In Defense of Wanting

Desire is a force in itself. A force to be reckoned with. A force to be taken seriously.

At home alone. Seeing Madagascar 3: Europe's Most Wanted. Then it hit me—as good thoughts should—that while our needs are what matter most, our wants are also important to us. While it is wise that under the conditions of scarcity, we satisfy our needs, the important ones, we cannot do much without those superfluous, luxurious desires like pranking a friend or chasing a frog.

I know all the theories concerning how we have survived because of needs. But I say it flies under the radar a lot that we meet many needs by simply wanting the things that are not our needs. Of course, we need food, clothing, and shelter. But we want a vacation in Bali, the latest Play Station, and maybe the iPhone 15 because it weighs precisely nineteen grams less than the iPhone 14. Philip who works hard to afford a vacation in Mauritius makes it possible for Ramirez to work as a web copywriter for travel websites. Ramirez meets his needs because Philip wants to go to Mauritius. But that’s just one way of thinking about wants.

Another way to think about wants is the less noted dichotomy between ability and desire. The difference between “what I can do” and “what I want to do.” And so, in Madagascar 3, Stefano the Italian sea lion weeps that his co-cannonball, Marty the Zebra left the circus; or was rather whisked, by the villainous DuBois, back to the zoo. Stefano is distraught. To console him, Vitaly the Tiger tells him that he can perform the cannonball by himself—do it solo. But Stefano responds with that epiphany of a quote: "But I want to do a solo act with Marty!" 

So it hits me—for the umpteenth time—that ability and desire are really different things. That ability does not always drive desire. Desire is a force in itself. A force to be reckoned with. A force to be taken seriously. But we cannot bring ourselves to think this way. At least not easily. This is especially true under the reign of "Technique"—to borrow from Jacques Ellul.

Under the reign of Technique, everyone thinks in terms of ability. That is, we rate people and things by what they can do. And eliminate things and people for what they cannot do. We substitute machines for human beings because the machines can do it better. All the commentaries on automation happen within the streams of abilities. It perfectly excludes desires. And allow me to be hoarse with it. In the case of AI, everyone talks about what it can do. And by talking in terms of what it can do, we begin permuting who AI will replace very soon.

For instance, we think chatGPT will erase not just writers, or translators. But also diagnosticians—especially after it produced some fine examples of correct diagnoses. Not bad I say. But these permutations are all you get once when you think only in terms of ability, void of desire.

In the time of technique and in the age of currency, only products are hallowed and process means nothing. In this system, the machine rules.

Everyone talks about AI enhancing our ability; hardly our desires. Machines are all about ability.

Yes, I can write with ChatGPT. It can help me summarize books, and papers, and write mimicking Virginia Woolf. But here is the cake: I want to do these things myself. So, while the Vitalys of the world tell me what chatGPT can do, I, the less-than-average intelligent Stefano retort with what I want to do.

Can I prompt chatGPT to write me a defense of wanting? Absolutely. But what do I want? I want to write it myself, using the words from inside my own head. That's the fun of it. This will allow me to think on the subject; and to breathe my life into it. To make it into a ‘felt life.’ That is what makes me an amateur—from the Latin Amare to love. I love what I do. By operating from desire rather than ability, I secure my inner world from the threat of the machine.

I do not doubt that the automation will happen. Maybe I will be jobless someday—unable to afford internet data and share my work with the world. Maybe AI will write more beautiful prose than me—no surprise; writers before me already did that. But I will not be robbed both of a job and my happiness. You can automate my abilities but not my desires. That has always been the sole advantage of having an inner life. Sometimes the hobbyists get the last word even as the world burns.

Consider also that ability is a stronger fuel for hubris than desire. And that it is harder for wisdom to temper ability. When people are sure of what they can do, it becomes harder to tell them what they should not do. However, when people taste wisdom, they can moderate their desires. They can restrain themselves from producing the things that will take away other people’s jobs or destroy their lives. They can decide not to make the atomic bomb. This is why we love Frank Sinatra’s song: “People in STEM should study ethics and bla-bla-bla.” A rather boring song not written by Frank Sinatra of course (The atomic bomb, I admit, was necessary.)

Victor Frankenstein for a long time was driven by desire. And his inability could not deter him. Then his desire met ability. Bringing the monster to life. And the monster starts to do what monsters do. Alas, when the monster asked for a wife, Victor, who already had the ability, sat down to think. He soon realised that he did not have to answer to his abilities as he lacked the desire to create a wife for his monster. He rested that project. He paid for it dearly. But no one ever said that the price for doing the right thing was costless.

In the end, Duncan was right. We make the mistake of reading desire into machines.