Commentary
The upheaval and possibilities that follow the invention and rollout of a new technology are nothing new under the sun. More than 2,000 years ago, the Greek philosopher Plato wrestled with the same kind of questions that artificial intelligence (AI) is forcing on us now.
In Plato’s day, the new technology that caused a similar degree of excitement and worry that AI is causing in ours was the art of writing.
While it may seem fairly innocuous to us who take the ubiquity of the written word for granted, in fourth century Athens, the proliferation of writing was regarded by some as an existential threat to traditional Greek artistic culture, religion, education, as well as their political and legal institutions, all of which were predicated on the spoken word.
Writing, Plato thought, could not promise greater wisdom or more extensive memory, as its champions believed; in fact, writing could become the kind of crutch that would eliminate the benefits conferred by the patient work of memorizing your Homer, saying your prayers by heart, or practicing a speech to be delivered to the city council or in a court of law.
Why learn your prayers by heart when you can read them instead? Why memorize Homer when you can read exactly what he said word for word? Why memorize your speech when you can write it down?
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The terms of the debate in the AI age are much the same.
Why bother to learn the dates of the Civil War when you can Google them? Why learn how the math works when AI can complete the calculation faster than it takes you to say Jack Robinson? Why draw a picture, when Grok Imagine stands at the ready to give to airy nothing a local habitation and a name?
The downsides that follow from technological upheaval are obvious and well known to the student of history.
But Plato did not want to dial back the clock, nor should we.
Even the most casual observer understands that technological advances can serve the greater good. While new technology may threaten institutions that rely on established skill sets and know-how, at its best, it offers the gift of time to those who will make the best and highest use of it.
Technology may open up the possibility for new institutions, new forms of healing, new frontiers of knowledge; it may create the space and energy for us to pay more and better attention to those we love.
Freeing up the doctor’s time for his patients, the scientist for his research, the mother for her children—what’s not to like? When the friar no longer has to memorize the musical notation to say his daily prayers, he can turn his attention to theology instead. Suddenly, a new institution, called the university, is born. Three cheers for technology!
Like any conservative mind, however, Plato was deeply pessimistic about the course his own culture had set for itself. Yet he did not lay the blame at the feet of technology, but on those who would seek to exploit it to manipulate the ignorant and vulnerable.
More dangerous than the art of writing, he thought, was the art of rhetoric, an art that far predates the invention and proliferation of writing.
The class of persons Plato was most concerned about was the sophists. Plato is the reason “sophist” or “sophistical” are now curse words for us, terms deployed to discredit an opponent whose arguments we deem self-serving or manipulative.
Sophists sold their wares by telling prospective customers that by plying their arts, they would have their way in the courtroom and political arena. How? By learning how to make the weaker argument appear to be the stronger. If you can do that, the world is your oyster. In an oral culture that prized rhetoric, what could be more valuable?
The truth, Plato answered.
In fact, it is the truth that allows the sophist to succeed, he thought, because the attraction of their pretty words and specious arguments lay in their likeness to the truth. Moreover, when their arguments are written down, they can be more easily scrutinized and held to account.
So even in the success and spread of sophistical speech and writing, there lies some hope that the truth may yet have its say.
The trouble is, being the frail, weak, forgetful, and often craven creatures that we are, human beings habitually seek shortcuts to the truth, opting for what seems rather than what is.
Leading Silicon Valley thinkers like Stephen Wolfram and Peter Thiel have come to see the growing value of the philosophical education Plato prized.
The future, they say, belongs to the “word people” rather than the “math people.” The rise of AI places a premium on the value of an education in the humanities, where students are ideally trained to think ethically, creatively, and persuasively. AI should be for us, so we need people who can think about it.
This does not go far enough for a philosopher cast in a Platonic mold. The life of the mind can never be subordinated to utility; paradoxically, that is what makes philosophy, like friendship, so useful.
Beauty, truth, and goodness need to be pursued for their own sake. A friend is no friend who wants you for what you can give him. But the friend who wants nothing from you, aside from your company, is the best friend you can have when the chips are down.
Plato believed this was because the life of the mind and the habit of friendship were ultimately one of inspiration or “madness.” It was the inspired poet who wrote the great tragedy, not the technician. It was the philosopher who loves you for who you are and may yet become, not the sophist. The poet, philosopher, and lover, for Plato, were all of imagination compact, to paraphrase the bard.
Our creativity is a product of our freedom. We are most free when we love, for Plato. Love is something no technology can ever offer and something we human beings cannot do without.
Real thinking—the real pursuit of truth—is inextricably bound up with the pursuit of the good life together with your friends.
Whatever its uses in supplementing a growing need in the arena of mental health, AI cannot replace the care of another person, who will sacrifice his time, intelligence, and emotional energy to pay attention to you.
Even therapy itself is not quite enough. Deep down, Plato thought, people need to know that another person would give everything for them, even to the point of laying down his life.
The need for this level of commitment to one another is not optional for human beings. Technology is only ever good insofar as it helps us to meet this profound and fundamental need.
Plato’s is not the counsel of the Luddite. After all, he himself chose to write. His response was ironic and playful. Dabble a little, see what it can do and how it can help; under no circumstances give your heart or mind away to a tool. Like the hammer in search of a nail, AI neither thinks nor loves, but it may help you to build something for those you do.
The moral and material risks of AI should be studied carefully and made widely and abundantly clear. Let us take comfort in the knowledge that, as we confront this new and revolutionary technology, we keep the good company of the first mind to think seriously about the kind of problems a new technology poses, an early adopter himself, one of the wisest men to have walked this earth, Plato.
Views expressed in this article are opinions of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of The Epoch Times.
