In one of the most fascinating chapters of the book, which was published two years ago The Dawn of Everything anthropologist David Graeber and archaeologist David Wengrow crack a popular myth about what we know as the “Neolithic Revolution.” With this, humans made the transition from hunting and gathering to agriculture about ten thousand years ago. Progress? Not really. A relatively relaxed and versatile nomadic life was exchanged for a hard life dominated by intensive agricultural work in one fixed place. Not a good deal actually, many historians now judge, and Graeber and Wengrow don’t necessarily disagree.
What they do disagree with is the idea that man was subjected to this process as an unwilling being; that in fact man did not domesticate the grain, but the grain man. Contrary to what the term “agricultural revolution” suggests, the authors argue, there was as much as 3,000 years between when humans first began cultivating plants and when full domestication was achieved. Three thousand years ago, when people certainly knew that something like agriculture was possible, they experimented with it, but often consciously chose to continue hunting and gathering. Three thousand years, during which people could have devoted their lives to the latest technological gadget, but many still decided: no, thanks.
I think of this history when I follow the discussion at university about what to do with ChatGPT. Aided by this algorithmic friend, students may be able to produce a thesis within an hour, which normally takes months of study and writing. It is suggested that we should no longer teach students to study texts and write pieces, but to give the right commands to artificial intelligence, which then does the rest. Progress? I doubt it.
And yet it feels like it’s unstoppable. As if there is no escaping it, a world in which theses are not written by students but by ChatGPT. In which beers are not ordered from bartenders, but via QR codes pasted on café tables. In which your phone is not only your phone but also your passport, bank card, medical record and social life. Where without a smartphone you are nothing, nobody, nowhere.
Where does that sense of inevitability come from? Like our more eccentric Neolithic ancestors, why not say no thanks to new technological gadgets? What do we need to be able to say that?
I think it all starts with a different way of looking at ourselves. If we already see ourselves as unwilling beings whose way of life is not dictated by our own choices but dictated by environmental factors, from grain to smartphone, then we will indeed not take matters into our own hands. Then a future driven by data and algorithms will indeed become inevitable. In this sense, the deterministic story of the development of humanity and technology is one of a kind self fulfilling prophecy: if people think that they are essentially not much different from robots, then they will also behave like robots. And the last thing we can expect from them is to avoid a robot-dominated future.
But suppose we see ourselves as beings who can decide for themselves how they want to live. As beings that can discuss and decide with each other about the direction they take as a society. That is crucial for Graeber and Wengrow. Our capacity for self-conscious political action, they write, is ultimately what makes us human. If we deny that ability, we are hopelessly depriving ourselves. If, on the other hand, we see that ability as the core of our being, then we gain control over our future.
We may not be able to reject some technological novelties forever after all. Seven thousand years ago, even the last, most recalcitrant hunter-gatherers eventually turned to a boring farming life. But for us, I don’t think it’s a race yet. How cool would it be if archaeologists excavated and discovered us in ten thousand years time: they could have written theses with ChatGPT and ordered beers via QR codes, but they chose not to?
Josette Damen is a PhD candidate at the Institute of Political Science at Leiden University. She replaces Rosanne Hertzberger this week, who is off.
A version of this article also appeared in the May 20, 2023 newspaper.