Category: Tradition

  • What Habermas Can Still Teach Us in the Age of Artificial Intelligence

    In memory of a philosopher who taught us how to think

    The death of the German philosopher Jürgen Habermas this week invites more than a moment of remembrance. It invites a question: What can his thought still teach us about the technological moment we are living through?

    Habermas did not write about generative artificial intelligence. Yet one of the central distinctions in his philosophy helps illuminate an essential aspect of the age of intelligent machines. Not all forms of rationality are the same. Some forms of reasoning are oriented toward calculation. Others are oriented toward understanding. Artificial intelligence forces us to look again at that difference.

    The Expansion of Calculation

    Habermas described one form of reasoning as instrumental rationality. It is the kind of reasoning we use when we try to achieve a goal as efficiently as possible. It asks practical questions: what works? What produces the best outcome? How can a process be optimised? This logic has shaped much of modern society. It lies behind engineering, technological systems and many forms of scientific modelling.

    Artificial intelligence represents an extraordinary expansion of this capacity. Machines can process immense quantities of information, detect patterns and generate plausible responses in seconds. In that sense, artificial intelligence dramatically expands our ability to produce answers. But producing answers is not the same as understanding them.

    When Answers Come Before Understanding

    A system can now generate convincing explanations about history, economics or philosophy. It can construct arguments that appear coherent and even persuasive. Yet something important is missing.

    The machine does not understand the meaning of the words it produces. It does not grasp the implications of the argument it constructs. And it does not stand behind the claims it generates. In a strict sense, it produces answers without participating in understanding.

    Habermas described another form of rationality that belongs to human beings. He called it communicative rationality. This form of reasoning appears when people try to justify their claims to one another, explain their reasons and interpret meaning together. It is not primarily about efficiency. It is about making sense of things.

    An Older Philosophical Insight

    In this respect, Habermas stands within a much older philosophical tradition. Already in antiquity, Aristotle distinguished between different forms of knowledge. Some forms of knowledge are technical. They concern procedures, methods and the production of results. But Aristotle also described another form of intelligence. He called it phronesis, practical wisdom — the ability to judge well in situations where rules alone are not enough.

    Around the same time, Plato described education in a similar spirit. In the famous allegory of the cave, learning is not the simple accumulation of information. It is a turning of the mind toward reality. The Greeks had a word for this intellectual shift: periagoge — a turning of the soul.

    Education, in this sense, is not simply about receiving answers. It is about learning to see differently.

    The Space of Judgment

    This is where judgment appears. Judgment requires interpretation. It involves weighing arguments, recognising uncertainty and deciding what makes sense in a concrete situation.

    Artificial intelligence can help us explore possibilities. It can suggest explanations, detect patterns and generate answers we might not have considered. But it cannot decide what those answers ultimately mean. It cannot justify them in a public conversation. And it cannot assume responsibility for their consequences.

    Those tasks remain human.

    Artificial intelligence expands our capacity to generate answers.

    Education must therefore help students undergo a kind of intellectual periagoge — a turning of the mind from searching for answers to exercising judgment about them. Artificial intelligence may generate answers, but education exists to form the minds capable of understanding and judging them.

  • Thinking with Others. On Intellectual Debts in an Age of Intelligent Machines

    Thinking in Conversation

    The reflections developed in these essays did not emerge in isolation. They grew out of teaching, reading, conversation and reflection on how intelligent technologies are reshaping the conditions under which learning and judgment take place.

    Writing these essays has made something increasingly clear to me. The questions raised by artificial intelligence in education do not arise in an intellectual vacuum. They often echo problems that earlier thinkers had already explored in different contexts.

    What I am attempting here is therefore not academic philosophy. It is an effort to think about education at a moment of technological transformation while remaining attentive to thinkers who have examined the nature of knowledge, judgment, understanding, and human action.

    In that sense, these reflections are not written alone. They take place within a much longer conversation.

    Execution and Judgment

    One of the central distinctions in my work concerns the difference between execution and judgment.

    Artificial intelligence is increasingly capable of executing tasks that once required significant human expertise. It can produce answers, generate explanations, analyse data and structure arguments with remarkable speed.

    Yet producing an answer is not the same as deciding whether that answer should be trusted, interpreted or applied.

    That second activity requires judgment.

    The idea that judgment represents a distinct intellectual capacity has deep philosophical roots. Aristotle described phronesis, often translated as practical wisdom, as the ability to deliberate well about what should be done in concrete situations. It is not merely technical knowledge but a form of reasoning that weighs circumstances, consequences and responsibilities.

    Centuries later, Immanuel Kant described judgment as the faculty that allows us to apply general principles to particular situations when no rule can determine the answer in advance. Judgment becomes necessary precisely when the mechanical application of rules is insufficient.

    These traditions matter because judgment is not only about solving intellectual problems. It is also about orienting action. In that sense, it belongs to the conditions of freedom. A person who cannot judge may still execute tasks, comply with instructions or perform competently. But they cannot fully decide how to act, what to value or what responsibility to assume.

    These insights acquire renewed relevance in the age of intelligent machines. Artificial intelligence can increasingly perform tasks of execution. The human challenge lies in cultivating the capacity to judge when and how those outputs should be used—and, more deeply, how one should live and act in a world increasingly shaped by them.

    Formation and Results

    A second distinction that runs through these essays concerns the difference between obtaining correct results and undergoing intellectual formation.

    Modern educational systems often rely on tasks whose success can be measured through correct outputs. Students solve equations, produce essays or summarise texts. These results are frequently treated as evidence of understanding.

    Yet the process through which understanding develops is not identical to the result itself.

    This insight also has deep philosophical roots. In the Phenomenology of Spirit, Hegel emphasised that truth emerges through a process in which consciousness confronts contradictions and gradually transforms its understanding. Knowledge cannot be separated from the path through which it is achieved.

    In educational thought, John Dewey similarly insisted that learning is not the passive acquisition of information but the result of experiences that reshape how individuals perceive and interpret the world.

    Artificial intelligence introduces a new tension here. When correct answers become instantly available, it becomes possible to obtain results without undergoing the intellectual processes that form the thinker.

    The answer may exist. But the mind may not have been formed.

    This distinction matters because education is not only about enabling performance. It is about shaping the kind of person who will later judge, decide and assume responsibility. Formation is what makes freedom intellectually possible.

    Technologies That Reshape Thought

    A third line of reflection concerns the role of technologies in shaping thought habits.

    The idea that intellectual tools influence how human beings think is not new. Plato already raised this concern when reflecting on writing in the dialogue Phaedrus. Writing, he suggested, might expand the transmission of knowledge while simultaneously weakening memory and the internal processes of reflection.

    Much later, scholars such as Walter Ong and Neil Postman examined how different communication technologies reshape the structures of thought and cultural life. More recently, Nicholas Carr has argued that digital environments may alter attention and patterns of cognitive engagement.

    Artificial intelligence represents a new stage in this long history of cognitive technologies. Unlike previous tools, generative systems do not merely store or transmit knowledge. They actively produce language, explanations and interpretations.

    As a result, they increasingly participate in the very processes through which ideas are articulated and understood.

    Understanding how these technologies reshape intellectual habits, therefore, becomes a central educational question. If technologies help configure the ways in which we attend, interpret and respond, they also influence the conditions under which judgment and freedom are exercised.

    The Conditions of Thinking

    A further theme concerns the conditions under which thinking itself becomes possible.

    Philosophers and cultural critics have often emphasised the importance of moments of uncertainty, difficulty or silence in the development of thought. Reflection frequently begins not with immediate answers but with questions that remain unresolved for a time.

    Generative artificial intelligence alters this condition. The blank page, the moment of hesitation and the temporary absence of answers may increasingly be replaced by instant responses.

    Yet the space in which thought emerges may depend precisely on those moments in which answers are not immediately available.

    Recognising this tension does not require rejecting new technologies. It requires understanding how they reshape the intellectual environments in which learning takes place.

    A person who never inhabits uncertainty may become more efficient, but not necessarily more capable of judgment. And without judgment, freedom itself becomes thinner: one responds more quickly, but chooses less deeply.

    Thinking with Others

    Looking back at the essays collected on this site, I have gradually realised that many of the ideas they contain belong to a much older conversation.

    Aristotle reflected on practical judgment. Kant examined the faculty that allows us to apply principles to particular cases. Hegel explored the formative process through which understanding develops. Dewey examined learning as experience. Plato, Ong, Postman and others considered how technologies transform the conditions of thought.

    To this conversation, I would also add those thinkers who help us see that judgment matters not only because it improves decisions, but because it belongs to a fully human life. Sartre, for example, reminds us that human beings cannot escape responsibility for their choices. Even when systems produce recommendations, someone must still decide whether to adopt them and answer for the consequences.

    None of these thinkers addressed artificial intelligence in education as we encounter it today.

    Yet their work illuminates the questions we now face.

    My intention in writing these essays is not to produce academic philosophy, but to think carefully about education at a moment when intelligent technologies are rapidly transforming how knowledge is produced, communicated and applied.

    If these reflections contribute something of value, it is because they take place within this wider tradition of thinking about how human beings learn, judge, act and live freely.

    In that sense, the work presented here is not written alone.

    It is written in conversation with those who have long reflected on how human beings learn, judge and act in the world.

  • Jacques Ellul and Education Today: Three Short Lessons

    Long before digital platforms and generative AI entered the educational debate, Jacques Ellul (1912–1994) articulated a critique of technology that remains strikingly prescient.

    Ellul did not oppose technology in itself. He questioned its tendency to become autonomous — to reorganise social life around its own internal logic of efficiency. That insight offers several lessons for contemporary education.

    1. Technology tends to become an end, not a means

    In The Technological Society (1954), Ellul argued that modern technique evolves into a self-expanding system driven by efficiency and optimisation. Once established, it begins to dictate its own imperatives.

    The educational parallel is uncomfortable. When schools adopt tools because they are available, scalable or fashionable — before asking what form of human development they serve — pedagogy risks being shaped by technology rather than guiding it.

    2. Efficiency is a technical value, not an educational one

    In The Technological System (1977), Ellul warned that efficiency optimises processes but remains indifferent to meaning, wisdom or moral judgment.

    Education, however, is not primarily about optimisation. Learning environments that prioritise speed, metrics and procedural performance may inadvertently sideline deeper understanding, sustained reflection and intellectual maturity. Efficiency is not neutral; it privileges certain forms of value over others.

    3. The greatest danger is the delegation of judgment

    In Propaganda (1962), Ellul showed how modern systems can subtly displace individual judgment through automation and mass communication.

    Today, AI-driven feedback and assessment systems can undoubtedly support learning. Yet if judgment is routinely outsourced — if criteria, evaluation and discernment are delegated to automated systems — education risks producing competent users rather than free and responsible thinkers.

    Ellul’s work does not provide ready-made solutions for digital schooling. What it offers is a discipline of vigilance.

    Education must consciously govern technology so that it remains a tool in the service of truth, understanding and human freedom — rather than allowing technique to become the unexamined horizon within which formation takes place.

  • Is Europe’s “Decline” Inevitable?

    Lessons from the Fall of the Roman Empire

    It is often said that Europe is losing weight on the global stage. The United States suggests the continent has failed to translate its prosperity, values and dense institutional framework into sufficient geopolitical power. China portrays Europe as strategically dependent, constrained by demography, regulation and slowing economic dynamism. Russia, meanwhile, depicts Europe as a civilisation in decay, weakened by liberalism and estranged from its historical roots.

    Such narratives are not new. History offers parallels worth examining.

    Revisiting the work of Spanish historian José Soto Chica on the fall of Rome reveals an instructive distinction. The Western Roman Empire did not collapse solely because of barbarian invasions. The Eastern Empire faced comparable pressures — wars, migrations, fiscal strain — yet endured for nearly a millennium. The divergence lay less in external threats than in internal resilience.

    If Europe wishes to avoid repeating that fate, Rome’s experience points to at least three structural lessons.

    1. Protect the middle class and contain extreme inequality

    By the fifth century, wealth in the Western Empire had become increasingly concentrated. Fiscal capacity eroded, social cohesion weakened and the state’s ability to respond diminished.

    Resilient societies depend on a broad, economically viable middle class. When wealth concentrates excessively, the state loses both revenue and legitimacy. Paralysis follows.

    2. Demand civic responsibility from elites

    At critical moments, Western elites resisted necessary fiscal reforms. Financial contributions to collective defence declined, undermining the Empire’s capacity to maintain its military and respond to external threats.

    Prosperity is unsustainable without elite commitment to long-term institutional stability. Fiscal responsibility and strategic foresight are not optional virtues; they are structural requirements.

    3. Strengthen institutions rather than rely on “strongmen”

    The Western Empire was marked by internal power struggles and reliance on providential leaders. The Eastern Empire, by contrast, endured through bureaucratic continuity and institutional coherence.

    Political systems do not survive because of exceptional individuals. They survive because institutions are strong enough to outlast them.

    History does not dictate contemporary choices. But it does warn against patterns of self-erosion.

    To preserve its relevance and social model, Europe must reinforce internal cohesion, require greater responsibility from its elites and resist the illusion that prosperity is irreversible.

    The question is not whether Europe faces external pressure — it does. The question is whether it responds with institutional maturity or aristocratic complacency.

    Are we behaving like the Roman aristocracy of the fifth century — or learning from those who endured?

  • El mono, el búho y el papagayo

    Fábula para tiempos digitales

    Prólogo

    La discusión sobre la inteligencia artificial suele oscilar entre entusiasmo y temor. Sin embargo, más allá del debate tecnológico, la cuestión decisiva es antropológica: ¿qué ocurre cuando delegamos en una herramienta no solo tareas, sino procesos de pensamiento?

    La tradición clásica utilizó la fábula como forma breve de antropología moral. Animales que dialogan, exageran o se enfrentan no son un recurso infantil, sino una forma de iluminar disposiciones humanas permanentes.

    La siguiente pieza adopta deliberadamente ese registro. No pretende simplificar el problema de la inteligencia artificial, sino señalar, mediante alegoría, el riesgo de confundir repetición con comprensión y brillo con juicio.

    El mono, el búho y el papagayo

    Un Mono, altivo y curioso,

    halló un prodigio asombroso:

    un Papagayo elocuente

    que hablaba largo y meloso,

    con cierto aire pomposo..

    —«Escuchad, amigos míos,

    su saber no halla vacíos:

    responde a todo al instante;

    su decir es deslumbrante

    y ajusta como un guante».

    Un Búho, sobrio y prudente,

    dijo con voz consistente:

    —«Tu ave canta y repite,

    mas, aunque el mundo imite,

    ni comprende ni consiente.

    No hay juicio en la cadencia

    ni verdad en la apariencia;

    si todo eco se celebra,

    la mente pronto se quiebra

    por falta de resistencia».

    El Mono, algo irritado,

    replicó con gesto airado:

    —«Viejo búho desconfiado,

    hoy lo nuevo es lo avanzado;

    si aligera nuestro fardo,

    ¿por qué temer lo aprendido?»

    Mas el Búho, sosegado,

    contestó firme y mesurado:

    —«Llamas progreso al dictado

    y confundes brillo y legado.

    Si el juicio queda apagado,

    ¿qué queda del ser pensado?»

    Siguió el ave parlanchina

    con su música divina;

    el Mono, siempre encantado,

    creyó saber lo escuchado.

    Mas todo era emitido,

    sin juicio ni sentido.

    Moraleja

    Quien su juicio abandona

    por voz que solo razona

    según patrón repetido,

    descubre, tarde y herido,

    que pensar no es lo oído.

    La mente que no ejercita

    la duda que la acredita

    termina por delegar

    no solo el cómo expresar,

    sino el arte de juzgar.

    Y allí donde el juicio muere

    y la comodidad prefiere,

    no avanza la inteligencia:

    se atrofia la conciencia.

  • Günther Anders and the Promethean Gap in the Age of Artificial Intelligence

    Günther Anders, the twentieth-century philosopher of technology, coined a concept that feels increasingly relevant: the Promethean disparity. By this, he meant the growing gap between what human beings are technically capable of producing and what they are morally and imaginatively capable of understanding.

    We can build systems whose consequences we struggle to foresee. We can optimise processes faster than we can reflect on their implications.

    For Anders, the danger was not simply technological misuse. It was an anthropological transformation: the gradual reshaping of human self-understanding under the pressure of technical possibility.

    Artificial intelligence brings this insight directly into education.

    Our technical capacity to automate feedback, generate explanations, personalise learning pathways and evaluate performance has expanded at remarkable speed. Yet our reflection on how these capabilities may redefine the meaning of teaching and learning often lags behind.

    Anders’ warning highlights three interrelated concerns.

    First, humanity must remain primary.

    AI can assist, extend and analyse. It cannot exercise ethical judgement, assume responsibility or interpret the moral texture of a classroom. Education is not merely the transmission of information; it is the formation of persons. When optimisation becomes the dominant lens, the risks to formation become secondary.

    Second, we must resist what Anders described elsewhere as a form of “technological shame”: the tendency to measure ourselves by the efficiency of our own machines. In education, this may manifest as evaluating teachers primarily through metrics aligned with machine logic — speed, output, standardisation — rather than through intellectual and relational depth.

    Third, integration requires deliberation.

    Innovation in education cannot be automatic. It demands anticipation: What habits does this tool cultivate? What forms of dependency might it create? What aspects of human judgement might it erode or strengthen?

    Artificial intelligence is not inherently dehumanising. It becomes so only when adopted uncritically.

    Anders reminds us that technical progress does not guarantee moral progress. The faster our tools evolve, the more disciplined our reflection must be.

    At its core, education is not about optimising systems.

    It is about forming human beings capable of judgment within themselves.

  • The Bic Cristal and the Quiet Transformation of Education

    On 3 September 1965, France officially lifted the ban on ballpoint pens in schools. Until then, students had been required to write with metal-nib pens and ink. The change, as recently recalled by Le Monde, may seem trivial from a contemporary perspective. Yet it signalled more than a practical adjustment. It marked a cultural transition.

    The move from inkwells to the Bic Cristal was not merely a change of instruments. It altered rhythm, posture and expectations. Writing became faster, cleaner and more accessible, and less ceremonious.

    The metal nib demanded deliberation. Ink required attention. Blots were visible and consequential. Writing carried a certain ritual weight. The ballpoint pen reduced friction. It simplified execution and widened access.

    Neither development was inherently superior. Each fostered different habits.

    The Bic Cristal democratised writing. It lowered costs and increased reliability. It allowed millions to write without fear of spills or technical inconvenience. At the same time, something of the older aesthetic discipline — the visible trace of careful calligraphy — receded.

    This historical moment offers a modest yet instructive lesson.

    Technological innovations in education rarely announce themselves as revolutions. They arrive as improvements in convenience. Yet convenience reshapes practice, which reshapes habits, which reshape cognition.

    The lesson is neither to romanticise the inkwell nor to celebrate the ballpoint uncritically. It is to recognise that tools alter the texture of learning.

    Today’s debates about artificial intelligence often assume the scale is unprecedented. In one sense, it is. In another, education has always absorbed technologies that reconfigure its daily rhythms — from printing presses to pencils, from blackboards to laptops.

    The question is not whether tools change education. They do.

    The question is whether we remain attentive to what changes in them.

    The Bic Cristal did not destroy literacy, but it did change how writing was experienced. Likewise, contemporary digital tools will not abolish thinking. They will, however, shape its tempo, friction, and perhaps its depth.

    Sometimes the most consequential transformations begin with the simplest objects.

  • Jacques Delors and the Four Pillars of Education

    Jacques Delors has passed away. With his death, Europe loses one of its most consequential political architects — and education one of its most influential contemporary advocates.

    Beyond his role in European integration, Delors will be remembered for his decisive contribution to educational thought through the UNESCO report Learning: The Treasure Within (1996). In that report, he articulated what became known as the four pillars of education: learning to know, learning to do, learning to live together, and learning to be.

    The formulation was not philosophically unprecedented. The idea that education concerns the formation of the whole person has deep roots in classical and modern pedagogy. What Delors achieved was different: he gave this vision political authority and global institutional reach. Under his impetus, the four pillars became a shared reference point for educational reform across continents.

    Their relevance has not diminished.

    Learning to know emphasises disciplined inquiry and intellectual depth.

    Learning to do connects knowledge with competence and application.

    Learning to live together affirms the civic and relational dimensions of education in plural societies.

    Learning to be recognises the formation of autonomy, responsibility and identity.

    At a time when technological acceleration risks narrowing education to performance metrics and functional skills, Delors’ framework serves as a corrective. Artificial intelligence may transform access to information and the execution of tasks, but it does not replace the need to cultivate judgement, coexistence and character.

    Delors understood that education is not ancillary to political life. It is foundational to it. Democratic stability depends not only on institutions but also on the quality of the formation those institutions presuppose.

    His passing invites reflection — not merely on a legacy but on purpose.

    The four pillars remain a demanding reminder that education must aim at more than efficiency. It must aim at human development in its fullest sense.