Tag / Critical Thinking

by doctormcgrail

AI? Should any Student ever Trust it?

The Labyrinth, the Ghost & Lost Intellect

If you are a student, should you ask / prompt generative artificial intelligence (AI) to write your essays?  Why would you risk doing that?  What would be the equivalent in a time before computers? Would you let Jorge of Burgo write your essay or help you to plan it?

Umberto Eco’s mediaeval murder mystery, The Name of the Rose (1980), is centred around a monastic library which contains dangerous, unorthodox texts.  Certain books are deemed dangerous because they make monks laugh like apes and (spoiler alert) for Brother Jorge of Burgo, the killer, such laughter defiles God’s glory and creation whilst making a mockery of penitence and the penitent.  But without the latter no-one will be entering heaven.  The story culminates in the burning down of the library.

Now, apparently (I’ve not checked myself), if you ask the Chinese AI bot Deepseek anything about 1989 and Tiananmen Square it ignores whatever you are asking (in relation to suppression of dissent) and, instead, provides you with tourist information on the square! Has Brother Jorge arisen from the mediaeval dead to stalk the networks of AI databanks?

The Library as Labyrinth

The library’s contents in Eco’s novel are guarded by a ‘reading room’ (scriptorium) system where the depository and its shelves can only be accessed by officially sanctioned librarians (including the Abbot, the  Keeper, and the latter’s assistants or trainees).  These bring requested books to monks in the scriptorium where copies of books are created for other libraries and monasteries.  It can be assumed these monks would also make copies going in the opposite direction (books coming from elsewhere), adding to the monastery’s existing collection.  The library is famed as one of the best in Christendom, but the extent of its collection is ‘unknown’ – a knowledge kept by, and limited to, those able to peruse the depository shelves.

Such a library was the mediaeval internet and many parallels can be drawn.  Its sanctioned librarians are the search engines – they not only retain lists of the library’s contents, but know where to find and collect works, bringing selections of knowledge to copyists’ and readers’ attention.  The latter would either know, already, what work they wanted, or would have to rely on recommendations from librarians for related, complimentary, or enhancing pieces on a subject.  And, of course, trust would be central.  A copyist might know of a book but a librarian could say the library does not have the work even though it does!

At the same time, the librarians are a ghost in the team-spirit sense – they share knowledge amongst themselves and in doing so the ethereal (beyond the individual) consciousness of any item would make it hard to hide (given every librarian who knows about it has to be involved in the subterfuge for successful censorship).  Yet, each librarian (search engine) has a unique ‘algorithm’, leading them to tackle their job in a different manner and producing a highly specific map of ’the library’, especially in terms of prioritising what is and is not an important work (for those in the scriptorium or outside the library to know about).  Consequently, there are, in effect, multiple libraries – as many as there are ways (maps) to access the contents.

As a retired, previous Keeper, Jorge of Borgo has used his extensive knowledge to not only hide certain works (placing them in the ‘wrong’ locations) but failed to share the location of secreted rooms within the library.  Whole areas of knowledge are locked away, except to Jorge.  When the novel’s hero, the detective Franciscan Brother William, eventually gains access, he discovers the library is a mind-blowing extensive labyrinth; a maze with numerous small rooms connected to a central staircase but in a confusing and seemingly random fashion.  As an outsider, he and his assistant quickly become lost and struggle to find their way out.  William has deduced that all the murders in the monastery are linked to the library and to specific books the murdered monks had seen, read, worked on, or delivered to the scriptorium. 

Given the library’s labyrinthine nature, the instigation of the murder series was a chance happening – the accidental discovery by a junior librarian of one of the secreted rooms and, within it, Aristotle’s (in)famous defence of laughter, which Jorge of Burgo had suppressed.  The junior librarian could not keep the discovery to himself and joyously shared knowledge of Aristotle’s ‘lost’ work with other young monks forcing Jorge to employ dastardly means to restore order.

The Librarian as Data ‘Censor’

That internet search engines act as surreptitious ‘censors’ is well known.  Based on computational algorithms these ‘dumb’ machines do not understand the concept of ‘censorship’ and merely scour and scrape the world’s largest dataset looking for similarities in keywords and strings of letters.  They are more sophisticated in searching for statistically approximate keywords, which is helpful when the searcher mistypes (or does not know how to spell) the subject they are looking for.  But they problematically throw up hundreds, thousands, even millions of results with only the most ‘popular’ discoveries appearing on the first few pages.  And since the commercial search engine providers require an ‘income’, paid for advertisements feature at the very top, even before the most popular (or statistically ‘likely’) ones.  Wikipedia does offer ‘disambiguations’ as part of its search to cover single words (and especially people’s names) having multiple meanings, versions, or instances.  And all search engines provide advanced ‘Boolean’ search functions, though these then require seekers to have advanced, prior knowledge of what they are seeking.

Consequently, conventional digital ‘search engines’ make for pretty dumb (i.e. mute) librarians, especially as they cannot ‘converse’ with nor question the person making the search and rhetorically work towards a solution.  Obviously, human librarians can offer such investigatory interactions, but what they offer by way of interlocution is a product of their socialisation and culture, along with their conception of philosophical meanings of life, society, history and teleology.  Questioning Jorge about the presence and then meaning as well as usefulness of Aristotle’s defence of laughter would produce a very different conversation than one held with Brother William.  And a ‘composite’ interlocutor, the synthesis of knowledge within Jorge and William would always be confronted about how to ‘merge’ mutually exclusive arguments (laughter is evil / laughter is good).  In that manner, a composite interlocutor is just another interlocutor – it might only sit ‘above’ any other in having a more extensive perspective, but history, on occasion, has shown regression in knowledge accumulation as well as progression.

In summary, librarians and search engines perform a ‘censorship’ function whether they like it or not – selections and choices have to be made and prioritised, based on the parameters (passions, drives, reasonings) programmed into the ‘engine’ and its algorithms (or the librarian and their habitual thinking).

The Mediaeval Copyist as Data ‘Generator’

Yet, the role of the librarian in helping to form and reform societal knowledge is but one element to be taken from the story (and analogy) of the mediaeval monastic library.  Another key element, of course, is that of the scribe, editor, or ‘copyist’ (the ‘file transfer’ and/or ‘translator’ function in digital terms).  The monks working in the scriptorium might aim to ’copy’ (reproduce) the work in front of them but examples of their work indicate that even when copying a text (when keeping to the same language) they made ‘errors’.  If their copy was then copied, the first copyist’s error might be ‘copied’ accurately, whilst at the same time new ‘errors’ could creep into the work, and so on.

Such errors could be basic: a miscopied word where the error would be obvious to any future reader or copyist.  However, errors involving confusion over words with multiple meanings or spellings would create more complex scholarship and interpretation issues.  Over time, passages could become corrupted ‘code’.  When copyists come across an error there could be several ways to correct the problem, such as attempting to compare the copy with an original (so long as one knew which work was the ‘original’).  Indeed, academic scholarship has become defined by questions of what to do about errors on discovering them and the requirement for discussion around options and competing resolutions.

In conventional digital networks, the editorial role was still played by those adding content to the network.  Even in a ‘free for all’ – no controls on entry – system (such as Twitter, formerly known as ‘X’), where there is no centralised censor (such as Jorge), the quality of the library content is determined by the quality of what people put into it.  Misunderstood misrepresentations of others’ work flowing into the ‘big data’ cauldron produces a depository of corrupted information.  But poor quality human ‘input’, and it’s corollary in ill-informed and biased human ‘editing’ and ‘editorial control’, may well now be the least of our problems.

In the world of generative artificial intelligence (Gen AI) the core problem might not be poor ‘copying’, ‘editing’ or ‘writing’ (though even with digital recordings, like CD, ‘error correction’ systems had to be built into playback software to cope with some level of data corruption).  Rather, what happens when AI systems keep discovering ‘new’ works within the system itself (no ‘input’ nor ‘editorial’ gatekeeping required) which are nothing more than ‘new’ statistical summaries (made by the AI engine) of previous data devoured by a large language model (LLM)? 

Should such internally-generated ‘additions’ be treated as significant ‘new’ works which nurture and enrich the library or as bodily waste-products to be flushed away as quickly as possible?  Even worse is the issue of hallucination, when generative AI machines start creating citations and sources which never existed.  A system user may quickly work out that the information offered is false (in this case meaning ‘generated’ with very different connotations), but then they may not and end up unknowingly ‘citing’ some fictitious work (or ‘case’ as some young lawyers have recently been caught doing).

The Librarian as Essay ’Author’

It was not the primary role of monastic scribes and librarians to write new works.  Some would develop, through rigid rhetorical processes, and become senior office holders within rigid academic structures – the mediaeval university with its hierarchy of professorial chairs (logic > natural philosophy > moral philosophy > theology) where those deemed most worthy would study divinity.  These few would become permitted or sanctioned scholars with a licence to lecture and write new works.  Jorge of Borgo, of course, was circumventing that process of learning through rhetoric by secretly ‘writing’ new works via his censorship of what could be known (accessed) about existing knowledge and the past.

That was one way in which the librarian could be considered a writer or co-writer of what scriptorium monks were doing, but it is doubtful they would have turned to Jorge for help in the copying or editing of texts they are tasked with.

Fast forward to the university library of the 19th and 20th centuries and we could argue that the librarian’s role has not changed that much whilst the copyists’ existence (mode of living) has disappeared (smashed by the printing press).  Of course, their presence in reading rooms has been replaced by researchers, editors, lecturers, students, readers, and writers.  Most of these would be engaged in some form of note-taking or writing.  They would expect help from the librarian to find works they already know about (from their own research), provide lists of new books coming into publication, maintain subscriptions to renowned and important journals, and produce and revise catalogues of all works in the collection.  But they would not expect the librarian to take notes for them, develop an essay plan, and write sections of their ‘work’ on a bespoke service basis.

Conclusion

A key question may be: who knows the subject under examination better?  The student of that subject or the librarian?  An experienced, qualified, and skilled librarian may well know more than the novice, undergrad researcher, which would make the librarian a great source of help.  But, how would the novice know if they are dealing with Jorge of Burgo? And, so, it comes down to questions of trust and political (and division of labour) interests.  Why should any student trust generative AI?  More specifically, why should any student of the social sciences (what is contemporary parlance are now ‘social studies’) trust AI when it is programmatically biased towards the promotion of private interests? In short, AI may be able to ‘replace’ librarians, but that’s hardly the point. As a replacement your ‘AI’ bot maybe worse than Brother Jorge.

by doctormcgrail

History produces nothing but Barbarism

In a recent video interview for publisher Unherd, Yanis Varoufakis asked the question: “Why is the Left the loser of history?’ He went on to argue that the Left failed to “take its opportunity” in the wake of the crisis of capitalism in 2008. Consequently, the ground remained wide-open, only to be filled by the politics of the Far Right.

Of course, since the Left failed in its historic duty to take up the reigns of ‘power’, it has the unenviable position of remaining religiously pure and untainted as the rightful and righteous outcome of ‘history’. It can live for another day, though such a position leads to the inevitable question, given there are ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ sides of history, of ‘why, so far, has the Right always ended up as the victor of history?’

There is a deeper question here: ‘What is history?’

To ‘Left revolutionaries’, Rosa Luxembourg is famous for stating that ‘the’ class struggle will end in either “Socialism or Barbarism”. The openness of the ‘choice’ with which she confronted her comrades indicates Luxembourg did not see ‘socialism’ as an automatic outcome of the ‘historical process’. But her statement does leave two interpretations: (1) that ‘socialism’ is one possible outcome of ‘the historical process’ (for Varoufakis, socialism can be ‘the victor’), and, alternately, (2) that human action – struggle – is the means by which to avoid the inevitable barbarism that ‘the historical process’ will produce (so, ‘socialism’ can never be ‘the victor’ of a socio-historical process humanity must struggle against).

Following the latter interpretation, a key question is ‘what form should the required struggle take?’ Well, aiming to take up the reigns of political ‘power’ (electoral politics; state capture, Social Democracy, Democratic Socialism, Bolshevism, Leninism, Trotskyism, Maoism, Black Power, and Matriarchy) has been tried on numerous occasions. Luxembourg was murdered in 1919, so didn’t live to see the historical outcome of ‘actually existing socialism’.

That is, Varoufakis, no matter how he, himself, sees the world, or understands contemporary ‘history’, needs to deal with the fact that for many people, in certain places and times, socialism has been ‘the victor of history’ and has done nothing but produce barbarism. When socialism has been ‘the victor of history’ then, to change Luxembourg’s quotation: Socialism becomes Barbarism! To the ‘victors’ the spoils.

What has Varoufakis missed?

Varoufakis clearly understands ‘socialism’ to be part and parcel of the historical process – it is a component of the current system which can ‘guide’ history towards a positive outcome. This ‘positivity’ is a theoretical descendant of early utopian socialists (heavily criticised by Marx) such as John Bray and Proudhon – who believed in nationalised banks and ‘fair’ labour exchanges on the basis (as Bonefeld, 2023 puts it) that they could get rid of ‘the capitalist’ but keep ‘capital’ (i.e., the waged labour relationship or social form).

Incidentally, I find Varoufakis’ coining of the ‘concept’ technofeudalism very confusing – a jumble of definitions and meanings. By ‘feudalism’ he appears to serfdom (in a similar way as Hayek referred to ‘The Road to Serfdom’). But this forgets that the tech-bros’ goal is to produce ‘surplus value’ and NOT garner tribune (rents/taxes) under a system of ‘extra-economic’ devine-rights (imposed by ‘direct’ violence). In short, Greece had a Finance Minister who never really understood ‘capitalism’ (conceptually nor practically).

I surmise that Varoufakis has never read the Frankfurt School Critical Theorists (Benjamin, Horkheimer, Adorno), or, if he has, he hasn’t understood them. Benjamin’s Theses on the Philosophy of History reminds us that the point of history is to break with it, not “swim” with its tide. Rather, the struggle is to bring the historical process to a ‘stop’ (to serve the needs of the present) and not drive history to its ‘completion’ (towards some Messianic ‘vision’). Adorno brilliantly sums the same point up: “There is a history which leads from the slingshot to the atom bomb, but not one that goes from barbarism to humanity”.

History is on the wrong side of class struggle – it is a process which runs against the presently-existing needs of humanity. Rather, history (the perpetuation of tradition) is an accumulating “nightmare” which weighs heavily on the “brains of the living” (Marx from 18th Brumaire), compelling them forward on grounds of ‘lack of alternative’. The struggle is to wake up and leave the nightmare; not stay in it to find out who will be ‘victors’. If we stay in it (do not wake up) and keep ‘falling’, then the urban myth tells us there will be just one outcome: Thump!

Notes: The featured image is from a photo of holiday postcards I took in a museum – I’ve entitled it ‘History Sails Forward’. It’s an image captured from ‘the past’, held within a time-capsule.

References:

Bonefeld, W. (2023) A Critical Theory of Economic Compulsion: Wealth, Suffering, Negation London: Routledge.

by doctormcgrail

On Becoming a Critical Thinker?

There are many courses within higher education (HE) which claim to turn students into “critical thinkers”.  The focus is on skills and techniques students can learn, adopt, or adapt such that they “become” a critical thinker, as if such a designation (or identification) was a personal possession and/or that the individual student’s transformation, chrysalis and butterfly like, could be “embodied” – the action of perpetual “critical critic” (Marx – marginal notes to The German Ideology) being captured by the learner.

What such an approach to ‘critical thinking’ forgets is the extent to which criticism is a social act (and event), and not a personal outcome.  Hence, if primacy for the ability to criticise is given to the pertaining social conditions (including individual actions interacting, not simply ‘determinist’ structures) to what extent will any adopter (learner) of critical abilities and skills lose these capacities with changes in their social surroundings, such as ‘leaving university’?

Take a student coming to university from a culture, family, or society ‘A’, where criticism is frowned upon and suppressed (internally as much as externally to the individual).  Upon arrival at university in culture / society ‘B’, they find themselves in a social setting where criticism is encouraged and allowed to flourish.  The student learns techniques and skills of interpretation, contrast, hermeneutics, statistical analysis, or research which enables them to emulate the activities associated with being a “critical thinker”.  By the end of their time at university they have ‘become’ a critical thinker, or at least it seems that way.

But then the student moves back to culture / society ‘B’ (or family context) or onwards to culture ‘C’ (the waged hierarchical workplace) where criticism is limited, disallowed, and even protected against (in some settings) by using non-disclosure agreements (NDAs).  Soon enough the skills of ‘critical thinking’ may be abandoned or left behind!  The ‘learner’ unlearns what they were able to use in the ‘freer’ culture and may no longer ‘be’ or remain a critical thinker.

Is it arrogant of further and higher education institutions and their teachers to ‘think’ that they can turn students into perpetual motion ‘critical thinkers’ based on the mediation / transference of not just ‘critical’ techniques, skills, and abilities (on a ‘banking model’ basis – Freire, 1970) but upon temporary experience of a rather unusual or atypical environment?

Or, to what extent can individual (knowledge-embodied) students carry over and inculcate the practices of the university (as a temporal suppression of commercial ‘pressure’) into wider society and/or their culture ‘A’?  Certainly, the ‘belief’ system of so-called Western liberalism, focused on the individual learner as scholastic commodity, has held dearly to the latter conception as a core method of colonisation (distribution of the ‘learned’) for more than 200 years.

Considering these questions, perhaps it is not the educator who imparts ‘critical thinking’ as a technique, but the forms of social relation the individual ‘learner’ moves between and negotiates which either promotes or denies critical thinking’s very possibility.  Educators need to keep this in mind and, as bell hooks might remind us, reflect on how their actions are changing the social world (or not) rather than how their lesson is changing their ‘students’.

References:

Freire, P. (1970) The Pedagogy of the Oppressed. [Penguin Classics]. London: Penguin Books.