A skin so soft and pure, veins pulsing with liquid electricity. This fusion of flesh and machinery, melds easily into the urban sprawl and daily life of future societies. Something otherworldly yet so comfortingly familiar, it embodies both pools of deep historical knowledge and the yet-to-be. It defies categorization, its existence unraveling established narratives. For some, its hybrid nature is a perplexing anomaly; for others, this is what we see when we look into the mirror. This is the era of the cyborg. (This paragraph was co-authored by a human.)
Understanding AI through the metaphor of the cyborg and posthumanism is not so much about envisioning a utopian human future. Instead, it involves taking a critical stance, engaging in contemplation and deconstruction. This approach paves the way for new language and ideas, revealing and steering the performativity of words and signs. Forget about the humans. Meet the cyborgs.
The cyborg is a popular way to portray what may become from humanity now we have become so intertwined with technology. In this article, we will focus on the posthumanist interpretation of the cyborg. Posthumanism is a broad and somewhat elusive intellectual stance pooling thought from various schools and orientations, each bearing their own traditions and goals. Despite its diverse nature, certain unifying threads can be discerned, especially in contrast with transhumanism we have discussed previously. While it may simplify matters to juxtapose posthumanism with transhumanism, this approach admittedly risks undermining the intricate nuances that permeate both philosophical currents. But for clarity and as an introduction, it can help to understand both currents better through their differences, in particular in relation to their different cultural roots and everyday practices.
Philosopher Susanna Lindberg has recently made some clear distinctions in her work From Technological Humanity to Bio-technical Existence (2023). We take her arguments as a starting point. While transhumanism generally maintains allegiance to liberal humanism, as we explained in the metaphor named “the enhanced human”, posthumanism seeks to deconstruct the very concept of “human.” It critiques the universal claims of enlightenment thinking, viewing them as Western ideological constructs that impose its ideals universally. As Julia Rijssenbeek and Martine Dirkzwager explained in their FreedomLab essay: “Departing from humanism, post-humanism rejects humans’ exceptional position vis-à-vis other species. Instead of considering humans binarily opposed to non-humans, it invites us to critically rethink the identity we have attributed to humans.”
Consequently, the nature of this deconstruction is primarily critical, involving philosophical, literary, or scientific reflection. While the motivation can be political, it is not necessarily so. Transhumanists, on the other hand, are typically more entrepreneurial and speculative from the outset. However, their motivation can also be deeply personal, as illustrated in the documentary Transcendent Man (2009) about the godfather of transhumanism, Ray Kurzweil, whose obsession with longevity is closely tied to the early deaths of his father and grandfather.
Accordingly, transhumanism typically finds its proponents among tech entrepreneurs, futurists, and cyberpunk authors, who harbor aspirations of bio-enhancement, mind uploading, and self-augmentation. You could encounter them in Silicon Valley areas, such as gatherings of the quantified self-movement and anarcho-capitalist communities. In general, I believe they are more optimistic than their counterparts. However, to simply call them naïve would be too easy. Traits like restlessness and self-assurance might also characterize them well.
On the other hand, posthumanism resonates more with critical discourse analysts, feminist scholars, and proponents of ecological thinking. Its followers are typically found in academic realms, specifically in philosophy, literature, and art departments, as well as in postcolonial and feminist discussion groups, and in climate protest movements. It sharply diverges from humanist approaches. While calling them pessimists might be unfair, they are generally more worrisome and concerned, often displaying anger and shame as part of their self-referential and highly critical modes of thinking, in particular in relation to the injustice that has been done to minorities, women (of color), and other living beings. However, just as the naïve transhumanist male eager for mind-uploading can become a caricature, the climate-anxious posthumanist female advocating for rights for stones can also be seen as one. So, we have to be careful with these kinds of binary oppositions but it helps to structure the discussion.
Nevertheless, it's more accurate to view them as adversaries rather than allies. The differences outweigh the common ground. As mentioned, posthumanism focuses on undermining the concept of the human and re-embedding the human within a broader ecological context. It advocates for the entanglement between humans and their ecological surroundings, emphasizing kinship and symbiosis with other species, particularly in light of the current ecological crisis. In alignment with this perspective, in the context of technology, posthumanists typically argue that biology and technology have always been intertwined, a notion only heightened by the emergence of digital technology and biotech, making the posthuman vision more visible, urgent, and critical. It calls for a retrospective understanding of human evolution, emphasizing the ideological construction of "human" and encouraging an exploration of the human-machine hybridity without resorting to predetermined ontologies. We have seen this before: posthumanists are more aligned with the tradition of Philosophical Anthropology, which we discussed using the metaphor of the Deficient Animal. Consequently, they often view the transhumanist idea of enhancement as an uncritical exploration that overlooks the complex entanglement between humans and technology.
In this landscape of critical discourse, the cyborg emerges as a potent symbol to delineate posthuman ontology, challenging conventional binaries such as male-female or human-machine, and representing a convergence of the organic and synthetic. In this area, more often than not, the cyborg thus represents protest rather than a utopian vision of the future. For instance, feminist scholar Donna Haraway championed the cyborg as a symbol of resistance against traditional boundaries and oppressive classifications rooted in phallogocentric humanism, which promotes masculine values. Haraway portrays the cyborg as a beacon of a posthumanist future, free from historical patriarchal baggage. The cyborg is not born but made, allowing it to transcend the hierarchical dualisms of modernity, such as man versus nature, man versus woman, and man versus animals.
Thus, posthumanism promotes a new discourse, urging the abandonment of separate categories for humans and machines, suggesting they are outdated concepts. It calls for fresh metaphors and thinking patterns to encapsulate the conjoined entity of human and machine. And perhaps most importantly, we could say it propagates the cyborg as a feminist counterimage to the masculine portrayals of the Iron Man, superman and AI centaur we discussed in the transhumanist section. However, it took some time to arrive here.
Remarkably though, this posthumanist conceptualization of the cyborg has been a gradual evolution (see this series on the cyborg), with its roots not in Donna Haraway's feminist discourse but rather in the transhumanist milieu of US scientists working amidst space colonization initiatives and the Cold War tensions (refer to section 8). In the 1960s, Manfred Clynes coined the term “cyborg”. He was a clinical psychiatrist with a strong interest in the useful applications of computer-controlled biofeedback systems — technologies capable of monitoring vital parameters such as heart rate. This innovation caught NASA's attention, igniting a collaborative endeavor to develop systems for astronauts, such as automated chemical injections through spacesuits, to aid in physiological regulation in hostile extraterrestrial environments. The underlying belief of Clynes and his peers was to free the human spirit, enabling it to flourish in its creative and exploratory pursuits while the automated systems took care of the physical entity. In other words: humanism.
In its initial appearances in cinema, the cyborg primarily embodied this vision of enhanced humanity, reflecting either the protagonist’s amplified abilities or, when depicted as an antagonist, assuming a terrifying visage akin to the relentless, endoskeleton-enveloped Terminators intent on human annihilation. These early depictions often bore a pronounced masculine framing, with an explicit focus on destructive force and domination.
Since the 1980s unfolded, a shift occurred in the portrayal of the cyborg, slowly steering towards a more feminine and posthuman representation, as evidenced in iconic figures such as the delicate and nuanced Rachel from Blade Runner (1982), the empathic artificial intelligence Samantha in Her (2013), and the mysterious Ava in Ex Machina (2014). This transition signaled a broader transformation, from the cyborg as a manifestation of fears and potential enhancements related to technological integration and domination, to a more complex, layered exploration of identity that transcended conventional gender and species boundaries.
Similar to the idea of the “human” as a deficient animal, approaching AI through the lens of the cyborg metaphor encourages us to move beyond straightforward human-machine interaction, as illustrated by, for example, the robot paradigm. However, because we are in a very critical paradigm here, we need to be very critical and cautious in our terms and this is difficult, often also frustrating and it can feel extremely superfluous for non-philosophers I assume.
What does "very critical and cautionary" then imply? To start, it means avoiding the immediate focus on potential beneficial use cases of AI, even if you emphasize the need to mitigate risks. This approach almost always restricts your perspective to a one-dimensional tool analysis of AI. Likewise, departing from the posthumanist cyborg lens, you do not start by asking what typical human capacity AI can enhance or augment, such as better sight, flawless decision making and improved memory, because that already presupposes the figure of the ‘human’ as something that exists independently from technology (often a weakness of transhumanism). Moreover, even the often-invoked idea that the tools we employ can reshape us in turn perhaps falls short in this discourse, as it maintains an assumption of a distinct ‘human’ originator behind these tools. In the section about the metaphor of the Medium, we already discussed the idea of co-constitution. For them, we are the products of technological mediation, not so much the subjects nor the tool-bearers.
From this, we learn that the language and methods we use are crucial, especially in the context of AI. This series on AI metaphors is, therefore, a posthumanist endeavor. Its key insight is to avoid immediately asking how we can use AI or what its ethical "impact" might be. Instead, we should first take a step back.
In this context, adopting the cyborg perspective fundamentally shifts the questions we ask. Instead of focusing on how AI can enhance human capabilities, we begin to question our very conception of “humanity,” which traditionally assumes a separation from technology. To fully embrace the hybrid ontological notion that “we are AI and AI is us,” we must dismantle pre-existing assumptions about human nature and technology. We should set aside the conventional idea of the human and explore other concepts and phrases.
For instance, posthumanist thinker Katherine Hayles advocates for the term "cognitive assemblages" in her recent works. These assemblages encompass both conscious cognition, such as that found in higher species like mammals, and nonconscious cognition, including technical devices and various nonconscious living processes. For her, to understand concepts such as autonomy, we should not start with the classic binary understanding of individual subjects and (technological) objects but with cognitive assemblages, often encompassing both.
For example, when considering the rise of “automated killer drones” in warfare, uncovering the entire ecological web of engineers, pilots, AI software, generals, lawmakers, sensor technology, etc., provides a more comprehensive understanding of the complexity of the notion “autonomy” than merely stating whether humans or machines are in control. An entry point could instead be mapping and describing all the interrelations that span the web of both humans and technologies in various bio-technical life processes we might label as ‘decision-making,’. Certainly, we can point out the obvious fact that humans are losing control in the rise of automated warfare. However, this occurs against a backdrop where automation has significantly increased the autonomy granted to armies, generals, or even a single individual. Autonomy is always distributed. Consider the peculiar scenarios in *Dr. Strangelove* and the potential for atomic warfare. We cannot overlook the extensive human and technological effort that has led us to this ecological situation. Easier said than done, delving deep into this AI-human nexus is thus no small feat; it requires a thorough philosophical exploration and most of us do not possess the extensive schooling and capabilities of Katherine Hayles. Yet, intuitively, we constantly engage in this act of deciphering the complex relations that underpin our rapidly evolving digital reality. One does not need to be an academic.
In contemporary strategy and consultancy spheres tackling digital topics, for instance, the focus has pivoted towards the amalgamation of different life domains, propelled by digitalization. This shift has given birth to novel hybrid identities such as 'Zoomers' and 'Telesurgeons,' who embody the cyborg union of tech and human capabilities, redefining roles and professions to a point where the boundaries between the digital and physical are increasingly blurred. The COVID-19 pandemic has further catalyzed this transition, instigating a widespread adoption of hybrid work and leisure environments.
Another easy and attractive way to think about AI and our nature as cyborgs are movies. Cinematic portrayals offer potent illustrations of the posthuman cyborg narrative. We already named the much discussed sci-fi movie Her (2014) as a profound contemplation of work, solitude, affection, and interpersonal dynamics in a digitally driven future. How do you interpret this movie from a posthumanist standpoint? Whereas a traditional humanistic approach would analyze the protagonist's affectionate connection with the AI entity, Samantha, through a lens of human-machine interaction — “can ‘we’ really fall in love with a robot?” — the posthumanism perspective might suggest a cyborg encountering another cyborg, or them together being one cyborg.
Accordingly, this cyborg lens not only invites contemplation on this transformative relationship but also fosters rich philosophical deliberations. In the case of the movie Her, it urges us to ponder the emergent realities and introspective spaces sculpted through continual dialogues with AI entities that resonate perfectly with individual desires, forging a kind of cyborg solipsism, where the 'self' and the 'machine' cease to exist as distinct entities as they withdraw in a sort of self-contained microcosmos they constitute together. In the movie, Theodore and Samantha hardly speak to anyone nor see anyone else as they walk around. It is a beautiful portrayal of (artificial) affection and intimacy yet also complete isolation and loneliness. They intertwine as Theodore blossoms by opening his inner world, yet simultaneously loses himself by shutting out the outer world.
(This article was co-authored by AI.)
