One day, my wife and I were listening to some Persian jazz on a car ride, and it was good. However, the titles of the songs never made any sense and a lot of the sounds blended together. It wasn’t until a song came on with vocals that I realized I couldn’t understand it at all. Not only was it not a language, it was mush—gibberish.

It made me uneasy.

Even though the next song was fine (it had no vocals), I couldn’t shake this uneasy feeling. I turned to my wife and asked, “Is this AI music?” She didn’t know, but after some research we both concluded that it was indeed AI music.

In my day-to-day life, I use AI a good amount. I use it to help me think of new ideas. I use it to refine my writing. I use it when I have a very detailed and complex question. I even used it to help brainstorm the flow of ideas for this article.

So then, why do I get a weird feeling when I see AI-generated art or movies, or hear AI-generated music?

It seems like people these days fall into two categories when it comes to Artificial Intelligence (AI) and its usefulness to humanity.

Some people have a positive outlook: AI is amazing, the best thing ever. They position this technology as a magic box, a holy grail, that is going to save humanity from itself and solve all our problems.

Other people tend to have a negative outlook: AI is going to put everyone out of a job. It is going to replace all human interactions before it eventually replaces all humans.

I don’t find myself falling into either of these categories.

The more I use AI, the more I understand its usefulness. And the more I use AI, the more I see where it falls short. And while I do not have all the answers, I believe that this new technology has reshaped (and is continuing to reshape) the technology we use, our interactions with each other, and more importantly, the relationship we have with ourselves and our Creator.

So then, what becomes the role of AI? How do we use it effectively so that we do not put all of our eggs into one basket, nor are we paralyzed by fear of humanity’s extinction?

The answer to the questions I posed in the first part of this article lies in how we view and use AI.

First, AI is very good at relaying information. General hallucinations aside, if you have a question or want to know more about a topic, AI can help you get that information quickly and clearly. Having AI at your fingertips allows you to do research faster and organize your thoughts more easily than simple web searches. You no longer need to be a PhD graduate to write well.

For example, you can ask it to summarize notes, explain a concept in plain language, outline an article, or help you compare two ideas side by side.

In the realm of information, both consuming it and distributing it, AI tends to do amazing.

When it comes to creation, to making art, I tend to think of the quote from ‘Abdu’l‑Bahá: “All Art is a gift of the Holy Spirit.” He also says, “These gifts are fulfilling their highest purpose, when showing forth the praise of God.”

So then, should we use AI to make art that praises God?

It seems simple, yet I still feel a level of unease when I hear “spiritual” music created by Artificial Intelligence. I believe the reason for this is artistic expression.

Art is created and used by humans to understand and explore the world around us. When our words are lacking, we have other tools to communicate through paintings, movies, music, etc. (Special shoutout to artists that actually use their words as art. Poetry is no joke and those artists have an insane amount of talent.)

Here is where I believe AI does not belong: AI does not inherently have the capacity to express. It is machine code trained on a bunch of human experiences. It does not have the ability to think critically or to ask real questions to further its understanding. Its words are created only in response to what the user prompts it to do.

In the realm of art, both consuming it and distributing it, I don’t think AI has a place.

At this point, you may be asking yourself: “What if I am not artistic? I cannot sing. I am not a good painter, and I do not play any instruments. I like to use AI to express my artistic side. I create music, the prompt is mine, and I enjoy hearing the results.”

This is a valid train of thought, and I completely understand this sentiment.

I also do not consider myself musically inclined. I enjoy singing, but I am not very good. I don’t play any instruments, and all of my paintings are in a closet or in the trash.

But then I recall what ‘Abdu’l‑Bahá says: “When the Light of the Sun of Truth inspires the mind of a painter, he produces marvellous pictures.” It makes me think that when we create art, we are channeling the spiritual forces that are available to us. We are connecting to something beyond ourselves—that the literal act of creation is an act similar to the One who created us.

So, why does AI art exist? Why isn’t everyone uncomfortable when they see a painting done by AI or hear AI music unprompted?

Another thing that AI does so well is that it can cover up our shortcomings and imperfections.

If we do not know something, we can ask AI and get a result almost instantly. We no longer need to do extensive research and fact-checking (although that is a good habit and we shouldn’t lose that—otherwise we won’t be able to tell when AI is steering us in the wrong direction).

The ability to have information at our fingertips, the ability to clean up our thoughts before we present them, the ability to have a peer review at every instance, has allowed us to seem perfect.

This desire of ours to be perfect is very natural. Humans are imperfect, and we crave perfection. AI helps us to achieve this level of perfection—or so it seems.

In contrast, Shoghi Effendi says: “Perfection will never be reached, but great, and ever greater, progress can be made.”

This reminds me of all the times I wish I knew something, of all the times I wished I was perfect. Humans often want the result without the becoming. We fear judgment, and creating something imperfect invites the strongest level of judgment.

So we would rather have AI do it for us: let it be perfect and therefore we are perfect.

But what happens when we just let AI do all the work of becoming for us?

We may have amazing results produced by AI, but I believe we lose something in the process. We lose that human touch. That expression of who we are, that imperfection that is inherent in our reality as humans.

Maybe to some that seems nice: get rid of the self and only show perfection. But how do we then connect with each other? If we are never vulnerable or imperfect, how do we explore the world around us? How do we stir up the desire to express what we experience?

I still think about that moment in the car. The uneasy feeling wasn’t only about whether the song was “good.” It was about what it lacked: a human being reaching for meaning, risking imperfection, and offering something real.

We shouldn’t abandon tools that are genuinely helpful. AI can absolutely help us learn faster and communicate more clearly. But when it comes to art—when it comes to expression—I believe the goal is not a flawless product. The goal is a truthful offering.

Perfection will never be reached, but great, and ever greater, progress can be made. And maybe that progress is exactly what we lose when we outsource the act of becoming.