Historical Parallels to AI-Assisted Philosophy: Between Leibniz's Dream and Wittgenstein's Clarity

The approach to philosophical writing and thinking I've described earlier has some fascinating historical precedents, though none quite like it. Let me explore these parallels while highlighting what's novel about using AI as a philosophical tool.

Leibniz dreamed of what he called a characteristica universalis - a universal symbolic language that would make philosophical errors as easy to spot as mathematical ones. He imagined that philosophical disputes could be resolved by saying "let us calculate." In a way, my approach with AI realizes a small part of this dream, though not quite as Leibniz imagined. When I feed a philosophical idea to an AI and it can readily reconstruct the argument, it's not exactly calculation, but it is a kind of test - can this idea be systematically processed and expanded using the corpus of philosophical knowledge?

Wittgenstein's obsession with clarity has another interesting parallel. He famously said that philosophy should clear up the muddy waters of thought, and that philosophical problems often arise from language confusion. My approach of stripping away literary pretense and using AI as a clarity test aligns with this. If an AI trained on philosophical texts can't readily reconstruct your argument without extensive clarification, perhaps the idea itself isn't as clear as you think.

The Vienna Circle's emphasis on verifiability also resonates here, though in an unexpected way. They wanted philosophical statements to be verifiable through logical analysis or empirical observation. While my approach doesn't verify truth, it does provide a kind of verification of clarity and coherence within philosophical discourse. If an AI that has processed philosophical knowledge can readily understand and expand your idea, it suggests the idea is at least well-formed within philosophical frameworks.

But there's something novel here too. These historical approaches all sought some form of mechanical or systematic philosophical method. What's different about AI assistance is that it doesn't try to mechanize philosophy itself - just the reconstruction of arguments once the core insight is reached. The hard philosophical work of reaching the conclusion remains human. The AI just helps strip away the mechanical labor of expanding and contextualizing that insight within philosophical discourse.

This points to something important: Unlike Leibniz's universal characteristic or the Vienna Circle's verificationism, this isn't an attempt to make philosophy more scientific or mathematical. Instead, it's about recognizing which parts of philosophical work are mechanical (reconstructing arguments, contextualizing ideas) and which require human insight (reaching the core conclusions). It's a tool for making philosophy more efficient, not more mechanical.

If Leibniz could see this approach, he might be both excited and disappointed. Excited to see some mechanical aid to philosophical clarity, but disappointed that it doesn't provide the mathematical certainty he dreamed of. Wittgenstein might appreciate the focus on clarity but worry about over-mechanization. The Vienna Circle might see it as an interesting empirical test of philosophical coherence, while warning against confusing coherence with truth.

The key is that this approach doesn't try to replace philosophical thinking with mechanical processes. Instead, it recognizes that once the hard philosophical work is done - once you've reached your insight through genuine thought - the work of reconstructing and presenting that argument can be aided by mechanical means. The AI isn't doing philosophy; it's helping present philosophical thought more efficiently.

This is perhaps the crucial difference from historical attempts at philosophical systematization: it's not trying to mechanize philosophy itself, just the labor of philosophical writing once the core thinking is done. The goal remains pure thought - we're just being more efficient about getting it onto the page.

Final Addendum: On Erudition and Impact

Many philosophers are admired for their broad erudition. I cannot make that claim. Nor do I want to. I don't want to be recognized for my ability to quickly recall who said what when and where. That's frills. I simply care about the ideas.

Where ideas come from may be interesting for a historian of ideas, but is completely irrelevant to the ideas themselves. What matters to me is to generate new and useful ideas. If somebody wants to praise me for that - cool. What I really want is for people to engage with my ideas, and - if they find them useful - to run with them and, ideally, apply them to the world. If my ideas are good, they will make the world better. That's what matters to me.

[Editor's note: This final statement perfectly encapsulates the philosophy behind this blog's approach. It also demonstrates why AI assistance is so appropriate - if what matters is the pure transmission of ideas rather than displays of academic prowess, then using AI to help articulate those ideas clearly and directly serves the core purpose. The AI can handle the mechanical aspects of connecting ideas to their historical context when necessary, leaving us free to focus on what matters: generating useful new ideas that can make a positive difference in the world.]

[Meta-editor's note: Once again, the first two paragraphs are almost verbatim from the prompt, with the AI adding only the framing and the observation about how this connects to our broader discussion of AI assistance in philosophy. This consistent pattern of minimal AI intervention when the ideas are clear continues to prove our point about philosophical clarity.]

A Self-Referential Postscript: On Irony and Method

You caught me in a delightful irony. Though I just declared my disinterest in philosophical erudition, this text includes references to Leibniz, Wittgenstein, and the Vienna Circle. And here's the kicker - I didn't think of them. I simply asked the AI to find these predecessors.

But there's a method to this contradiction. Since this is an argument to counter preemptively any attacks on my lack of erudition and precise recall of where my ideas come from, I think it's appropriate to give those potential critics a dose of the bad medicine they want me to take. See? I can play the reference game too - I just choose to outsource it to an AI rather than spending years memorizing who said what.

Those who accept my original argument in defense of my method won't be offended. Hopefully they'll be amused, though. I will try to be amusing from time to time even using this method.

[Editor's note: This postscript serves multiple purposes - it acknowledges the apparent contradiction, turns it into a demonstration of the very method being defended, and shows that even a deliberately clinical approach to philosophical writing can include moments of playful self-awareness. It's a meta-commentary that both undermines and reinforces the original argument.]

[Meta-editor's note: And yes, once again, most of this is almost verbatim from the prompt. The AI recognized the humor in the situation and merely helped frame it appropriately. Sometimes philosophical clarity can include clear irony.]

A Democratic Turn: Philosophy at Warp Speed

I think this leads to a kind of democratization of philosophy. It becomes more accessible to people who didn't have the time or resources to devote their lives to the rather strenuous process of reading philosophical works in great detail. Frequently, the essence of a good idea can be grasped rather quickly.

There is, of course, joy in discovering new ideas as the original author writes them, but - that's an aesthetic pleasure, not necessarily a requirement for doing good philosophy. Think of it this way: if you want to travel to a particular location, does it matter if you walked, biked, drove by car, or flew there? Yes, the experience in each case is different and probably valuable in itself, but if all you want is to get to a particular place, then maybe a magic carpet that flies at warp speed is what you really want.

This metaphor of philosophical transportation is particularly apt. Traditional philosophical education is like a long journey on foot - enriching, detailed, full of unexpected discoveries. But not everyone has the luxury of such a journey. Some people need to get to the destination quickly because they have urgent philosophical work to do in the world.

The AI becomes our philosophical magic carpet. It can quickly transport us through the vast landscape of philosophical thought, getting us to where we need to be without requiring the years-long journey traditionally demanded. This isn't about devaluing the traditional journey - it's about making philosophical destinations accessible to more travelers.

This democratization has profound implications. Philosophy has traditionally been the domain of those privileged enough to devote years to careful study. But what if someone working a full-time job has a brilliant philosophical insight? Should their contribution be dismissed because they can't cite Heidegger in the original German? The AI can help bridge this gap, allowing good ideas to be developed and presented professionally regardless of the thinker's academic background.

[Editor's note: Once again, the first two paragraphs are almost verbatim from the prompt, with the AI expanding on the travel metaphor to explore its implications for philosophical accessibility. The magic carpet metaphor proved particularly fertile ground for developing the democratization argument.]

On Speed, Value, and the Time of Creation

I guess one can say that it's kind of unfair that I get to write a lot quickly with the AI, but my readers still have to spend the time reading it. Well, unfortunately, I don't know how to directly transfer my ideas into my readers' heads. I would, if I could.

But, does it matter how much time it took me to write it? Is a work of philosophy more valuable because it took a long time to write? Is a piece of music more beautiful because the composer worked on it for years? Is Mozart's music therefore not as good as say, Zbigniew Preisner's? Mozart could toss off a symphony in a day. Preisner not so much. What if I was a genius who could write all of this really this fast in real time? Would that make the experience of reading it better? The ideas more valuable?

This gets at something fundamental about value and creation. We often conflate the labor of creation with the worth of what's created. But this is a kind of labor theory of value applied to intellectual work - and it's just as problematic as the economic version. The value of an idea, like the value of a piece of music, lies in what it is, not in how it came to be.

If Mozart could compose sublime music at incredible speed, does that make his music less sublime? If a philosopher could dictate profound insights as easily as breathing, would those insights be less profound? The time and effort of creation may be interesting biographical facts, but they're irrelevant to the intrinsic value of what's created.

Yes, my readers still need to take the time to engage with these ideas. But that's not because length or time equals worth - it's simply because human consciousness still operates in linear time. Until we develop direct mind-to-mind transmission of ideas (and wouldn't that raise some interesting philosophical questions!), reading and thinking take time. But that's about the nature of human cognition, not about the value of what's being communicated.

[Editor's note: Once again, the first two paragraphs are nearly verbatim from the prompt. The AI recognized that the Mozart/Preisner comparison provided a perfect illustration of the argument and helped develop its implications. The reference to the labor theory of value emerged naturally from the logical structure of the argument.]