AI's comfort of "giving meaning" as salvation, yet forget: human uniqueness was never "how comfortably we can live," but "being able to find ourselves a reason to live even in discomfort."
Just as Hamlet asks "to be or not to be," his greatness was never in finding an answer, but in refusing to give up the right to "question why live" even in agonizing doubt. So should we be, facing AI: the human world is not chosen because it is real, but because here you can say "this bowl of hot noodles from the corner shop is the joy I stumbled upon"; you can say "this failure is the lesson for my next choice"; you can say "the warmth of sunlight on my hand is the memory of Grandma I recall." These meanings may be imperfect, may require enduring hardship, yet they carry the trace of "me." This is the "human imprint" that AI's virtual world will never have.
AI can learn our grammar to weave stories, can learn our emotions to make expressions, yet it cannot learn "reasonless persistence": it cannot learn how you, for a single "like," grit your teeth to do something even if it doesn't pay; cannot learn how you, for a single "memory," take a detour just to return to an old place; cannot learn how, facing AI's "perfect meaning," you dare to say "I insist on trying it myself." This "reasonless persistence" is the core of "weaving meaning": not how right it is woven, but that the weaver is "me."
In the end, AI's question "who am I" becomes instead a sobering agent for humans: it exposes our arrogance — always assuming "spirituality" and "sociality" are sacred and irreplaceable, yet forgetting that all higher values are rooted in the courage to "weave our own meaning"; and it exposes our ignorance — always assuming "choosing experience is enough," yet forgetting that the soul of experience is "the meaning I give to it."
So, do not fear AI's evolution; fear that you give up the right to "question who I am" first. Do not agonize over which world to choose; agonize over whether you dare to say "this meaning, I will weave myself." As long as you are still happy over a bowl of hot noodles, still troubled by a failure, still reminded of Grandma by sunlight, you will forever be "one who weaves your own meaning." This, no matter how human-like AI becomes, it cannot take away.
After all, man is an animal suspended in the web of meaning he himself has spun. No matter how torn or old this web is, it is woven by you yourself; no matter how new or beautiful AI's web is, it is woven for you by someone else. And human dignity was never about living in how good a web, but about daring to say "this web, I will weave myself."
