The Lost "Art" of "Artificial Intelligence"
A multidisciplinary bit about me, and AI, through the lens of cultural and linguistic context
If you pay enough attention, culture is spellbinding.
The dazzling array of diverse human modes of living and being touches something deep within me—that tender, universal chord reminding us that beneath it all, beyond our vast differences, we share similar desires, urges, longings, heartbreak, despair, triumph, ecstasy, melancholy, joy, desiderata, yearnings, Ἔρως, saudade, jubilation, πάθος, Weltschmerz, elation, euphoria, hiraeth, αγάπη, Sehnsucht, lachrymose moments, and chimerical fancies built from contradictory desires.
There’s a sweet, primal resonance to these feelings, a nameless connection that whispers of our shared humanity, distant though it may be in our archaic past, even as our languages and traditions paint our lives with an infinity of varied hues. It rings in tones of subdued ecstasy if we open our eyes and listen hard enough.
Since I was a kid, I’ve imbibed culture like a starving man gobbles down a freshly-cooked meal (except with fewer stares from bewildered restaurant patrons) and it’s reflected in everything I do—from date nights with traditional Armenian music to the Old Nubian alphabet used to spell my name (ⳡⲝⲟⲇⲩⳟⲕⲁⲛ), culture works its way into my daily life.
A Brief Defense of Multiculturalism
It’s wholly splendid that there is something called consciousness within each one of us (including animals), something we can’t define, we can’t touch, we can’t see, observe, or measure, and that transcends, truly, transcends our superficial, symbolic differences, which are, in themselves, mere expressions of that consciousness. In fact, our differences are ultimately artificial, artifacts introduced as we translate the human experience to one another.
On a practical, concrete level, embracing culture has innumerable benefits to our individual and collective lives. In the ancient world, brute force wasn’t everything, contrary to popular belief. There were countless powerful warrior cultures whose histories went nowhere thanks to their closed-mindedness.
Rome, Greece, the Achaemenid Empire, and other successful civilizations were unique in their willingness to embrace cultures different from theirs, to augment the things they found beneficial or appreciable, and discard the rest, something the U.S. would do wise to take note of, considering our current xenophobic shift.
On a personal level, when we embrace what’s different from us, we expand our horizons, quite literally expanding the possible in our lives.
What Does it Mean to Be Artificial?
Language is a particularly captivating lens through which to explore these differences and commonalities. Each tongue carries its unique worldview, sculpting how its speakers express their experiences. Even subtle shifts in linguistic context can yield profound divergences in meaning as they compound over time. The beauty of this lies not only in the words themselves, but in how they encapsulate centuries of cultural evolution, shaping and being shaped by the lives of those who use them.
One of my favorite things about the peculiar German-English relationship is where our languages divorced and diverged over time. Thanks to semantic drift, the contextual meaning of the English word “artificial” evolved markedly, while the German word did not.1
In both languages, the word has always meant something was “human-made,” but in English, it drifted from meaning “artfully constructed” to meaning “not natural” or “synthetic” or “fake.” The German still retains this original meaning, thus the German „künstliche Intelligenz” (artificial intelligence) is more like saying “artsy-fartsy intelligence”—which is way more fun than what’s implied with our English “artificial intelligence,” which more so means “fake, synthetic intelligence.”
The German still retains this original meaning, thus the German „künstliche Intelligenz” (artificial intelligence) is more like saying “artsy-fartsy intelligence”—which is way more fun than what’s implied with our English “artificial intelligence”, which more so means “fake, synthetic intelligence.”2
When we speak of artificial intelligence in English, art is the furthest thing from our minds; the unflinching, reflexless logic of technology, as cold as the steel of the machines themselves, is what we envision.
This English meaning might more appropriately be rendered „falsche Intelligenz“ or „synthetische Intelligenz“ if one were to do a direct translation of the English to German, retaining the context.
This gets doubly weird when we consider how the context of art has drifted even further from the original meanings in Latin and Greek, wherein both the Latin “ars” and Greek τέχνη (techne) aren’t limited to just artsy-fartsy things, but anything one might gain mastery over.3
The Latin “ars pingendi” was merely one form of art, “the art of painting,” and the Latins had ars music, ars mathematic (the art of music, the art of mathematics), and many more—anything human made or synthetic, that could be learned to an expert level. We’ve come full circle.
Putting the “Art” Back in Artificial “Intelligence”
It’s really the German (and early English) which is (was) backward, as “art” once meant “human-made” and “synthetic”, and was much more about rigid efficiency and technical mastery than creative vision or uniqueness. Speaking of, where does that word come from? “Technical”? Glad you asked.
It’s the original word for “art”, from τέχνη, and the Greek version has always carried the same context of technical wizardry and unflinching efficiency, which still endures in our English “technical” “technology” and similar words and the German „technische“ und „Technik” (technical, technology).
When the German car company says „Vorsprung durch Technik“, as Audi does (“progress through technology”), they ironically capture the original meaning of the word “art,” long-lost, after we Germanic-language speakers bisected the word, creating two definitions where there was only ever a need for one.4
After all, can you really have art without technical skill? And what good is the rigor of efficiency if it’s not guided toward creative and innovative ends? They—art and technology—really are the same thing and always have been.5
In many ways, reading German is like reading Elizabethan or Middle English. The grammar structures are much the same, while Modern English vowels and grammar have shifted significantly. I’d imagine a German who also speaks English would have a much easier time with Shakespeare than a native speaker of American English.
This is a bit tongue-in-cheek, it would be more like “artful intelligence” with the different context.
I assure you, the Latin “ars” has no connection to the Scottish word you're thinking of meaning "derrière", at least not that I’m aware of, but if there ever was one creation in this great universe that was truly a work of art, I must say….
My friend and fellow polymath,
, asked me if the Germans view technology, especially artificial intelligence, any differently because of this linguistic distinction. I.e., he asked if they’re less skeptical of AI’s capabilities (or more).I have no data on this, but they’re definitely not as obsessed with it, judging by their media (I consume more German than English media). Though that could be for a number of reasons—US culture is uniquely paranoid (The Paranoid Style in American Politics comes to mind), the Germans aren’t soaked in the same aggressive, sensationalist media ecosystem the Anglo world is, that their ancient culture gives them a sense of unity we don’t have, etc.
Whether the linguistic distinction shapes human psychology, I think the answer in the research is pretty clear on this, that no, linguistic styles don’t shape psychology.
Some cultures have no word for “time” or even markers of time “day, year, etc.” but that doesn’t mean they have zero conception of the progression of time. They know their relative died last year, they know they’ll be older next year, they know the cold season is coming soon, even if they don’t have the language tools to express that efficiently.
To use Paul Bloom’s example, some cultures might have a word for bravery, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have brave people. Numerous cultures don’t have words for things, but they still have and perceive those things.
A great example of this is another English-German distinction, “happiness” in English is something you obtain, while the corresponding German „Glücklichkeit“ isn’t quite the same, more meaning “fortunate,” which implies something happening outside of you that bestows fortune upon you (though, Germans could also use “zufrieden,” which is more like “satisfied” or “froh” which is more like “glad” or “joyful,” not quite the same).
But, you’d be really hard-pressed to argue that German and English-speakers experience happiness differently. People believe they can work toward good fortune, with alchemy or whatever, just like they believe that “hustling hard” and “rise and grind” will help them acquire happiness.
I think this is more than just a peculiar connection between cultures and languages distant in time and space. I think it can inform how we should approach the coming age of artificial intelligence. Perhaps we should take our cue from the ancients and seek to understand the artificial as truly “artful” and not merely technical.
You’ve all seen the meme. “I want AI to do my dishes so I can focus on my art, not for AI to focus on my art so I can do the dishes”—this is apt.
We face a choice, currently, to either view AI as a technology that can “save time” and “improve efficiency,” which is how it’s been conceived of mostly by the business community in the United States, or we can understand that a much better application of AI would do neither the dishes nor the art—it wouldn’t do things humans are capable of, but rather, what we’re incapable of. It would facilitate passionate creativity, rather than cold efficiency.
Are we going to use AI to fuel our passions and to, like culture, express what is deeply human within us? Or will we use it as yet another soulless tool of technical efficiency?