“Art is a kind of steadfast thought operating through matter towards some purpose, and thought is a kind of motion and operation proper to the mind.”
In the 4th century AD, St. Gregory of Nyssa, inspired by Plato’s Phaedo, wrote a discourse titled On the Soul and the Resurrection. A dialogue between Gregory and his older sister St. Macrina exposes a grieving man struggling to internalize Christian doctrines for his own life. Utilizing both Biblical and philosophical arguments, Macrina–speaking from her deathbed–guides him to the truth.
One of Gregory’s first objections is to the incorporeality and immortality of the soul, two beliefs that are fundamental for a Christian worldview. Gregory is a professing Christian. Yet, when faced with the reality of losing his sister, he begins to seriously doubt if the dead really will rise again. Macrina first establishes that not all that exists is knowable according to sense perception. To support this claim, she first argues from the order found in the universe that God exists. Second, given how the body resembles the universe in a microcosmic way, the soul is to the body as God is to the universe: the soul, while giving and sustaining life to the body, remains truly distinct from the body and does not depend on the body for existence. Furthermore, the existence of the soul, similar to the existence of God, can be known from its effects. In this case, that means the rational principle evident in humans distinguishes them from other animals. Humans take perceived realities and reason from them, recognizing, for example, that the sun, though it appears small from our perspective, is not so. Here is where I believe Gregory raises one of his most interesting points. He provides a counter example. What if humans are only machines?
“We might say that no intelligent essence is infused in us according to the peculiarity of our nature, but some kinetic power resides in the nature of the elements in us. Such activity would be a result. It would be nothing else but a certain impulsive motion which works toward the knowledge of that which we are eagerly studying” (p. 41).
In other words, what if man, rather than being a self-determinate creature who intrinsically desires knowledge, is “programmed” to pursue certain fields of inquiry. Now, such a belief still entails a creator, but it also denies the freedom to the creature and, consequently, the freedom belonging to a rational soul. Now the machines that Gregory had in mind seem to be automated musical instruments (perhaps a water organ) that, when utilized, produce a sound similar to a human voice. By contrast, we have mechanisms that not only imitate human voices (Siri does so quite literally), but we also have everything from calculators to solve complex logical equations to genetically engineered food ingredients that imitate fresh fruits (blue raspberries do not exist). Nevertheless, Gregory’s point still remains. The instruments to which he refers only mimic that which is found in nature (motion, sound, etc.). They do not produce these activities for themselves. Likewise, Gregory asks if perhaps humans only mimic free and rational thinking in a certain direction according to some potentiality, like a wind-up car.
The application that this idea of the mimicry of machines has for the modern world and AI is startling. Artificial Intelligence only imitates natural intelligence. Artificial Intelligence is not free; rather, it is a slave of logic. Artificial Intelligence differs from rationality in one crucial way: it lacks a soul.
Speaking to Gregory, Macrina repeatedly insists that the soul cannot be found among the material elements and thus cannot be known in the same way. Rather, the soul is known by its effects. Likewise, where the soul is not, there also its effects are not. Truth is made clearer by contrast. The ugly is revealed as such in the presence of the beautiful. The soullessness of AI is revealed best against the soulfulness of genuine human creation. Nowhere is this better seen than in the medium of art (by which I refer to both images and writings).
AI “art” seems inescapable. The online sphere is plagued by cheap and lifeless images and writings, impoverished media that can only imitate and synthesize what it draws from a database, that can be created in an instant and completely devoid from any living experience. The solution would seem obvious: leave the no man’s land that is the internet. Live in the real world. Unfortunately, we are drawn to convenience. AI art appears in advertisements and promotional material. It plagues modern academia. Even at Grove City College, many professors have sat through more meetings about AI and confronted more students about plagiarism in the past year than they would like to for the rest of their lives. Not only does such behavior rob the culprits of a vital chance to exercise their humanity, but it also contributes to the proverbial landfill of soulless slop, the stench of which rises to nauseate even the most unplugged and disconnected individuals in our midst. AI, lacking free choice, lacks culpability. We are to blame who refuse to think, and who thus pour thoughtlessness into the spaces we occupy.
Furthermore, especially in the medium of visual art, the difference between the products of human creativity and those of AI becomes even more plain to see. AI images are flat and smooth. The colors are a little too bright, the lines a little too perfect. Humans, by contrast, are messy and complicated, and the “imperfections” in our artwork reflect this messiness.
Observe one of the key differences. Humans are free. They do not always come to the most logically sound conclusions. They have emotions that (usually for worse) may overrule their decision-making. But they are also free to love and to laugh and to cry, free to really unite, to relate to others outside of themselves and ultimately to relate to God. Art, whether visual or literary, is a means of relationship. It communicates the living presence of a human being in all their paradoxes and contradictions. It reveals, as Macrina says, the purpose toward which men strive: the motions of the mind. It is the creation of something new and thus, in a mystery, the expression of that ineffable mystery: life. “Art is a kind of steadfast thought operating through matter towards some purpose, and thought is a kind of motion and operation proper to the mind.”
In the 4th century AD, St. Gregory of Nyssa, inspired by Plato’s Phaedo, wrote a discourse titled On the Soul and the Resurrection. A dialogue between Gregory and his older sister St. Macrina exposes a grieving man struggling to internalize Christian doctrines for his own life. Utilizing both Biblical and philosophical arguments, Macrina–speaking from her deathbed–guides him to the truth.
One of Gregory’s first objections is to the incorporeality and immortality of the soul, two beliefs that are fundamental for a Christian worldview. Gregory is a professing Christian. Yet, when faced with the reality of losing his sister, he begins to seriously doubt if the dead really will rise again. Macrina first establishes that not all that exists is knowable according to sense perception. To support this claim, she first argues from the order found in the universe that God exists. Second, given how the body resembles the universe in a microcosmic way, the soul is to the body as God is to the universe: the soul, while giving and sustaining life to the body, remains truly distinct from the body and does not depend on the body for existence. Furthermore, the existence of the soul, similar to the existence of God, can be known from its effects. In this case, that means the rational principle evident in humans distinguishes them from other animals. Humans take perceived realities and reason from them, recognizing, for example, that the sun, though it appears small from our perspective, is not so. Here is where I believe Gregory raises one of his most interesting points. He provides a counter example. What if humans are only machines?
“We might say that no intelligent essence is infused in us according to the peculiarity of our nature, but some kinetic power resides in the nature of the elements in us. Such activity would be a result. It would be nothing else but a certain impulsive motion which works toward the knowledge of that which we are eagerly studying” (p. 41).
In other words, what if man, rather than being a self-determinate creature who intrinsically desires knowledge, is “programmed” to pursue certain fields of inquiry. Now, such a belief still entails a creator, but it also denies the freedom to the creature and, consequently, the freedom belonging to a rational soul. Now the machines that Gregory had in mind seem to be automated musical instruments (perhaps a water organ) that, when utilized, produce a sound similar to a human voice. By contrast, we have mechanisms that not only imitate human voices (Siri does so quite literally), but we also have everything from calculators to solve complex logical equations to genetically engineered food ingredients that imitate fresh fruits (blue raspberries do not exist). Nevertheless, Gregory’s point still remains. The instruments to which he refers only mimic that which is found in nature (motion, sound, etc.). They do not produce these activities for themselves. Likewise, Gregory asks if perhaps humans only mimic free and rational thinking in a certain direction according to some potentiality, like a wind-up car.
The application that this idea of the mimicry of machines has for the modern world and AI is startling. Artificial Intelligence only imitates natural intelligence. Artificial Intelligence is not free; rather, it is a slave of logic. Artificial Intelligence differs from rationality in one crucial way: it lacks a soul.
Speaking to Gregory, Macrina repeatedly insists that the soul cannot be found among the material elements and thus cannot be known in the same way. Rather, the soul is known by its effects. Likewise, where the soul is not, there also its effects are not. Truth is made clearer by contrast. The ugly is revealed as such in the presence of the beautiful. The soullessness of AI is revealed best against the soulfulness of genuine human creation. Nowhere is this better seen than in the medium of art (by which I refer to both images and writings).
AI “art” seems inescapable. The online sphere is plagued by cheap and lifeless images and writings, impoverished media that can only imitate and synthesize what it draws from a database, that can be created in an instant and completely devoid from any living experience. The solution would seem obvious: leave the no man’s land that is the internet. Live in the real world. Unfortunately, we are drawn to convenience. AI art appears in advertisements and promotional material. It plagues modern academia. Even at Grove City College, many professors have sat through more meetings about AI and confronted more students about plagiarism in the past year than they would like to for the rest of their lives. Not only does such behavior rob the culprits of a vital chance to exercise their humanity, but it also contributes to the proverbial landfill of soulless slop, the stench of which rises to nauseate even the most unplugged and disconnected individuals in our midst. AI, lacking free choice, lacks culpability. We are to blame who refuse to think, and who thus pour thoughtlessness into the spaces we occupy.
Furthermore, especially in the medium of visual art, the difference between the products of human creativity and those of AI becomes even more plain to see. AI images are flat and smooth. The colors are a little too bright, the lines a little too perfect. Humans, by contrast, are messy and complicated, and the “imperfections” in our artwork reflect this messiness.
Observe one of the key differences. Humans are free. They do not always come to the most logically sound conclusions. They have emotions that (usually for worse) may overrule their decision-making. But they are also free to love and to laugh and to cry, free to really unite, to relate to others outside of themselves and ultimately to relate to God. Art, whether visual or literary, is a means of relationship. It communicates the living presence of a human being in all their paradoxes and contradictions. It reveals, as Macrina says, the purpose toward which men strive: the motions of the mind. It is the creation of something new and thus, in a mystery, the expression of that ineffable mystery: life.
