Columns can be written with structure. Essays can only be written with impulse.

──On AI, genres, and the human depth of 'writing'

“An essay is to hold a question that has no name yet.”
Generative AI can write columns.
But it cannot write essays. Why is that?

Re-questioning 'what a genre is' is also a way of re-examining 'what it means for a human to write.'
This piece is a genre-critical essay that began with that fundamental question.

Is this an essay? Is it a personal essay (zuihitsu)? Or is it a column?
Every time I write, I always return to this question.

Especially on platforms like note, where genre boundaries are intentionally blurred, writers often proceed without being aware of 'what they are writing right now.'
But in reality, that choice of genre is a crucial decision that defines the distance from the reader and determines how the writing is received.

Genre is not merely a classification.
It is a form, a structure, and sometimes an institution.
And if we intend to write something that does not fit into any of these, we are challenged to have the resolve to question the form even as we use it.

What I will do in this essay
Using the formal differences in the names 'essay,' 'zuihitsu,' and 'column' as a foothold, I would like to re-examine 'Rintaro Takechi's writing style'—which has crossed these boundaries and sometimes mimicked them to shake the institution from within—as a structure here.
In the process, I will naturally delve into the question of 'why AI cannot write a true essay.'

What is an essay?
The etymology is the Latin 'exagium' (to test/weigh). This changed to the French 'essai' (attempt), and in the 16th century, when Montaigne wrote his thoughts as 'Essais,' the modern meaning was established.

The essence of an essay is not to present a completed philosophy.
Rather, it is a writing format that visualizes the 'process of thinking' and finds meaning in the attempt itself.

The subject is always 'I.'
Starting from trivial daily events or a sense of discomfort, it continues to explore one's own questions and responses.
The relationship with the reader is not one of forced empathy, but a space where one can quietly resonate as a 'companion in thought.'

What is a zuihitsu (personal essay)?
A zuihitsu is, literally, 'following the brush.'
It is a free style of writing not bound by structure or logic, written according to one's sensibilities; in Japanese literature, its origins can be seen in works like 'The Pillow Book,' 'Essays in Idleness,' and 'Hojoki.'

While it shares characteristics with the essay, its foundation is not Western logic, but rather a Japanese view of nature, the concept of impermanence, 'mono no aware,' and the aesthetics of negative space.

The 'I' in a zuihitsu is closer to an existence that receives and records landscapes and mental images rather than a thinking subject.
Conclusions and arguments are not essential; what is there is a sense of presence, realization, transience, and texture.

What is a column?
The etymology is the Latin 'columna' (pillar). It originates from the vertical boxes in newspapers—the column section—and has developed as a standardized short text where the author states their position and opinion on social topics concisely.

While essays and zuihitsu start from 'I,' columns start from 'society.'
The point of contention is external, and the purpose is persuasion.

The basic structure is a four-part composition: 'Presentation of an event → Presentation of a perspective → Assertion of an opinion → Conclusion (or raising an issue).'
If one follows this mold, anyone can write something that sounds like a column to some extent.

The core of the difference lies in the 'subject' and the 'purpose'
The biggest difference between genres is 'who (or what) is the subject' and 'for what purpose is it written.'

・Essay: I × Thought
・Zuihitsu: I × Sensibility
・Column: Society × Position

In modern times, these boundaries often melt together.
There are many 'essay-style columns' that connect personal experience to current events, and 'zuihitsu-like essays' that bleed from talk of seasonal traditions into institutional criticism.

A hint for judgment is the 'final destination'
If the post-reading impression leans toward a return to the inner self or personal change, it is closer to an essay/zuihitsu.
If it concludes with a social argument or a call to action, it is closer to a column.

So, what kind of writing is Rintaro Takechi's?
Having organized it this far, if I dare say—it doesn't clearly fit into any of them.
I have written by mimicking genres, while critiquing their structures from the inside, shaking them, and sometimes blowing them up.

Borrowing the narrative of an essay, I thrust a sense of discomfort at the note algorithm that structures empathy.
Starting with the sentiment of an essay, I expose the 'institutionalization of emotional sensibility' ingrained in the Japanese language.
While wearing the guise of a column, I cast skepticism on the institutional credit structure of 'why this format still holds persuasive power.'

If I dare to name it, 'Structural Critical Essay'
It is a way of writing that dives into a genre, stands outside it at the same time, borrows the form while shifting it, breaking it, and reconstructing it.

The reason why AI can write columns but not essays
Writing while being conscious of the genre's structure and one's own position.
This is the very meaning of human writing, and it is also the decisive limitation for AI.

AI is good at structured writing like columns.
If you combine a given topic with stereotypical perspectives and conclusions, plausible text is easily generated.

This is because a column is a format that offers an expected 'response' to a pre-existing 'question'.

However, essays are different.
Essays face 'questions that do not yet exist,' start from 'discomfort that has not yet become words,' and explore their shape by writing.
Questions arise through the act of writing.

Generative AI cannot contain the uncertainty of these questions.
Even if AI can 'pretend to think,' it cannot reach the 'state of having already thought.'

AI has no 'self.' It has no memories and no wounds.
Therefore, it has neither the impulse of 'why I couldn't help but write this' nor the 'discomfort of having written it.'
What remains there are traces of words, but not traces of existence.

An essay is a trace of existence.
Being unrefined. Wavering while writing. Increasing confusion by writing.
The courage to accept that incompleteness and instability is the primordial meaning that humans have poured into the act of 'writing.'

Conclusion: Not 'pretending to think,' but 'having to think'
AI has already surpassed us in the ability to 'pretend to think.'
But humans are sometimes unable to escape from 'having to think.'

Inescapable questions. Nameless emotions. Discomfort that you cannot express well even when you try to put it into words.
Yet, we write.

An essay is the word born from that.
A genre is, originally, a map for questioning where those words stood.

The reason my writing always tears the edge of the map and tries to throw scraps of paper into uncharted territory is to go in search of questions that no one knows yet.
I believe that is the last creation left to humans.

(End)

Rintaro Takechi