EU’s AI Act: Why do we need it? Part 4: The environment for the new social contract

EU’s AI Act: Why do we need it?

Part 4: The digitalised environment and the threats to the existing social contract

Social contract is an important conceptual tool often used to delineate the basic features of a legitimate government, the justifications for it and the nature and scope of its role vis-à-vis the governed. It ‘is concerned with public justification, i.e., “of determining whether or not a given regime is legitimate and therefore worthy of loyalty” (D’Agostino 1996, 23)’ (D’Agostino et al. 2024). Hutan Ashrafian identifies the fact that the concept had been known in ancient times too (Ashrafian 2023, p. 1448), however, it was revived by Thomas Hobbes (1588–1679) in England in the 17th century, and has since been utilised most prominently by John Locke (1632–1704), Jean Jacques Rousseau (1712–1778) and John Rawls (1921–2002).

AI use is spreading at a time of loss of trust in governments and institutions and deep polarisation in society. Digitalisation is in part both a cause and effect of this environment. We are faced with, what Anu Bradford has called a battle of ‘digital empires’ (Bradford 2023). This battle involves both ‘horizontal’ and ‘vertical’ value clashes. The horizontal clashes are battles between governments that represent democratic vs authoritarian cultural values, while the ‘vertical’ battles are between governments and Big Tech, whose domain of influence stretches across territorial boundaries. Under the circumstances, a broad consensus on what constitutes legitimate power distribution in society must ground itself in certain principles drawn from across a wide range of philosophical and political ideas.

What follows is an exploration, first, of the threats to the existing social contract in the current environment, and, second, the next blog in the series explores some essential ideals to underpin a new and just global social contract that can make for a fair ‘division of advantages that arises through social cooperation’ (D’Agostino et al. 2024).

Digital technology and the threat to social contract

Deffains (2022) argues that our current ‘social contract’ – the implicit understanding we have of the legitimate role of government and of the rights and duties of individuals and entities forming society – was forged during a period when ‘work filled all the space’ (Deffains 2022, p. 234). People’s identities were often linked to their work, as was their level of safety and security against risks such as accidents, illnesses and unemployment. A progressive vision and implementation of this social contract envisaged a ‘mutualization of risks’ within national boundaries. It created a ‘solidarity’ amongst the people on principles akin to Rawls’ veil of ignorance. Since no one knew what risks they might face in future, they agreed to a sharing, or ‘redistribution’, of their advantages with those more afflicted, to ensure they had some level of security should they be so afflicted too.

Fig. 1: John Rawls’ idea of the ‘veil of ignorance’

Deffains sees this veil of ignorance being torn asunder by the latest technological developments. On the one hand, automation is forcing a larger number of people into ‘less routine tasks that are more autonomous but less protected’ (p. 234), on the other, ‘increasingly sophisticated processing’ (p. 243) of individual data seems to be bringing nearer the prediction of risk for each individual separately in terms of their health risks, employment risks and so on. Under these circumstances, solidarity in society is ‘confronted with the promise of increasingly individualized solutions’ to life’s risks (p. 245). Once people know their own level of risks, will they still stand in solidarity with those facing greater levels as is the case at the moment, or will each individual be expected to carry their own burden of risk?

This level of risk prediction, however, is not merely a threat to social solidarity, it also threatens the individual. The gain of knowledge about themselves is bought by individuals at a cost of their freedom. The lightening spread of ever more user-friendly devices like smartphones and even electronic toothbrushes means the ‘user–customer’ is under constant ‘surveillance’. Their data is being ‘constantly analyzed and dissected [and]… manipulated’ (p. 243) for the creation of more paid-for services and a ‘mental substitution system’ where our devices think for us, guiding, persuading and nudging us ‘to act progressively according to standardized and normalized patterns (eat well, sleep well, do sports, do not smoke)’ (p. 244). The surveillance here is of the finest Foucauldian variety so that we rarely feel our freedom slipping away with the drip-drip suction of our data.

Fig. 2: The ways in which AI affects individuals and social solidarity (based on Deffains 2022)

 

The role of Big Tech

Yet, taken together, the situation represents a serious threat to freedom, democracy and perhaps even the very existence of humanity. Michon and Hyppolite (2018) analysed the business practices of the American ‘Big Tech’, or the few technological giants who dominate the digital tech industry that include Apple, Amazon, Alphabet (owner of Google), Meta, Microsoft, Intel, Oracle, Cisco, IBM and Qualcom (they focus on the American firms though more recently some Chinese firms have joined the group of huge international tech operators too) to conclude that ‘the American tech giants have acquired dominant positions, which they now use to hamper competition’. Following these practices and leveraging the respect for science and technology as the ‘foundation of humanity’s march toward progress’ (Deffains 2022, p. 248), these firms have added significant political and popular influence to their economic power without corresponding accountability.

Their services, often seemingly free to the user, e.g., Google searches and Facebook communication, provide them with the ‘data’ that is the bread and meat of their businesses, helping them devise new products that further increase their reach. While competition and anti-trust laws struggle to keep pace with the emerging business practices of digital operators, which are different enough from more traditional business practices to often evade the reach of the existing laws, the power of Big Tech grows and spreads in the lives of ordinary individuals who now increasingly work through digital media as well as conduct leisure and social activities through them.

Both Deffains, and Michon and Hippolyte warn that these firms have their own visions of the future that, if realised, can translate their economic power into an overlordship that can potentially stretch from political control to what Feenberg has called ‘psychic oppression’ (Feenberg 2024, 30:34) of the individual. Writing of GAFA (Google, Apple, Facebook and Amazon), Deffains says that ‘they also have a dominant and universal vision (identity, currency, power, etc.) which is dangerous if left unchecked’. Michon and Hippolyte point to the fact that the tech giants are careful to hoard a substantial amount of their ‘unparalleled’ profits, unlike other similar companies that tend to reinvest, while a much higher ratio of their R&D budget is spent on developing new products that are likely to extend their reach into ever newer areas, e.g., driverless cars, augmented reality and solar-powered drones.

 

 

Fig. 3: Comparison of R&D expenditure in percentage of revenues

© Fondation pour l’innovation politique, November 2018. Source: https://www.fondapol.org/en/study/big-tech-dominance-2-a-barrier-to-technological-innovation/

Other ethical issues

 

Other ethical problems about AI and Big Data include ‘platform and monopoly power [10-12], social media and its effects on human relations [13], and issues related to human cognition, polarization, filter bubbles, and pressure to conform [1,4,5,14] … privacy and surveillance [15,16], the manipulative power of tech [17,18], algorithmic bias resulting in racist and discriminatory AI systems [6,8,19,20] , and the carbon footprint of AI and Big Data [21-23]’ (Sætra et al 2021, p. 16).

The next blog in the series explores some fundamental principles that need to be incorporated into the new social contract to mitigate the effects of these threats and safeguard liberty and justice for people everywhere.

References

D’Agostino, F., Gaus, G. and Thrasher, J. (2024) ‘Contemporary approaches to the social contract’, The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Spring 2024 Edition), Edward N. Zalta and Uri Nodelman (eds.), forthcoming [online]. Available at:  https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/spr2024/entries/contractarianism-contemporary/ (accessed 9.3.24).

Deffains, B. (2022) ‘Rethinking the social contract in the digital age’ in Ytheir, J.M. (co-ordinator), Economic reason and political reason: deliberation and the construction of public space in the society of communication. London: John Wiley & Sons, pp. 227–258.

Feenberg, A. (2024) ‘Andrew Feenberg: Marcuse and the New Left – Book Launch’ [online]. Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5faYzlSTORE&ab_channel=SFU%27sVancityOfficeofCommunityEngagement (accessed 10.3.24).

Michon, A. and Hyppolite, P. A., ‘Big Tech dominance (2): A barrier to technological innovation?’, December 2018 [online]. Available at:   https://www.fondapol.org/en/study/big-tech-dominance-2-a-barrier-to-technological-innovation/   (accessed 10.3.24).

Sætra, H.S., Coeckelbergh, M. and Danaher, J. (2022) ‘The AI ethicist’s dilemma: fighting Big Tech by supporting Big Tech’, AI Ethics, 2, 15–27 [online]. Available at: https://doi.org/10.1007/s43681-021-00123-7 (accessed 15.3.24).

 

EU’s AI Act: Why do we need it? Part 3: The need for a new social contract

EU’s AI Act: Why do we need it?

Part 3: The need for a new social contract

The feather-like controls mentioned as ‘panopticism’ by Michel Foucault in his famous Discipline and punish appeared in a startlingly new iteration in the second decade of the 21st century and technology was very much at the heart of the process.

To grasp the nature of the current relationship between technology and society, against the background of the various contestations looked at in Part 2, it is helpful to begin with a key argument made by the philosopher of technology Andrew Feenberg who has posited that ‘technology as currently designed is a key element in the maintenance of political hegemony’ (Kirkpatrick 2020, p.71).

Hegemony is taken here in the sense used by Gramsci to mean ‘a form of domination that works through cultural media of representation’ (Kirkpatrick 2020, p. 71). When a particular group or class succeeds in making its own version of cultural meanings accepted by the majority, that group or class is hegemonic in that culture. It is in this sense that Feenberg’s Critical Theory of technology considers modern technology, along with the socio-economic formations of capitalism, to be hegemonic. By virtue of this role, then, technology, ‘as currently designed’, is considered a main hurdle in achieving a society where every individual is empowered to fulfil their potential, which is the main goal of socialist and other progressive movements for change.

Fig. 1: Cultural hegemony

Digital technology, however, seemed to promise a different iteration of technology at the turn of the century. In the early years of the 21st century, the internet was considered a force for good, a vehicle for promoting an open and democratic global society where ordinary individuals could enjoy freedoms of speech and association, and come together to foster genuine popular solidarity, free from the physical constraints and political oppressions of the non-virtual world. The Arab Spring of early 2010s was considered a typical flowering of the Internet’s democratic and liberating potential.

In the world of realpolitik, with the astronomical growth of digital technology from the end of 20th century, political elite around the world had to take a position on the ‘rise of mass internet use, followed by the ongoing absorption of much of society into social media’ (Kirkpatick 2020, p. 8).

The growth of the economic imperative and the eclipse of the political process

Surveying the EU’s policy on digitalisation in the period 2010–2020, Carlsson and Rönnblom (2022) show that ‘Since the late 2010s, the EU has promoted a “Digital Europe”’ (p. 2).

They note that between 2010 and 2016 this promotion was focussed on ‘good governance and services to citizens as important democratic values related to digital technology’ (p. 4). However, from 2016 a change occurred. From 2016 to 2020 their analysis showed that the values of ‘economic growth and competitiveness’ (p. 4) began to dominate. At the same time, there was a shift in the policy discourse from politics to ethics while the role and influence of private sector in the EU’s policy grew manifold.

Fig. 2: Shift in the EU’s digital policy, 2010–2024

Based on Carlsson and Rönnblom (2022) and Bradford (2023)

Similarly, Bareis and Katzenbach, also writing in 2022, found the influence of corporates to be equally powerful in media discourse on AI in all those societies where AI technology was beginning to dominate discussions of economic growth. From the 2020s, almost all economically powerful countries or political groupings like China, USA and Europe began to experience this phenomenon. Bareis and Katzenbach suggest that the shift in discourse from politics to ethics gave a disproportionate amount of influence to the corporates because regulatory frameworks ‘foregrounding ethics as a normative framework (Jobin, Ienca, and Vayena 2019)’ help corporates escape regulation even while providing governance of a sort.

From around 2020, however, voices of concern at this political power of the corporates – without corresponding accountability – began to be heard in prominent fora. Like Carlsson and Rönnblom (2022) these voices suggested that the co-optation of the political elite in the digital, especially AI, policy context was leading to an emasculation of ‘the space for collective action and the articulation of conflicts’ (p. 7) that is crucial to the functioning of the democratic process.

The difficulties in problematising the influence of AI technologies

Yet, it seemed difficult to capture the political harms of a technology whose growth seemed driven by popular demand. Graeme Kirkpatrick (2020), in discussing Feenberg’s Critical theory of technology, points out that existing categories of critique seem to be inadequate for capturing the problematic nature of AI technologies. Unlike the technology of the industrial era, AI is not brutal or overtly exploitative. On the contrary, it is related to leisure pursuits as much as it is implicated in work practices. In fact, there is an ‘emphasis … on the smooth flow of consumerist experience [that often ends in] …resolving any trace of antagonism [between the individual user’s interests and those of the corporate providers] in positive, pleasurable experiences’ (p. 116)

It took time to establish that the devices that are ‘natural’, easy to use and seamless to incorporate into both work and leisure practices have a ‘manipulative aspect’ that can ‘reach through symbolic communicative processes and steer people into preferred courses of action’ (Kirkpatrick 2020, p. 114).

This Foucauldian feather-light control of the individual user can be said to have dangerously shifted the balance of power between the mass of ordinary people, often termed ‘users’ or ‘consumers’ of social, economic and even political services, and the small group of ‘Big Tech’ firms who command resources that are beyond the reach of even a majority of governments. The realisation that the backing of this immense corporate power by the political elite leaves little room for guarding the freedom and agency of the ordinary individual began to elicit calls for a new ‘social contract’ to redress this imbalance of power in society.

The AI Act and the re-creation of space for the political

It is against this background that the proposal for legislation to define and limit the role of AI technologies in the AI Act became a radical break from the global political preference for ethics over politics to regulate a technology that was fast gaining unprecedented leverage over the lives of ordinary individuals through both work and play.

According to Ernest Laclau and Chantal Mouffe’s concept of ‘radical democracy’, making visible those power relations in society that marginalise and oppress given groups and individuals is at the very heart of democracy. The ‘capacity of political discourse to produce radical re-articulations of dominant ideas’ (Kirkpatrick 2020, p. 72), so that the limits of what may be proposed and done about changing a given mode of reality, is crucial to democratic politics with all its emancipatory potential.

This process became possible when the civil society, including individuals and concerned organisations, was invited to articulate their views on regulation of AI by the EU in 2020. After the public consultation and following a trialogue amongst the European Commission, the European Parliament and the European Council, the final draft of the Act stated that it sought to promote the

‘uptake of human centric and trustworthy artificial intelligence, while ensuring a high level of protection of health, safety, fundamental rights enshrined in the Charter, including democracy, rule of law and environmental protection against harmful effects of artificial intelligence systems in the Union and supporting innovation.’

By acknowledging that the protection of fundamental rights, democracy and the rule of law are considerations that have at least an equal, if not greater, weight than commercial reasons, the AI Act created a space where the power of Big Tech or the handful of corporations commanding the vast majority of resources and the technical knowhow of the globalized digital sector may at least be contested by or, on behalf of, the ordinary citizens.

Ultimately, politics is about power relations in society. Writing in December 2021, Sætra et al. stated that in the context of AI ‘Big Tech holds much power, while others are perceived to be relatively powerless, or exposed, to this power’ (p. 21). The AI Act was, therefore, urgently needed to bring back politics in the form of State’s regulation of the power of the corporates in the digital sphere, with special relation to the growth of AI. If this space is to be utilised to its full potential, however, an understanding of a new social contract that focuses on the special conditions of the AI Age needs to be clarified and disseminated to the mass of the people as we are all affected by it.

The next blog in the series looks in detail at the environment threatening the existing social contract.

References

Bareis, J. and Katzenbach, C. (2022) ‘Talking AI into being: the narratives and imaginaries of national AI strategies and their performative politics’. Science, Technology, & Human Values, 47(5), 855-881 [online]. Available at: https://doi.org/10.1177/01622439211030007 (accessed 12.12.23).

Bradford, A. (2023) Digital empires: the global battle to regulate technology. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Carlsson, V. and Rönnblom, M. (2022) ‘From politics to ethics: transformations in EU policies on digital technology’, Technology in Society, 71 [online]. Available at: https://doi.org/10.1016/j.techsoc.2022.102145 (accessed 8.3.24).

Kirkpatrick, G. (2020) Technical politics: Andrew Feenberg’s critical theory of technology. Manchester: Manchester University Press.

Sætra, H.S., Coeckelbergh, M. and Danaher, J. (2022) ‘The AI ethicist’s dilemma: fighting Big Tech by supporting Big Tech’, AI Ethics, 2, 15–27 [online]. Available at: https://doi.org/10.1007/s43681-021-00123-7 (accessed 15.3.24).

 

EU’s AI Act: Why do we need it? Part 2: Questioning the role of technology

EU’s AI Act: Why do we need it?

Part 2: Questioning the role of technology

(Image from https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Atomic_cloud_over_Hiroshima.jpg#/media/File:Atomic_cloud_over_Hiroshima.jpg by George R. Caron. Published by the Government of the United States)

The questioning of the role of technology began almost as soon as that role became ‘overblown’ in human affairs. This blog captures some of those early questions, some of whose relevance began to be appreciated once again in post-WWII period, and relates them to issues raised by the AI Act.

WWII and concerns in the heart of the Modern establishment

After WWII, when the devastation caused by the dropping of the atomic bomb on the Japanese cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki was still fresh in the public mind, negotiations were carried out to set up an international agency to control atomic power at a world-government level. In 1948 the talks stalled. The use of these first atomic bombs had horrified many scientists at the human suffering their knowledge and expertise had brought about. Einstein, with 7 prominent scientists, published a letter in the magazine The bulletin of the atomic scientists that questioned whether the role played by science and technology in society was as unproblematic as it had been hitherto assumed to be.

The magazine itself was a publication started by a group of concerned scientists after the use of the atom bomb to engage directly with the public and alert them to the hidden dangers of the ‘”Pandora’s Box of modern science”’.  The letter by Einstein and his fellows stated: ‘[S]cientists have a special position in the tragic situation in which mankind exists today. It is through the work of the scientific community that this great menace has come upon humanity and now threatens to destroy our civilization’ (Einstein et al 1948).

This manifest discomfort over the role of science and technology vis-a-vis human society from the very heart of the modern industrial civilization – from the creators of scientific knowledge – brought this questioning mainstream, but it did not create it. The discussion over the widespread use of science and technology can be traced back to the beginning of the modern era.

Role of technology

The point has been made that humans have an innate proclivity for solving their problems through technology. Using tools allows us to achieve goals that are beyond our mere physical capacities as beings with finite physical and mental resources. The

‘paleoanthropologist Andre Leroi-Gourhan—in particular [in] his widely recognized Gesture and Speech (originally published in French in 1964) …. argues that there is a fundamental continuity from the biological to the sociological and that this continuity is realized through the mediation of technology. He sees the use of tools (made possible by the freeing of the hands when in the upright position) as a process of ‘exteriorization’ in which the process of evolution is transferred from the zoological domain to the technical domain—or as [Bernard] Stiegler suggests “the continuation of life by means other than life”’ ( Introna 2023).

Taking this point further, Bernard Stiegler contends that technology does not only extend our reach in achieving goals but the goals we try to achieve through technology also reflect the kind of ‘human’ we are seeking to be (Introna 2023). For example, a microscope shows that we are ‘inquisitive’ and we wish to ‘know’ while a mobile phone reflects our desire to communicate more easily, widely or rapidly.

As expression of humanity

To this important insight, however, we must add a caveat: any technology is only a partial expression of humanity. Despite the validity of the argument that technology is a way of our extending our ‘human’ capacities, historically we have expressed our humanity in other significant and far-reaching ways too. Technology alone is inadequate as a full expression of what it means to be human.

Here I use the term human in the sense that the 17th century thinker Thomas Hobbes used it to mean a ‘natural person’. To quote Hobbes: ‘A person is he [sic] whose words or actions are considered, either as his own, or as representing the words or actions of another man, or of any other thing to whom they are attributed, whether truly or by fiction’ (Hobbes 1651, ch. xvi).

Writing more than three centuries after Hobbes, and in the context of AI, it is important to stress as well that this ‘person’ is someone owning the faculties of ‘sense’, ‘imagination’, ‘speech’, ‘Reason’ and ‘Passions’, and capable of relating their actions to the notions of ‘discourse’, ‘knowledge’, ‘power’’, ‘worth’, ‘dignity’, ‘honour’, ‘worthiness’, ‘manners’, ‘felicity’, ‘misery’ and ‘religion’, which were the other topics that Hobbes included in the part of his book titled ‘Of Man’ where he gave this definition of the natural person.

Although reflections on the impact of technology upon such natural persons have been growing more urgent in the past 50 years or so, even before this, voices of worry and discontent were raised ever since mid-18th century, when the widespread adoption of technology began in societies like those of Britain and France.

The shrinking human

As is well known, the 18th century saw radical changes in British society. By mid-century, the first industrial revolution caused widespread replacement of handcrafted products with machine-produced goods. The factories using machines needed unskilled labour on a large scale in place of skilled labour that had dominated the production of handcrafted goods for trade.

The intellectual context of the first industrial revolution

The industrial revolution came about in the context of an intellectual dismay with the wars and battles of institutionalised Christianity that in England had culminated in the English Civil Wars of 1642–1651. Even though religion had played an important social and intellectual role in people’s lives for over a thousand years, since the 16th century in Europe institutionalised religion had been a cause of unrelenting wars over territory, power and belief.

At the same time, discoveries and enterprises, fuelled by scientific inventions, such as the discovery of the Americas, had vastly improved the material wealth of kingdoms, like those of Spain and Portugal, that had taken a lead in supporting scientific knowledge. The appeal of a more ‘objective’ and supposedly dispassionate scientific way of thinking, compared to contentious religions, was immediate and clear.

This development was made more popular and prominent by another relatively recent technology to have been imported from the east: printing. Supported by the spread of printing technology and a wider discourse on the nature of society, a new middle-class of bourgeois wealthy began to challenge established dogmas in political, social and economic fields in the name of the ‘natural’ equality of all individuals.

In time, theories like that of Utilitarianism contended that the correct end of political systems was the greatest happiness of the greatest number of people rather than an increase in the power of a divinely ordained monarch, recognised by the Church.

Economically, the discipline of political economy emerged to connect political interests of the State with the economic interests of the trading classes (Robertson 2013). The result was a great ferment throughout Western society. Consequently, 18th century in the Western world is known as the Age of Enlightenment, which was marked by the ‘rise of new sciences, faith in Reason and expanding trade’.

Two great political revolutions – the American revolution of 1776 and the French Revolution of 1789 – supplanted the concept of the divine right of monarchs to rule by virtue of their births by another – the concept of rule by the representatives of the people. The revolutionaries asserted the natural right of all individuals to equality as well as ‘life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness‘. Further, the moral authority of the Church, which had hitherto checked and balanced the power of secular governments, was expressly denied a place in governance. So, how did all this relate to technology?

Technology in the workplace and new ethical dilemmas

It has been said that human beings are capable of holding contradictory viewpoints together in their minds and consider both the truth at the same time. Nowhere is that clearer than in the story of Western Europe at the turn of the 18th century.

In this Age of Enlightenment, when political theory seemed to be stressing the centrality of ‘human’ interest to all public endeavours, the scale of machine-use began to shrink the human interests that could be protected in the workplaces where the majority of people earned their livelihood.

The industrial revolution in England began the displacement of skilled labour as the main producer of manufactured goods. The cotton industry was the first to experience this impact. Writing in 1915, B. L. Hutchins described the effects of machine-use on cotton manufacture in late 18th century in these words:

‘With the increased complexity and elaboration of machinery, a change came. The profitableness of the trade brought in larger capital, and led to the erection of mills, with water power as the motive force. In such buildings as these machinery could be set up, and labour could be drilled, organised and subdivided, so as to produce a far greater return on the invested capital than in the weavers’ shops.’

She continues:

‘The downfall of prices in weaving, which for the workers concerned was as tragic as it was astonishing, can be seen in a table in “Social and Economic History,” Victoria County History, Lancashire, vol. ii. p. 327. Miss Alice Law gives the prices for the whole series of years 1814-1833; as the work is fairly accessible I reproduce only samples, which show the trend sufficiently well.

Prices for Weaving one Piece of Second or Third 74 Calico.

1814. 1820. 1821. 1833.
s. d. s. d. s. d. s. d.
Average price per piece. 6 6 2 11 3 2 1 4
Average weekly sum a good weaver could earn 26 0 11 8 12 7 5 4
Sum a family of 6, 3 being weavers, could earn. 52 0 23 4 28 12 0
Indispensable weekly expenses for repair of
looms, fuel, light.
5 3 5 3 5 3 4 3
Sum remaining to six persons for food and
clothing per week.
46 9 18 1 23 7 9

 

Subjected to the competition of power-looms, the hand-weavers were compelled either to desert their employment and seek factory work, as in fact the younger, more capable and energetic of them actually did, or to reduce their rates of pay, which in time reached the point of starvation.” (Hutchins 1915, pp. 36-37, emphasis mine).

The situation soon created a pressing and urgent discomfort with this overblown use of technology and consequently brought about protests and counter-movements from late 18th century itself at both popular and intellectual levels.

At the popular level, the protestors baulked at the fact that technology shrank the space for a certain expression of the humanity of the workers. This expression in a large number of cases had had a ‘whole person’ dimension partaking of aesthetics, skills and a collegiate lifestyle of the craft guilds.

Following the new objective, theoretical and rational worldview now in ascendance, workers were turned into a category – ‘labour force’ – for supplying large-scale industry, where incredibly fast machines worked by unskilled labour fared better than skilled individuals. Here, as Hutchins pointed out, workers as ‘labour’ were ‘drilled, organised and subdivided’ (Hutchins 1915, p. 36), often performing mechanical, repetitive labour for hours on end, their humanity subordinated to the business need of maximum profit. Soon this spread of technology was challenged by the workers affected by it and the political elite faced new ethical dilemmas.

The moral challenge of the Luddite movement

A good example of the questioning from the working people was reflected in the Luddite movement. It remains perhaps the most famous backlash against this straitjacketing of the individual’s identity and agency in favour of technology-enabled human reduction, which has left its impression on the English language by bequeathing it the term ‘Luddite‘ for someone who holds back from technology. The Luddite movement was a visceral response from those skilled workers who felt that machines were destroying their livelihood for the sake of profits for the capitalist owners of the new mills and factories. It directly asked the question: is it moral to deprive human beings of control over their lives and productivity so that the capitalists may increase their profits? This questioning moved the poor strongly enough that it took a violent form.

Between 1811 and 1817 organised groups of skilled workers actively destroyed industrial machinery that was threatening established industries in each region to which the movement spread. Nottinghamshire, Lancashire and parts of Yorkshire were particularly affected. The activists wrote letters and petitions too setting out their aims and grievances. They employed a moral idiom against practices that they understood as prioritising profits above human suffering.

In the Foreword to the collection Writings of the Luddites, Adrian Randall points out that many movements beyond the Luddite disturbances of 1811–1812 chose to identify with what they believed Luddism had stood for. There were clear moral strains that the working classes and the poor seemed to be asserting.

These included, first of all, an unashamed assertion of the rights of the ordinary people. This was seen in the adoption of the figure of an ordinary protestor, Ned Ludd, an apprentice stocking-frame knitter as the symbol for the movement. Ned had destroyed the frame he had been working on when told to ‘square his needles’ (Binfield 2004, p. xiv).

Randall suggests that the protestors were conscious of asserting ‘the right of the poor to earn their own livelihood and to defend the custom of their trade against dishonourable capitalist predators’ (Binfield 2004, p. xiv).  In one of the letters, the anonymous writer spoke of taking the life of the ‘wicked tyrant who persicuteth the Good and Righteous’ thereby attributing ethical stature to those who as ‘Good and Righteous’ had a right to pursue their time-honoured vocation that the ‘wicked tyrant’ industrialist was destroying (Binfield 2004, p. 232). The skilled worker and the poor, Randall says, were resisting the notion that market forces rather than moral values should ‘shape the fate of labour’ (Binfield 2004, p.xiv).

Second, this moral stance resonated with a deep sense of history, connection with place and a morality asserting the individual’s right to the labour of their hands. To defend these notions the protestors adopted violence even in the face of draconian punishments, exhibiting a strong sense of moral outrage at the destruction of their way of life through the power of money, merely to make more money.

Yet, what gave force to the goals of production and profit at the turn of the 19th century was their subsumption in the rising morality of a new philosophy of what will become established as Liberalism by mid-19th century. At the time of the Luddite movement, this philosophy could be said to have been represented by a number of Whig politicians in parliament. Despite their overarching support of equality of all humans and their beliefs in philanthropy, these politicians were caught in a dilemma by the Luddite moral questioning. In the age of the ‘rise of new sciences, faith in Reason and expanding trade’ there were ethical principles that militated against holding on to the worldview – of faith, small communities and rule by tradition – that the Luddites seemed to be fighting for.

‘God is dead’ – now what?

By the end of 18th century a distinct modern political philosophy had arisen in Europe though the name Liberal was not yet always applied to it. The word ‘liberal’ had had the connotations of generous, particularly in the context of the well-off segments of society, since ancient times. From this time onwards though a ‘Liberalism’ blossomed forth, not as an attitude, but as a fully-formulated worldview that became the dominant lens for modern people for viewing the reality of the world around them. In doing this, Liberalism gave a blow to two sources of meaning and direction for human life almost everywhere since the dawn of time: religion and customs.

The 19th century German philosopher Nietzsche (1844–1900) is famous for his formulation ‘God is dead!’. Lecturing in the 1950s, Martin Heidegger suggested that through these words Nietzsche was capturing how modern science and technology had brought about an end to the supremacy of the ‘suprasensory’ world in human affairs:

‘God is the name for the realm of Ideas and ideals. This realm of the suprasensory has been considered since Plato, or more strictly
speaking, since the late Greek and Christian interpretation of Platonic philosophy, to be the true and genuinely real world.’ (Heidegger 1977, p. 61, emphasis mine)

This ‘real’ world, this kingdom of God, that was to receive us after our deaths, focussed our minds here on earth on behaving in a prescribed ethical manner that was grounded in faith and belief, which, crucially, were felt but could not be proven.

Remember at this point that the intellectual project of the Enlightenment Age was attempting to rid the society of incessant wars over religious interpretations that also could not be proven one way or another. To the intellectuals, it was this unverifiable, extremely personal nature of the existing ethical norms that was responsible for repeated destruction of people’s peace.

Hence, the Liberals settled on the scientific method (through focussing on the sensory via observation, logical proof, universality and replicability) of establishing the ‘truth’ as a more sensible and, importantly, more peaceful path even in human affairs, instead of leaving it as the preferred method only in the academic world. At this time of wealth pouring into Western Europe from the destroyed or subjugated civilizations of Latin America and Asia, it seemed plausible to argue that the European ‘courage’ and advances in science and technology, especially the technologies of war and trade, had enabled this vast transfer of wealth from the decadent and scientifically backward civilizations to the rising civilizations of the West.

It is useful to not forget at this point that glory in wars and violence against enemies were still held to be honourable virtues throughout most of the world, including Europe. Thus, the contradictions of a humane philosophy, advocating the equality of all humans, bringing about forced destructions of other people’s way of life was to become clear only with the passage of time.

What the Luddites faced was a new worldview in parliament that ended up supporting the ‘interests of religious dissenters, industrialists, and others‘, which attitude will become an integral part of the Liberal political outlook in the Victorian era. This coupling of the political, economic and the ethical meant that for the first time there was no authority comparable in its stature to religion or tradition to challenge the morality argued for by the political and economic elite. Thus religion, rooted in a different sphere of human experience (the ‘suprasensory’), and custom, rooted in the collective memory of past experiences, were no longer to be allowed any say in the public domain, leaving a shrunken version of the human, rooted only in Reason, all power there.

The ethical contradictions of a theoretical, scientific humanism and the defeat of the Luddite morality

This had important consequences for the nature of the ‘ethical’ in the modern world. Traditionally, religion had been tasked with advocating the rights, as also the duties, of Everyman. Certainly, privilege existed but religion was, amongst other things, conceived as a vehicle for adjusting philosophy to the everyday. It provided simple rules, incentives and punishments, in a majority of cases, that often allowed people to live out the contradictions that the quotidian throws our way in myriad different ways.

At very many turns, as in the Luddite question, the thinkers of the modern era continued to struggle with the dilemmas of finding more definite rules based in logic that could replace the incomprehensible effects of religion upon the ordinary people. The great Russian novelist, Fyodor Dostoevsky, captured the dilemma in his famous work Crime and Punishment.

From the Age of Enlightenment, however, not only philosophical ethics, but also everyday morality, flowed from ‘Reason’ or human argument or we might even say human argumentation. This gave rise to what Heidegger identifies as the ethics of the ‘social conscience’:

‘The otherworldly goal of everlasting bliss is transformed into the earthly happiness of the greatest number. The careful maintenance of the cult of religion is relaxed through enthusiasm for the creating of a culture or the spreading of civilization. Creativity, previously the unique property of the biblical god, becomes the distinctive mark of human activity. Human creativity finally passes over into business enterprise’ (Heidegger 1977, p. 64).

It will take almost two centuries and wars, forced migrations, the horrors of institutionalised slavery, and two world wars before the realisation that the social conscience is as subjective and historicised an artifact as the doctrines of religions. At the time of discussing the Luddite disturbances the parliamentarians were unable to see where the unity of political, economic and ethical elite – through the exaltation of universal theories of human affairs applauding only the human creativity that was passing into successful business enterprise – was going to lead to.

Discussing the reaction of the Parliament to the Luddite movement, O’Keefe explains that ‘the Parliamentary reaction cannot be fully understood without reference to the role of the classical economists especially of Adam Smith, Ricardo, and Malthus.’ Together the influence of these thinkers was twofold. First, they advocated a “‘simple system of natural liberty'” (Adam Smith quoted in O’Keefe, p. 58), arguing that each man be left ‘free’ to pursue his interest as he saw best, yet, that seemed not to apply when bigger ‘natural’ forces were in operation. This second principle meant that these thinkers firmly believed that ‘natural laws’, controlling wage levels and population–food supply equations would guarantee the failure of any legislation trying to address falling wages and starvation amongst workers.

Thus, ironically, the humane advocacy of every man’s freedom had the effect of leaving the poor and the workers to their fate. Yet, at the same time, the Parliament did pass a law to award the death penalty to the anti-machinery, anti-capitalist Luddite rioters. Some ‘Benthamite Utilitarians’ did oppose the measure on the grounds that the death penalty was too harsh a measure against the rioters but not because ‘the introduction of labor saving machinery was bitterly resented when depression, unemployment and food shortage were widespread’ (O’Keefe, 1953, p. 38).  Raymond J. O’Keefe, Jr contends that there was a general ‘fatalism’ amongst the MPs as they believed that ‘the progress of invention and science could not be stopped … Relief was not possible. There was no help. Endurance was the only recourse of the poor’ (O’Keefe 1953, p. 48).

Compare against this contradiction the fact that the workers in many cases also expressed ‘anger over the loss of the Illizabethan [sic] [labour] legislation’ (O’Keefe 1953, p. 42). Without making an oversimplified comparison between the two situations, it should be pointed out that under the old dispensation, with a paternalistic ruling class and greater weight of religion, it had been possible under Queen Elizabeth I to make humane, local-level interventions and impose humane taxation to regulate the condition of the workers and the poor. Without as well denying the extremes of oppression that often resulted from absolutism and heavily institutionalised religion, this was an ability of prioritising humans above machines or profits that was seemingly lost under the new scientific worldview where human interest was subordinated to economic ‘forces’.

Image courtesy http://rebel-speak.de/level4/chapter4/luddites2.html#top

The cult of discovering abstract ‘realities’ and forces in human affairs by arranging a string of facts to explain given conditions at this historical juncture was also, as Lewis Mumford says, resulting in ‘an effort to discredit an essential part of organic experience, memory, which establishes continuity with a longer past and a wider environment’ (Mumford 1964, p. 65). Under the new dispensation, from late 18th century, any practice was of no value in the emerging ethical order simply because it had been a part of a people’s tradition or had been stipulated by religious authority.

In its place, however, the equally abstract notion of the ‘nation-state’ was unseating God as the new deity to whom sacrifices could be made in good conscience. The parliamentarians were made helpless not only by the science of economics but also by ‘the arguments of the new manufacturers who reasoned that their personal interests were the interests of the nation as a whole’ (O’Keefe 1953, p. 56). By increasing the efficiency of industry, machines helped to increase profit and increasing national wealth took precedence over the suffering of the workers. In effect, the new human-centred worldview shrank the human interests that could be protected against the capitalist and the machine.

It was this morality of a doggedly objective human affairs, of the rejection of the past and of religion, of faith in redemption by science alone, and the ordering of the practical and the moral both by a unified elite that helped defeat the Luddites in parliament. The government of the day used armed force to protect the property of the capitalists, and promulgated the death penalty for the breaking of industrial machinery.

Technology around the world and the ethics of development

The interests of the ‘nation’ and the immutable laws of the ‘market’ were some of the theories that the Liberals believed were as true and unchanging as the laws of physics. Hence, in a civilization that lived in line with the universal laws the human had to adapt to the market and not the other way round.

It was not only the Luddite workers in Britain whose tradition-oriented morality was culled at the alter of modern progress and ‘mega-machines’ but with the advance of European colonialism indigenous knowledges around the world were lost, discredited and absorbed into a global economy of free market and industrial capitalism. None of it was without resistance or local  questioning of the new industries and economic practices though.

The unifying of political, economic and ethical power made it difficult to see that under the rhetoric of Liberal ideologies the old patterns of power persisted. The new factories that brought ‘glory’ and ‘wealth’ to the ‘nation’ were not too different from the paths pursued by kings and queen throughout history to enrich their kingdoms. Many such rulers had been enlightened and caring towards the people. The farsighted rulers had always tried to promote trade and look after the daily comforts of their people.

What the new age did try to do was to ground these ruling principles into universal, logical, scientific rules but in doing so they ended up with as many contradictions as the systems they had been denouncing. The alarming issue was that with the power of ‘mega-machines’ and the weaponising of trade around the world, the scale and nature of devastation wrought when the theoreticians got it wrong – which they often did as in the case of the Trail of Tears, the Belgian atrocities in Africa, the cruelties of the slavery and indenture system in the Americas to the experimentation before the final building of the Panama Canal in Central America, the wars for the progressive right to sell addictive opium to Chinese people against the wishes of its government – was horrendous. Yet, like religious dogma supposedly objective theory can also build truths and justifications that take a lot on faith.

The Science of marvellous industry

However, within the Western world, these effects were felt rather than completely understood in the 19th century. Helena Rosenblatt argues that the Liberals of early 19th century, despite their belief in commercial freedom, responded to the conditions (of the poor and the workers being forced into unhealthy squalid urban centres, away from the space and natural environments that humans had evolved to live in like the other animals) by recognising in many cases the rights of governments to ‘regulate any type of industry’; many stressed that it was acceptable for governments to intervene and support the workers made redundant by the introduction of technology in production, and that governments could even restrict the use of new machines and find work for the unemployed because it was their duty to constantly ameliorate the conditions of their subjects. An important tenet of the new Liberal ethics was intervention to protect the weak against the strong (Rosenblatt, Ch. 4, 36 mins.).

But, fuelled by the technology-enabled control over humans on other continents and the environment, the belief in ‘constant improvement of material technology and increasing standards of living through human inventiveness and effort’ (Freeden 2015, p. 61) remained a central Liberal tenet.

Karl Marx and a scientific challenge to the economics of Liberalism

The next, and a truly powerful, challenge to the role of technology was much more scientific but an indirect one. The name of Karl Marx (1818–1883) is associated with the most systematic body of thought that recognised that modern industrial capitalism was reducing the majority of human beings in Western societies to cogs in the wheel of production. It robbed them of all meaningful experiences of being human.

Using empirical methods of analysis that could not be sneered at for being unscientific, Marx established that the profits from industrialisation came from ‘value’ created by the labour of the workers and not the machines. Though the material improvements clearly brought about by modern inventions like railroads and shipping, telegraph, and factory-produced, and therefore cheaper, clothing were hard to overlook, Marx attacked the primacy of the profit motive and the role of ‘machines’ in the oppression of the workers:

The simplification of the machine, of labour is used to make a worker out of the human being still in the making, the completely immature human being, the child – whilst the worker has become a neglected child. The machine accommodates itself to the weakness of the human being in order to make the weak human being into a machine (Marx 1859).

Marx further condemned the fetishization of money-making as the supreme goal, which allowed the subordination of all human needs, goals and values to the ‘need for money’. He lamented that to the worker

A dwelling in the light … the simplest animal cleanliness [is denied]… None of his senses exist any longer, and (each has ceased to function) … The crudest methods (and instruments) of human labour [are coming back]… The savage and the animal have at least the need to hunt, to roam, etc. – the need of companionship (Marx 1859).

In opposition to almost 200 years of intellectual celebration of human Reason as the primary and highest human faculty, Marx brought back the power of the emotional (though he himself would not have used this term) through the exaltation of the mass or collectivity. In his work Economic and Philosophical Manuscripts Marx put forward this view of human essence:

The human aspect of nature exists only for social man; for only then does nature exist for him as a bond with man – as his existence for the other and the other’s existence for him – and as the life-element of human reality … But also when I am active scientifically, etc. – an activity which I can seldom perform in direct community with others – then my activity is social, because I perform it as a man (Marx 1959, p.44).

Instead, political and economic theories of the time, particularly the discipline of political economy, diminished the humanity of the worker and the proprietor both by exhorting them to a single-minded pursuit of money at the expense of their sociality. This pursuit

changes the worker into an insensible being lacking all needs, just as [it]… changes his activity into a pure abstraction from all activity. … This science of marvelous industry is simultaneously the science of asceticism, and its true ideal is the ascetic but extortionate miser and the ascetic but productive slave (Marx 1959).

In setting out his vision of a communist utopia, Marx elevated the interest of human beings – interests that took in physical, mental and material needs – above those of wealth production, and thereby hinted at the role that technology should rightly play in human society.

Polytechnics and Monotechnics

This relationship of technology and humanity was further investigated by Lewis Mumford in the 1930s. Mumford distinguished between two kinds of technologies: polytechnics, which arelife-oriented’. These technologies can be integrated with human needs and potentials. In their form, polytechnics are often small-scale and versatile tools that enable humans to pursue pre-determined goals. These are in contrast with monotechnics, which produce what he called ‘mega machines’. Mega machines are capable of extraordinary power and efficiency but they demand human workers to mould themselves to disciplines that regiment and dehumanize them (Sismondo 2010, p. 30). In this Mumford is close to the Marxian view in which technologies that reduce humans to poorer versions of themselves are to be condemned even though they may produce far larger power and profit. 

Until the end of WWII, and the visible destruction caused by particular technological applications of scientific knowledge, these views remained mostly on the margins in the context of science and technology. In fact the widespread view of science as a dispassionate and objective, purely rational enterprise continued to influence the organisation of all forms of human social interactions.

Responses to the challenges of a technology-oriented economy

The Marxian challenge as we saw attacked the enriching of the capitalists at the expense of the workers rather than the use of machines directly. The Liberal response was to accept and absorb this criticism and by mid-20th century a far more equitable distribution of national wealth through progressive taxation and a welfare state was the rule in most Western societies.

What of technology though?

It grew. The response of industry and science to criticisms of the poor conditions of the working classes was to expand their realm from national infrastructure to private use in the form of cars and radios, washing machines and electrical labour-saving devices. The workers were drawn into the national rhetoric that led to a mindless race amongst countries to divide up the earth as bundles of ‘resources’. A blind belief in the ‘need’ for constant economic growth meant that scientists like Turing, in all good conscience, could focus their efforts on the need for inventing machines that could make production and sale faster and faster and more efficient endlessly. In international affairs, the race for resources caused two world wars in the first half of the 20th century.

Penopticism

Writing late in the 20th century, Michel Foucault asserted that despite appearances, this lop-sided view of human progress through material accumulation and subjugation of nature had led to the subversion of that other Liberal tenet which had been ensuring the freedom of the human individual to live a good life as they understood it, without harming others around them.

The veneration of the objective and analytical had allowed power to be exercised more and more in an impersonal and faceless manner. Far from freeing the individual, new ‘technologies’ of power had emerged along with the mechanical use of technology in industry that sought to rule and control by capturing ‘data’ about each and every individual and then subjecting all individuals to a correcting ‘discourse’ that trimmed the unruly, the independent and the questioning aspects of humanity so that great masses of them, collected in urban centres to provide labour to huge business enterprises, could be fashioned into ‘workers’, ‘prisoners’, ‘students’, ‘patients’ and other neat and identifiable categories rather than a great collective of heterogenous people.

‘Penopticism’, as Foucault has labelled it, brought in a new kind of power relation in society where anyone who controlled the ‘mechanisms that analyse distributions, gaps, series, combinations, and which use instruments that render visible, record, differentiate, and compare’ (Foucault, p. 208) can exercise tremendous power and control upon individuals in society while the mechanisms themselves are so light as to be almost invisible.

It is such light, invisible but extremely powerful technologies of surveillance and control that the AI Act aims to take a stand against. To do so, however, it still needs to deal with the contradictions between the motives of constant economic growth and the freedom of the individual that it has inherited from the modernist discourse of the past four centuries and which, as we shall see, leave it only partially capable of challenging the power of big business that in new ways control the individual through the power of technology.

 

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