Humans have been hunters,
gatherers,
farmers,
machines,
thinkers,
and creators,
And have no idea what we'll next be.
I think that people will next be
-- simply --
Human Beings,
Full-time Human Beings --
More Human,
More Being...
And many will fail spectacularly.
Human affairs ever grind on --
Ancient or modern, shit repeats.
Mountains and rivers are changeless.
We climb to find our vista seats.
Cascade, fisher, and bridge -- subdued;
Air grows cold near dreamy, deep pools.
We read an old stone monument,
As tears glisten on cheeks like jewels.
Original Poem in Simplified Chinese:
人事有代谢， 往来成古今。
江山留胜迹， 我辈复登临。
水落鱼梁浅， 天寒梦泽深。
羊公碑字在， 读罢泪沾襟。
Note: This is poem #125 from 300 Tang Poems [唐诗三百首]
Hah. That ship has sailed. But I could say that it’s to still have something to offer when machines / AI can do all productive tasks better and / or faster than humans — i.e. to be able to convey something of the art of being human. Even though, I suspect, I won’t be around to see that day, it will be catastrophic to the species if people don’t figure these things out in advance — i.e. if we don’t figure out human roles and purpose in a post-human industrial landscape.
Pity would be no more
If we did not make somebody Poor;
And Mercy no more could be
If all were happy as we.
And mutual fear brings peace,
Till the selfish loves increase;
Then Cruelty knits a snare,
And spreads his baits with care.
He sits down with holy fears,
And waters the ground with tears;
Then Humility takes its root
Underneath his foot.
Soon spreads the dismal shade
Of Mystery over his head;
And the Catterpiller and Fly
Feed on the Mystery.
And it bears the fruit of Deceit,
Ruddy and sweet to eat;
And the Raven his nest has made
In its thickest shade.
The Gods of the earth and sea
Sought thro' Nature to find this Tree;
But their search was all in vain:
There grows one in the Human Brain.
Kipling called prostitution
The world's oldest profession.
Now, I'm pretty sure that it
Will be the last, as well:
The last professional endeavor --
The last profitable activity --
That humans do better than
Machines.
Whores will be the last holdouts
To shift from being workers
To being Artists of Humanity. . .
Or - maybe - they will be
The first in that, as well.
Would the world ever have been made if its maker had been afraid of making trouble?
george bernard shaw, PygMalion
Refrain from talk of others’ shortcomings; don’t rest on your strengths.
Thousand Character classic [千字文]
[罔谈彼短; 靡恃己长.]
The reasonable man adapts himself to the world: the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore all progress depends on the unreasonable man.
george bernard shaw, Man and superman
A child is the most reliable measure of time. His daily growth is proof of your daily ageing and decline. The child’s gains are your losses, and the closer a child gets to anything, the farther you withdraw, as though you were tied to one another on opposite spokes of a wheel and the wheel, without your noticing it, turns. Dawn for the child is dusk for you.
Otar chiladze, A Man was going down the road
We are all dependent on one another, every soul of us on earth.
George bernard shaw, Pygmalion
mountain hermit
looks over the city…
turns, walks back to hut.
This is how the wind shifts:
Like the thoughts of an old human,
Who still thinks eagerly
And despairingly.
The wind shifts like this:
Like a human without illusions,
Who still feels irrational things within her.
The wind shifts like this:
Like humans approaching proudly,
Like humans approaching angrily.
This is how the wind shifts:
Like a human, heavy and heavy,
Who does not care.
The apparition of these faces in a crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.
Cruelty has a Human Heart,
And Jealousy a Human Face;
Terror the Human Form Divine,
And Secrecy the Human Dress.
The Human Dress is forged Iron,
The Human Form a fiery Forge,
The Human Face a Furnace seal'd,
The Human Heart its hungry Gorge.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 