“The very fact that computers operate according to explicit rules means they cannot replicate the subtlety and creativity of human thought.” — Roger Penrose

I feel blood on my hand whenever I use Midjourney – of course, the allure is not unreal; there’s convenience to it. You just prompt the engine to regurgitate image that you wish you could see.

Yet, this profound observation by Roger Penrose has guided my reflections on the role of technology in our lives, particularly as I consider why I have chosen not to engage with image generative artificial intelligence for the past eighteen months. My decision is neither a rejection of technological progress nor an indictment of its potential but rather an affirmation of principles that uphold the dignity of human creativity and the sanctity of intellectual property.

To preserve the subtlety of human thought.

Maybe not so subtle is my attempt to minimize the extent this regurgitation machine colonizing my life. The more bytes I allow myself to use, the more I lose the subtlety of what the human life, human agency, and human thought are.

Penrose reminds us that machines, however sophisticated, are bound by their design—rigid frameworks of logic and computation. They do not think; they execute. Image generative AI, for all its apparent ingenuity, operates within this limitation.

It does not create ex nihilo, as humans do, drawing upon lived experience, emotion, and imagination. Instead, it reconfigures preexisting data into novel arrangements, mimicking originality without possessing it.

Maybe not so subtle is my attempt to minimize the extent this regurgitation machine colonizing my life.

To preserve the subtlety of human thought—this is what I seek. And yet, how can one claim to honor such subtlety when engaging with tools that strip away the essence of creation itself? The images generated by Midjourney are not born from lived experience or emotional depth but from a cold calculus of patterns and probabilities. They carry no soul, only echoes of those who came before—the countless artists whose works have been distilled into datasets without consent, their voices silenced in service of synthetic replication.

Every time I used Midjourney, I felt complicit in this erasure. Each image it produced seemed to bear the fingerprints of creators whose labor had been co-opted, their unique styles reduced to mere inputs for an algorithmic engine.

The heavier bytes I allow myself in.

How could I reconcile my use of these tools with my belief in the sanctity of intellectual property and creative agency? It was as though I were holding stolen goods, knowing full well the harm done to their rightful owners.

Penrose’s assertion resonates deeply here: machines operate according to explicit rules, incapable of replicating the nuance and intentionality of human creativity. Yet, beyond even this limitation lies a more troubling reality—that image generative AI does not merely mimic; it appropriates. It takes fragments of humanity’s collective artistic heritage and reassembles them into something hollow, devoid of context or meaning. What remains is not art but simulacrum—a shadow cast by the light of true human expression.

There is also the matter of what we lose within ourselves when we rely too heavily on such technologies. Every byte consumed by these engines chips away at our capacity for original thought, replacing it with dependency on prepackaged outputs. When I allowed Midjourney to generate images for me, I found myself questioning whether I was still capable of imagining freely, unburdened by the constraints of its logic. Was I becoming a curator of machine-made possibilities rather than a creator in my own right?

Will this convenience inconvenient me other ways: perhaps, I will have more reasons to not face my ugly attempts at drawing better?

To prioritize ease is to surrender something irreplaceable: the dignity of our own effort, the authenticity of our own personal processes, and the joy in these. These values form the bedrock upon which meaningful progress is built, and they demand vigilance against encroachments by systems indifferent to their preservation. I even argued, in my BlueDot AI Alignment course, when I was asked, “How much of your day-to-day work do you expect would now be possible by AI systems?”

The thing with the word “possible” is it hides away the friction with agency: how best AI systems could perform, hence, replace me, when I enjoy doing it with minimal assistance from AI?

For instance, while AI might excel at replicating or even surpassing certain aspects of my work, it overlooks the intrinsic value I derive from performing these tasks myself, often with minimal assistance. My enjoyment stems not just from completion but from the process, creativity, and personal investment involved—a dimension that AI cannot easily replicate.

Well, some would argue then that: “Now you have more freedom to choose from.” Beyond equity/ equality, this tension raises deeper questions about the role of human agency: to what extent is “me” producing something of mine?

But the allure of doing something “with minimal assistance” is not unreal: it’s so attractive – “we can save a lot of time”, some said. Yet how how much time we have ‘wasted’ then before, and could ‘save’ with AI: what we can do with these time to be saved – what would be so different now?

It lies precisely in the fact that there are parts of life that cannot be reduced to mere efficiency metrics.

As if Heidegger is whispering in my ears, on how engulfing this technology as a being, it got me recalling him saying: ‘The essence of technology is by no means anything technological.’

The more bytes I allow myself to let tools to generate for me, the more I let my essence sips away.

Thus, eighteen months ago, I made a choice—to step back from Midjourney and other image generative AI tools. Not because I reject innovation or fear change, but because I believe there is profound power in saying no to forces that threaten to diminish the richness of human life — human “self”. By abstaining, I affirm my commitment to supporting creators whose work reflects genuine lived experiences, emotions, and imaginations. Their contributions remind us of what it means to be truly human: messy, imperfect, and infinitely complex.

In doing so, I hope to reclaim some measure of subtlety—not just in thought, but in action. And perhaps, in small ways, this act of resistance might inspire others to do the same—to pause, reflect, and ask themselves whether the conveniences they embrace align with the principles they hold dear.