not a luddite

One final note on all my pessimism about technology recently: I don’t want to give the wrong idea. I’m not anti-technology. I don’t walk around with a flip phone, I do own a television with subscriptions to all the major streamers, I play XBox often (current gaming: FI 2022), I have a lot of cultural content I love and consume regularly (Star Wars, sports, prestige television.) I am not against creature comforts, and I do love an evening on the couch with a good show or a basketball game.

The danger I want to warn against is the seeming demand on our lives to let our technologies dictate the shape of our lives, and the growing monetization of every aspect of our lives. As noted here before, I am a leftist with a strong critique of modern capitalism. I’m not an out and out socialist; instead, I reject totalizing ideology that tries to fit humanity and culture into a mold, and the dominant ideology in our world today is global techno-capitalism.

drawing together the threads on AI

I did some writing back in March about AI, as that tool came to dominate the national conversation and begin seeping into our lives more fully. The rise of AI really galvanized my thinking and focused my mind around a variety of ideas that had been floating around in my head. I reacted at first with intense pessimism, which has cooled slightly (I even found some good applications for Large Language Model tools in the classroom!), but, all-in-all, that is the mood the growth of AI has left me with: pessimism about the future it is ushering in, and how humanity will react to and integrate with this new tool. In an ideal world, AI would be introduced into our world slowly, with a lot of oversight and conversation. This conversation would be led by regular people, by community interests, by civil society, and by ethicists and religious leaders. We would be thinking long and hard about what we want AI to do, and how we want to get there, and we would be aware of the dangers cropping up left and right.

Instead, as expected (can you imagine any other way it would really be?), AI is being foisted upon by the worst actors out there: global tech companies, venture capital and financial interests, and techno-utopists driven by freshman-level understandings of ethics and utilitarian commitments where humanity takes a backseat to progress. AI will inevitably be wielded to make money for the global elite, billionaires who can’t imagine enough digits in their bank accounts, and who see their fellow humans as means to the ends of enrichment.

All the while, people who are being promised a bright, AI-driven future will instead get more loneliness, more monetization of our attention, and less meaningful connection. It’s already well-acknowledged that Big Tech has used the levers of addiction to make the gains they have made in our lives; this knowledge will surely be put to use in figuring out how to addict us to AI in the hopes of extracting a few more pennies from the areas of our lives that have so far escaped their pocketbooks.

I wanted to use this post to draw together some of these threads that have been running through my writing and rattling around in my brain recently. All of this pessimism about AI is intimately connected to my theological commitments, and my political and social ones as well. The primacy of human dignity, the direction of human attention towards the ultimate Good that is God, the importance of community and connection, the need in a liberal and capitalist world to focus on the lives of regular, everyday people in our politics: no matter which lens I look through right now, all of them encourage skepticism towards the growth of technology and the increasing hold it has on our lives. And that hold is driven by global corporations and moneyed interests, all of whom view the whole world as one giant market from which they can extract from the rest of us wealth and power and obeisance. My commitments all demand that I resist this, and that I use the tools at my finger tips – my words, my ideas, and my voice – to push back and fight against this.

I am writing this today from outside, in my backyard, where the Oklahoma wind is swirling around me, and summer is in full swing. And it reminds me: this is what lasts. AI hasn’t got shit on the wind, on the warm sun, on the smell of soil and flowers, on the birds chirping as they perch on the string of lights hanging around our back porch. The moneyed interests of the world – they are all going to get old, and confront mortality, and when we are all gone, this will all remain. The rat race everyone is caught up in – I’ll let others run it, because I have compost to turn over and weeds to pull. You can’t put that on a microprocessor, and I can’t get it delivered to my pocket. How sad for those who are trying to. They think I’m going to miss out if I don’t use AI; boy are they mistaken.

I really am pretty pessimistic about the state of our culture, and the power of technology in our lives. But it just takes a few minutes away from that bubble, out under the blue sky, or in the pages of a book, at the tip of my favorite ink pen, or in the words of this morning’s daily prayers, to find where my optimism lies, to remember the hope of the world and to be reminded about who has the final victory. There’s a task for you: ask ChatGPT to give you hope. It’s answer will be crafted to please you – but it’ll still be false. Hope is out here.

the Territory of artistic autonomy

Similar to the Territory of abstraction is the Territory of artistic primacy or autonomy, in which it is assumed that no value is inherent in subjects but that value is conferred upon subjects by the art and the attention of the artist. The subjects of the world are only “raw material.”

Wendell Berry, “Writer and Region” in What Are People For?

I greatly shortened this one up, something I have not done for the others. I did this because I don’t have a lot to say about where Berry goes in this one (about poetry, art, and subjectivity), but I do think his initial point relates back to yesterday’s post.

The autonomy Berry is talking about here is not the autonomy of the artist, but of the work of art itself; it is believed to be autonomous from all meaning or value. The subjects of a work are unimportant other than for assigning value to the work of creating the art. All meaning is stripped from that which the artist observes, and it becomes another form of abstraction. Art in this form can no longer teach us something about the world or experience; it can only be a consumer product, with all meaning tied up into those who consume the art. The artist can’t teach us anything; we can only teach the artist how to create popular art that will have a value in the market place.

This relates to the subject of abstraction in place because it is another example of how modernity works to strip all meaning from existence in favor of an experience of reality that is transactional. This is a thread that runs quietly through all these territories Berry illuminates and that we have spent the last week thinking about. Self-righteousness, historical naivety, despair, global point of view, abstraction: all these are Territories we are ushered into, in order to make us believe that the material, tangible world has no meaning, no hope, or no telos. Thus, we become easier to extract, relocate, and replace; we become commodities in a world of commodities, all temporary and a few hours old at best.

To return to the story that this image is drawn from, Berry’s critique of Huckleberry Finn is that the book does not live up to its potential, but is instead “stunted” by his adventure off into a Territory. As Berry writes,

There is, then, something stunted in Huckleberry Finn. I have hated to think so – for a long time I tried consciously not to think so – but it is so. What is stunted is the growth of Huck’s character. When Mark Twain replaces Huck as author, he does so apparently to make sure that Huck remains a boy. Huck’s growing up, which through the crisis of his fidelity to Jim (“All right, then, I’ll go to hell”) has been central to the drama of the book, is suddenly thwarted first by the Tom-foolery of Jim’s “evasion” and then by Huck’s planned escape to the “Territory.” The real “evasion” of the last chapters is Huck’s, or Mark Twain’s, evasion of the community responsibility that would have been a natural and expectable next step after his declaration of loyalty to his friend. Mark Twain’s failure or inability to imagine this possibility was a disaster for his finest character, Huck, whom we next see not as a grown man, but as partner in another boyish evasion, a fantastical balloon excursion to the Pyramids.

Twain gave no meaning to Huck’s growth as a character in the choices he made in the final chapters of the book; by refusing to show that Huck’s life was different as a result of the virtuous choice he made, he essentially invalidated, or at least made meaningless, that choice, and could have left it out of the novel. Thus, the adventure to the Territory, for Berry, becomes an conscious rejection of maturity.

So, too, our acceptance of these Territories in our own lives is a rejection of our own growth, as people with a place, with a purpose, and with a telos to our lives. Those things – place, purpose, meaning – all require an acceptance of reality as it is, a choice to live in this world, with love and feeling and pathos and tragedy. To escape to a Territory – to despair, or practice self-righteousness, or to abstract all around us – is to refuse reality, to refuse to be a mature people. And this has consequences – for our ability to form relationships and love properly, for our world and our environment, for our cultural and societal structures. To quote again from this essay, a passage I quoted on its own last week: “We want to be free; we want to have rights; we want to have power; we do not yet want much to do with responsibility.”

This is the point of this last week, and why I found this passage in Berry’s essay so interesting, but perhaps I would turn his image on it’s head. I think we are all mostly in the Territories; we need to escape back home. Our lives together and our world depend on us growing up, and not giving in to despair, to self-righteousness, to the tendency to abstract our places and meaning. A key element of life in post-modernity is a crumbling social awareness, and I think Berry identified why that’s happening, more than thirty years ago in an essay about Huck Finn.