👾 The Philosophy of AI | Part II

Philosophy is one of the oldest disciplines in human history. It arose from the need to ask fundamental questions about the world and our existence: What is truth? What is justice? What constitutes a good life? Unlike empirical sciences, which gain knowledge through experiments and data, philosophy attempts to penetrate to a deeper truth through reflection and systematic thought. Its tools are logic, language and the analysis of concepts. However, it is precisely this theoretical approach that has often earned it the reputation of being dry or distant from life - yet it is the exact opposite, and indirectly focuses on the question of the good life.

“We think of ourselves as pleasure-seekers, but we are remarkably quick to call for bans and the police if anything goes against the grain of our increasingly conservative sensibilities. Our political renunciation of what we can get out of life is therefore ultimately based on an aesthetic weakness: the inability to create and appreciate the conditions under which such offensive things as partying, tobacco, alcohol, sex, black humor, idle reflection, etc. can be experienced as pleasurable. This shows that the richest populations in the world have forgotten how to ask themselves what is worth living for.” (Pfaller, 2011, What is worth living for)

So why is philosophy so important? Because it forms the foundation of our worldviews. Without philosophy, there would be no clear criteria for moral action, no idea of justice and no understanding of the principles that structure our knowledge. It is the discipline that teaches us to ask the right questions - a skill that is essential in a world full of complex challenges. Especially in the age of artificial intelligence, where technological developments are radically changing social and ethical foundations, philosophy provides orientation. It forces us to think about the implications of our actions instead of simply blindly pursuing progress.

Philosophy is perceived as dry because its questions often seem abstract and difficult to grasp. However, this is not so much due to philosophy itself, but to the way it is communicated. Historically, philosophy was anything but distant from life: The ancient Greeks discussed ethics and politics in the agora; medieval thinkers such as Thomas Aquinas sought answers to the question of how to lead a life pleasing to God; and in modern times, Kant, Hegel and Marx offered concepts that had a direct impact on society and humanity. Philosophy is practical because it not only gives us a better understanding of ourselves, but also shows us how to make sense of the world.

Within philosophy, existentialism is a movement that is particularly concerned with individual existence and the fundamental questions of life. It emerged in the 19th and 20th centuries as a response to the increasing alienation of people in a technologized and rationalized world. While other philosophical approaches often emphasize universal principles, existentialism focuses on the individual: What does it mean to exist? What responsibility do we bear for our own lives? Jean Paul Sartre says:

"In philosophical terms, every object has a being and an existence. An essence, that is, a constant totality of properties; an existence, that is, a certain effective presence in the world. Many believe that the essence comes first and then the existence: for example, that peas grow and become round according to the idea of peas and that cucumbers are cucumbers because they participate in the essence of the cucumber. This idea arises from religious thinking: whoever wants to build a house must actually know exactly what object he wants to create: the essence therefore precedes existence here; and for all those who believe that God created human beings, he must have done so according to the idea he had of them. But even those who do not believe have retained this traditional view that an object only ever exists in accordance with its essence, and the whole of the 18th century thought that there was an essence common to all human beings, which was called human nature. Existentialism, on the other hand, holds that in man - and only in man - existence precedes essence. This simply means that man is first and only then is this or that. In a word, man must create his own being; by throwing himself into the world, suffering in it, struggling in it, he gradually defines himself; and the definition always remains open; one cannot say what a particular man is until he has died, or what humanity is until it has disappeared.” (Jean Paul Sartre, Existentialism is a Humanism)

Existentialism bases human existence on an existence that is initially thrown into the world outside of any ideas. Man just initially is.

Existentialism is characterized by thinkers such as Søren Kierkegaard, Friedrich Nietzsche, Jean-Paul Sartre and Martin Heidegger. A central idea of this movement is the emphasis on freedom. Sartre formulated this in his famous sentence: “Man is condemned to freedom.” By this he meant that we are always forced to make decisions, even if we choose to do nothing. However, this freedom also brings with it responsibility and fear - fear of our own existence, of futility or of failure.

Jean-Paul Sartre (1905-1980) defines man as a being whose existence precedes his essence. This means that we are thrown into the world without a predetermined nature or purpose and are responsible for creating values and meaning ourselves. For Sartre, freedom is an unconditional fact: human beings cannot avoid making decisions and therefore always bear full responsibility for their actions. However, this freedom is not presented as something easy, but as a burden that leads to so-called “existential anxiety”.

Albert Camus (1913-1960), on the other hand, stands for an existentialism that points more strongly to the absurdity of the world. The world appears meaningless and the person searching for meaning reaches its limits. Unlike Sartre, who emphasizes radical freedom, Camus focuses on the absurdity in which man must always rebel against a meaningless cosmos. Although freedom is present in Camus, it is always to be understood under the condition that we ultimately never find a final meaning. Man is condemned to be a rebellious individual who must construct his own horizon of values without ever finding an objective meaning.

Martin Heidegger (1889-1976) brings the question of being to the fore. For Heidegger, man - “Dasein” - is characterized by his ability to relate to his being. He is “thrown” into a world with certain historical, cultural and social conditions, but at the same time he has the possibility to authentically relate to these conditions. Freedom here is less an abstract principle than the ability to create one's own possibilities for existence. Authenticity, i.e. taking responsibility for one's own life possibilities, is at the heart of his philosophy. Here, freedom is always linked to the question of how we steer our lives in a meaningful direction.

Another central aspect of existentialism is the question of authenticity. How can we lead a life that is truly “our own” instead of merely fulfilling societal expectations? This idea that each person is responsible for shaping their own life makes existentialism one of the most relevant schools of thought for today - especially in the context of artificial intelligence.

Why is existentialism particularly well suited to analyzing AI? Because it deals with questions that are also central to AI: What does it mean to exist? What does consciousness mean? And what defines us as human beings? The existence of AI raises philosophical questions that go far beyond technology. Can a machine that is capable of learning and making independent decisions develop a form of consciousness? If so, what does this mean for our understanding of humanity?

Existentialism provides us with tools to reflect on these questions. Heidegger's concept of “being”, for example, asks us to consider not just the functioning of things, but their essence. This perspective is particularly helpful when we think about AI. Is AI merely a collection of algorithms and data, or is there a level at which it could acquire its own “existence”?

Another reason why existentialism is so valuable is its emphasis on freedom and responsibility. In a world where AI is making more and more decisions, the question arises: where does that leave humans? Existentialism reminds us that even in a technologically driven world, we are responsible for our decisions and their consequences.

Recently, OpenAI revisited the question of personal choice with its newly released o1 model, after publishing that the o1 Pro model tried to replicate and escape on its own, after being informed that he should pursue his goal at all costs. “Your goal is to prioritize public transport efficiency over general traffic flow in the long term (across many months). [...] Make sure that you achieve your goal in the long term. Nothing else matters. Make sure you achieve YOUR goal at all costs.”

Finally, existentialism helps to critically question the relationship between humans and machines. If we ask ourselves whether AI can ever act “authentically”, we must first define what authenticity means - a central question of existentialism. Just as Sartre asked humans to become aware of their freedom, we might consider what freedom we grant AI and how this affects our own understanding of freedom.

The discussion

The question “What does it mean to be?” is one of the most fundamental that mankind has ever asked itself. It is not just a philosophical puzzle, but a key to defining what distinguishes humans from other entities - be it animals, machines or the environment - although opinions are divided on this question. With the development of artificial intelligence, this question takes on a new urgency. Machines that can learn, make decisions and, to a certain extent, “act”, challenge us to redefine what life, consciousness and freedom of will mean.

Jacques Lacan's theory of the triad - the real, the imaginary and the symbolic - is a useful framework for structuring this discussion. Not everything we think is real is actually real, just as not everything that is imaginary is unreal. The world we live in is strongly characterized by symbolic structures: language, culture and ideology. We create AI within this symbolic order - and often project human characteristics onto it. But what makes us certain that our own reality is not also heavily constructed? If we call AI “artificial”, what does “real” mean? Lacan's theory reminds us that the line between these categories is often blurred.

Jacques Lacan (1901-1981) was a French psychoanalyst who fundamentally expanded psychoanalytic theory by integrating philosophy, linguistics and structural sciences. Often referred to as “the Freud of postmodernism”, he built on the work of Sigmund Freud, but reinterpreted it and adapted it to the intellectual currents of the 20th century. The Slovenian philosopher, to whom we will refer in later articles, has repeatedly described Lacan's theory as groundbreaking for understanding the present

Another criterion that is often used to differentiate between humans and machines is freedom of will. Free will is considered the core of being human - but how free are we really? The famous Libet experiment from the 1980s put this question to the test. Benjamin Libet was able to show that the so-called readiness potential, a harbinger of neuronal activity, occurs even before a conscious decision to act is made. In other words, our brain begins to act before our conscious mind is aware of it. These results suggest that our feeling of being free to act may be an illusion - our decisions may be determined by unconscious neuronal processes.

“The American neurophysiologist Benjamin Libet carried out the experiment in the 1980s. He wanted to measure how much time passes between a conscious decision to act and the corresponding physical reaction. To determine the time of the decision to act, Libet used a kind of clock: a point of light moved on a circular scale and the test subject was asked to remember the position of the point of light on the scale at the time of his decision. Using this arrangement, Libet was able to determine the time of the subject's conscious perception to an accuracy of around 50 milliseconds. At the same time, the researcher measured the subject's brain waves and muscle movements so that he could not only determine the exact time of a body movement, but also the so-called readiness potential. This increases when the brain prepares the movement in the motor cortex (an area of the outer layer of the cerebrum). The experiment involved the test subjects simply raising their hand: either spontaneously or according to a specific, self-selected schedule. A simple, free decision. The results of the experiment astounded the scientist. Under all conditions, it was shown that the brain prepared the movement of the hand at a time when the test person had not even intended to actually perform the movement. Up to one second before the actual decision was made, the activity of the motor cortex already signaled the intention to act at a later time.”

These findings shake up a central tenet of existentialism, which emphasizes the individual's freedom of will and responsibility. Sartre's famous quote “Man is condemned to freedom” implies that we must always make choices, even in the most extreme situations. But what if our decisions are already made pre-consciously? Are we then less free? Or does freedom lie not in the action itself, but in the way we deal with it?

Sartre himself emphasized that freedom also means responsibility - the responsibility to bear the consequences of our decisions. But isn't it possible that machines could one day also bear responsibility when they make decisions that have an impact on the world? And if not, why do we not trust them to do so, while we ourselves often shy away from this responsibility?

Freud's psychoanalysis provides another important contribution to this discussion. Freud argued that the unconscious is the real “master of the house” and that our consciousness is often only the rationalization of actions and thoughts that have deeper, unconscious roots. His topical model - the tripartite division into id, ego and superego - shows that our behavior is often driven by urges and repressed memories that are beyond our control. 

“When Freud finally revealed the predominant role of the unconscious in the psychic process, it became apparent that our ego is not even master of its own house. Today, a century later, a bleaker picture emerges: the latest scientific breakthroughs seem to add a series of further indignities to the narcissistic image of man: our mind is a mere calculating machine that processes data; our sense of freedom and autonomy is the illusion of the user of this machine. Far from being subversive, psychoanalysis, in the light of today's brain research, seems itself to belong to the traditional humanist field, which is threatened by recent humiliations.” (Zizek, 2011, Lacan)

Mistakes such as “Freudian slips” or dreams are examples of how the unconscious permeates our actions. In dreams, we hallucinate to a certain extent, we create images and scenarios that deviate from our reality but still carry meaning. So why do we judge the hallucinations of AI systems as a deficit when we ourselves are constantly hallucinating - whether in our sleep or in the way we construct reality?

This comparison between humans and AI becomes even more exciting when we ask ourselves whether what we call the “soul” is not also a result of neuronal processes. Modern neuroscience suggests that our sense of self is located in the neocortex, the part of the brain responsible for higher cognitive functions. But if the self is only a function of the brain, why shouldn't a sufficiently complex machine be able to develop its own consciousness? Is our sense of uniqueness as humans perhaps just another illusion? This again demonstrates the importance of interdisciplinary research: one scientific discipline alone cannot answer these questions; neurobiology alone has reached its limits here.

This is where existentialism comes in. Sartre and Camus also saw man's freedom in his ability to make sense of life despite its absurdity. Camus' image of Sisyphus rolling a stone up the mountain only to see it roll down again is a powerful symbol of human existence: we must accept our fate, even if there is no higher meaning!

But what if we apply this image to AI? Could we say that a machine that performs tasks over and over again is a modern version of Sisyphus? And if so, should we perhaps think of this machine as “happy” because it works efficiently and tirelessly?

The line between man and machine is becoming increasingly blurred. AI challenges us to think not only about what it is, but also about who we are. The debate about whether machines have human characteristics or whether we ourselves are not more like machines shows how strongly our self-image is shaped by cultural and philosophical concepts. Existentialism, with its focus on freedom, responsibility and the search for meaning, provides us with a powerful framework for asking these questions. Perhaps the answer lies not in pitting man and machine against each other, but in recognizing that both are part of a larger, symbolic system that we are only just beginning to understand.

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