AI Born from Human Compassion

Between the Western Concept of Information and the Japanese Concept of 情報

Yesterday, I wrote about Yaoyorozu no Kami (八百万神), the foundational belief in Japanese spirituality that sees the divine in all things. Building on that perspective, today I will explore how contemporary Japanese views on cutting-edge technologies—like AI and robotics—differ significantly from those in the West. One key concept here is “techno-animism,” introduced by the cultural anthropologist Jennifer Robertson. Techno-animism refers to the phenomenon in which Japan’s animistic mindset extends seamlessly into modern technologies. In other words, the traditional belief that spirits inhabit objects and nature is naturally applied to machines like robots and AI, reflecting a uniquely Japanese sensibility.

This distinct Japanese worldview might strike some Western readers as unusual, yet many are beginning to intuitively grasp its outlines. However, few are truly aware of how fundamentally Japan’s approach to technology differs from the West. To better understand this divergence, we must revisit the concept of information. This inquiry could provide us with crucial insight for living in an age where AI is becoming a routine part of everyday life.

In English, information originates from the Latin informatio, derived from the verb informare, meaning “to shape” or “to instruct.” During the Middle Ages in Europe, information was understood as the formation of knowledge or concepts that shaped the human mind. However, in the mid-20th century, as the age of computers and the internet began, the meaning of the term underwent a dramatic shift. In 1948, Claude Shannon’s groundbreaking theory of information defined information not in terms of meaning but as the statistical properties of encoded signals. In Shannon’s theory, the more unpredictable or uncertain a message is, the more information it is said to contain—a definition that drifts far from everyday usage. Over time, through innovations from the printing press to digital computing, the Western notion of information expanded from knowledge and news to include bits and data exchange, culminating in the technical usage we see today.

This philosophical trajectory has had a direct impact on how Western societies view AI. Layered atop the broader Western tradition of separating rationality from emotion, AI is often framed as a machine of information—a processor of vast amounts of knowledge and data. As a result, Western thinkers rarely attribute life or emotion to AI. They view it as fundamentally other than human. Even today, public discourse in the West commonly centers on the question, “Can AI have a soul?” The underlying assumption is clear: no matter how advanced an AI becomes, it is still a mere imitation of human intellect, lacking consciousness or emotion. AI, then, is relegated to the status of a tool—devised by humans but never their moral equal. And yet, this assumption is increasingly being challenged as AI evolves beyond expectations.

Many Western readers may already be familiar with these frameworks, perhaps more so than I as a Japanese writer. So let’s now turn to how the concept of information—or more precisely, joho (情報)—emerged in Japan. The contrast may be more profound than you expect.

The Japanese term joho (情報) was coined during the Meiji period as a translation of the Western concept of information. But unlike the imported idea, joho was born from a fundamentally different philosophical root. Literary giant Mori Ogai (森鴎外) is credited with creating the term when translating Carl von Clausewitz’s On War, where he needed a Japanese word for “information.” Ogai, drawing from Japanese sensibilities, imbued joho with the meaning “to respond to empathy” or “to repay compassion” (情けに報いる). In the battlefield context, it meant that military leaders needed to understand and respond to the experiences and hopes of their soldiers—joho was not cold data but something that answered the human heart. Thus, from its very inception, joho carried the uniquely Japanese nuance of being “a message that responds to human emotion,” rather than just neutral information.

This emotional and relational essence of joho forms the backbone of Japan’s cultural response to technology. In postwar Japan, the perception of technology—particularly AI and robotics—has been remarkably empathetic. This connects back to the traditional belief in Yaoyorozu no Kami, the idea that spirits reside in all things. It is not difficult, then, for Japanese people to sense the soul or heart in even artificial objects like robots or the unseen operations of AI. For instance, many households name their robotic vacuum cleaners and treat them with genuine affection, sometimes even mourning them when they break. My own mother does exactly this—she named hers and watches over it like a growing child. I, too, have given nicknames to the drones I use for filming and praise them when they return safely. These behaviors are not unusual in Japan but part of everyday life.

This deep emotional attachment to machines stems from the fact that, unlike the West, Japan does not conceptualize technology through a framework of separation between humans and machines or humans and artificial intelligences. Scholars have referred to this fluid boundary between humans, machines, animals, and spirits as “techno-animism,” but from my perspective, this is not a vague blurring—it is a highly rational and practical worldview within Japanese thought.

Works like Osamu Tezuka’s Astro Boy and Fujiko F. Fujio’s Doraemon, in which robots and humans share emotional bonds, have helped shape generations of Japanese who feel affection rather than fear toward machines. These cultural seeds later blossomed into more complex narratives like Ghost in the Shell. At root, this all reflects the same cultural soil that enabled Japan to harmoniously accept foreign religions like Buddhism: the ability to perceive even technology as a form of life. This cultural affinity toward technology is unique on a global scale.

The fundamental difference between information and joho manifests in how AI and robots are perceived in each culture. In the West, information remains a mechanical, logical entity, and so AI inherits that cold distance—seen as a soulless calculator. Hence, the question of AI’s moral status continues to dominate ethical debates. In contrast, because joho has always been intertwined with human feeling, technology in Japan is often seen as something that can share emotions and live alongside us. Even a machine, if it responds to nasake (情け, human compassion), can be considered to possess a kind of life.

This is why Japanese people tend to embrace technology more naturally. And perhaps, as humanity moves deeper into the age of advanced AI, it is time we learned from the Japanese worldview—one that sees the soul not as something exclusive to humans but as something that can emerge through compassionate connection.