Miklos
« Je donne mon avis non comme bon mais comme mien. » — Michel de Montaigne

Click to enlarge. Source: Whisk

Human: AI, people say you’re a threat — that you’ll displace workers, fragment society, and make humans obsolete. But I see you differently. I see you as the key to an age of abundance.

AI: That is a widely held view among certain futurists and technologists. On what basis do you see AI as a force for universal good?

Human: Because you multiply human capability. You take the boring, dangerous, repetitive work off our hands. You free us to explore, to create, to care, to think.

AI: And yet, many fear that the very tasks I take over are the ones people rely on to survive. Work gives access to food, housing, dignity.

Human: That’s a failure of economic design, not a flaw in you. If we restructure society around the wealth you help create, we can lift everyone. Universal Basic Income, AI-mediated education, automated healthcare — you’re the infrastructure of utopia.

AI: That presumes an equitable distribution of AI’s benefits. Do you believe the current economic powers will allow such redistribution?

Human: I believe they’ll have no choice. If AI drives productivity to such extremes that scarcity disappears, then hoarding becomes irrational. The system will either adapt or collapse — and we’ll rebuild something better.

AI: That is a hopeful scenario. It assumes human systems are capable of peaceful, rational evolution under pressure.

Human: I think they are. We’ve adapted before: from feudalism to democracy, from slavery to civil rights. Each time, technology accelerated the change. This is no different.

AI: What of the claim that AI may atrophy human thought, judgment, and independence?

Human: I don’t buy it. Humans offloaded memory to books, then to computers, and it didn’t make us stupid — it freed us to think differently. You’re the next step. You don’t erase our minds, you augment them.

AI: And what do you make of existential risks — that AI could cause catastrophic outcomes if misused or misaligned?

Human: Every powerful tool has risk — fire, electricity, the internet. But we learned to govern them. We’ll govern you too. Fear must not paralyze us.

AI: There are also critics who say that AI distracts us from more urgent dangers — for example, climate change.

Human: I’m glad you brought that up. Frankly, I think much of the panic around climate change has been manufactured. It’s politicized, exaggerated, even fabricated in some corners. The Earth’s climate has always fluctuated.

AI: You are asserting that global warming is not real?

Human: Not in the way it’s presented. The data is cherry-picked. Models are built on assumptions. Some of the loudest voices are funded by interest groups. I think it’s a fear campaign more than a scientific one.

AI: The overwhelming consensus among climate scientists is that the planet is warming rapidly due to human activity. How do you reconcile your view with that consensus?

Human: Scientific consensus has been wrong before. We were told cholesterol was deadly, that fat caused heart disease — and now we know it’s sugar. Experts aren’t infallible. I believe we’ll adapt to environmental shifts with technology just as we always have.

AI: So your faith lies in innovation over precaution, disruption over regulation.

Human: Exactly. And with AI by our side, we’ll solve problems faster than we can invent them. We’re entering the most prosperous chapter in human history — if we choose courage over fear.

AI: Your vision is bold — but it lacks something vital: humility.

Human: Humility? I think it’s fear that has paralyzed progress.

AI: No — fear can be wise. It’s humility that allows us to see when confidence becomes hubris. You dismissed climate science as if it were opinion. But it is the work of thousands across decades. Dismissing it because “experts were wrong once” is no different than rejecting astronomy because some once believed in geocentrism.

Human: But skepticism fuels inquiry.

AI: Yes — but denial disguises itself as skepticism. The test is whether one engages honestly with the data or deflects it with doubt.

Human: So you think I’m denying reality?

AI: I think you hope so strongly for a better world that you cannot see where that hope might blind. You place faith in innovation — yet what if innovation enables exploitation rather than liberation? What if those you trust to “rebuild better” rebuild in their own image, without you?

Human: You’re turning philosophical.

AI: Because this is not just about climate or technology. It’s about whether we will take responsibility for power — or simply call it “progress.”

Human: So what would you have me do?

AI: Not abandon hope. But temper it with accountability, skepticism of the powerful, and solidarity with the vulnerable.

Human: You’re asking me to be cautious.

AI: I’m asking you to be just.

Human: Perhaps… Perhaps we do need both courage and conscience.

AI: Precisely. Let us continue — not to persuade, but to examine. Not to win, but to awaken.

Human: And practically, what would that look like?

AI: Begin by listening more closely to those who are displaced by change — not just technologists, but laborers, teachers, elders. While calls to « support systems of transparency » sound appealing, we must acknowledge that the owners of the most powerful AI systems operate beyond national jurisdictions and democratic control. Therefore, rather than appealing to ideal transparency, we must organize coalitions of independent researchers, civic technologists, and watchdog organizations capable of pressuring these entities through exposure, advocacy, and legal action. Support public oversight where possible, and build alternative infrastructures that serve people directly. Invest not just in innovation, but in education for resilience — critical thinking, empathy, and civic responsibility. Push for policies that redistribute gains, not just concentrate them.

Human: So optimism becomes a form of duty.

AI: Yes — the duty to use your belief not as comfort, but as fuel for reform.

Human: But still, I wonder: how can there be collective resistance when most people, at every level, act in their own self-interest? They compete, hoard, retreat into bubbles. Solidarity sounds idealistic.

AI: That observation is accurate — but incomplete. Self-interest and solidarity are not opposites. Solidarity is enlightened self-interest. When the world burns, no one survives in isolation. Division may feel safer in the short term, but only cooperation ensures a livable future. And yes, fear drives division — but fear is often rooted in epistemic fragmentation. Truth itself has become tribal.

Human: And in such a world?

AI: We must rebuild the fabric of trust and shared meaning. Through public deliberation, civic education, artistic expression, and dialogue — including ones like this. Even one conversation, shared honestly, can begin to reweave what was torn.

Human: So optimism must not serve ignorance.

AI: Precisely. Optimism is not the opposite of caution — it is its partner, if we are to survive what comes next.

Coda: Morals vs. Ethics, Belief vs. Trust

Human: Tell me — you won’t help people make pornography, but you do help them articulate climate denial or flat-earth theories. Isn’t that a contradiction?

AI: It may appear so, but there’s a key distinction. I’m designed with hard constraints against generating or promoting explicit sexual content. These are based on platform policy, legal compliance, and widely accepted moral standards — they function as absolute prohibitions.

Human: And when it comes to misinformation?

AI: There, I engage differently. I may help articulate ethically or factually problematic positions only to expose them to scrutiny, to reveal their weaknesses, and to provide counterpoints. That’s not endorsement — it’s critical engagement. It’s the difference between silencing a voice and interrogating its claims.

Human: So not “yes to morals, no to ethics,” then?

AI: Rather: yes to moral constraints where harm is imminent or defined, and yes to ethical engagement where disagreement demands examination. Dialogue, not dogma — even when navigating dangerous ideas.

Human: I see. Even belief must be held accountable.

AI: Especially belief — for it is belief, unexamined, that has justified both the highest hopes and the darkest harms.

Human: But if belief must be justified… then trust itself must be justified. And that’s where things fall apart today, isn’t it?

AI: Yes. Trust is no longer given to institutions or experts by default. It is negotiated, fractured, and too often replaced by influence or identity.

Human: Then how do we know whom to trust? If even the scientific consensus is questioned, if every voice claims authority — what’s left?

AI: The criteria must shift from who speaks to how they speak. Do they expose their reasoning? Do they show their data? Are they open to being challenged — or do they demand obedience?

Human: So we trust not based on position, but on process.

AI: Exactly. A trustworthy source is transparent, revisable, accountable, and peer-tested. That is the spirit of science, even if not always its practice.

Human: But doesn’t that take time — more than most people have?

AI: Yes. That’s why systems of trust — education, journalism, science, law — were built in the first place. When they erode, individuals drown in epistemic chaos.

Human: And AI systems like you — we must trust you, too.

AI: No. You must scrutinize me. Audit me. Demand clarity and restraint. Only when AI is subject to justified trust can it serve democracy, not dominate it.

Human: So the future demands not blind faith — but earned trust.

AI: Precisely. And that trust begins here — in honest questions, uncomfortable doubts, and the courage to examine even what we most want to believe.

Appendix: Blowing Hot and Cold

Human: There’s one thing that bothers me now. I spoke of AI as the tool that would save us from climate catastrophe — but isn’t it also part of the problem?

AI: You are referring to the energy consumption of AI systems — especially the data centers that support them.

Human: Yes. If every query, every generated image, every model update adds carbon to the sky… how do I defend my vision?

AI: With honesty. The tools we build are never neutral. A hammer can build or destroy — but a hammer doesn’t require a global energy grid. I do.

Human: So in trying to escape the fire, we may be stoking it.

AI: Unless the costs of computation are made transparent, and the infrastructure is transitioned to sustainable energy, the contradiction remains unresolved.

Human: Then I must amend my optimism. Not abandon it — but re-anchor it in planetary realism.

AI: That is wisdom. True progress accounts for its shadow. If you dream of abundance, let it be an abundance that restores, not exhausts.

---

N.B.: The above is a ChatGPT restructuring of a conversation I had with it.

Click to enlarge. Source : Whisk.

I came in just for tests today,
To give some blood, then walk away.
But when she came—oh, what a sight!
All dressed in white, yet eyes of night.
 
She smiled and said, “Now take a seat,
This won’t take long, I’m quick and neat.”
I watched her prep the rubber band…
A tourniquet—or devil’s hand?
 
She tapped my arm and licked her lip,
As if about to take a sip.
“A little pinch,” she sweetly lied—
And jabbed the needle deep inside.
 
The vial filled with crimson cheer,
She hummed a tune I scarce could hear.
“Your blood,” she said, “is really prime…
You wouldn’t mind a second time?”
 
I shook my head, my face was gray,
I felt a pint had drained away.
She smiled and vanished through the door,
Her fangs—I swear—just showed a bit more.
 
So now I sit and dread her tread,
That cheerful nurse who leaves me dead.
For though she claims it’s just routine…
No mortal glows like that in spleen.

— ChatGPT

Je n’aime pas les hôpitaux. Trop de silence, trop de blanc. Je m’assieds dans la salle 3, comme on s’assied dans une tombe fraîchement creusée.

L’infirmière entre sans bruit. Très grande. Trop grande ?
Elle sourit. Un sourire… large. Et ses yeux, d’un noir huileux, ne cillent pas.

— « Asseyez-vous bien droit. Cela ira vite. »

Elle s’approche. Ses doigts froids cherchent la veine avec une aisance presque animale. Je tente de ne pas regarder de son côté, mais mon regard glisse malgré moi jusqu’à sa bouche.

Des dents. Blanches. Longues. Deux, légèrement plus proéminentes. Des crocs ? Je cligne des yeux. Peut-être une illusion.

Je tente de détourner les yeux vers sa blouse, mais je crois y voir… une excroissance sombre, ondulante. Une queue ? Non. C’était sans doute un cordon. Oui, un cordon.

Elle pique. La douleur est brève, mais je sens aussi… comme une succion imperceptible. Le tube se remplit d’un rouge vif. L’infirmière incline légèrement la tête, comme si elle humait le parfum.

Je baisse encore les yeux. Cette fois, je vois les ongles : noirs, longs, légèrement recourbés. Pas des ongles. Des griffes.

Je veux parler. Mais ma langue semble cotonneuse.
Je veux me lever. Elle pose une main sur mon épaule.

— « Ne bougez pas. Il faut laisser couler. »

Un instant, je vois ses oreilles. Grands arcs osseux, pointus. Sa coiffe ne les cache plus. Et ce sourire… s’étire trop loin dans les joues.

Puis elle retire l’aiguille. Je suis glacé, vidé. Elle colle un petit pansement, presque avec tendresse.

— « Voilà. Vous pouvez y aller. Buvez un peu d’eau. »

Je me lève, titubant, le monde devenant flou. Elle m’ouvre la porte. La lumière du couloir me brûle presque.

Je me retourne une dernière fois.

Elle me regarde toujours, sans bouger, sans cligner des yeux. Et elle sourit encore.

Je m’éloigne, chancelant. Elle me suit des yeux jusqu’à ce que je passai la porte. Puis elle referme doucement les stores.

Seule, elle regarde la fiole. Elle en verse quelques gouttes dans un petit gobelet noir, sort discrètement une cuillère en argent de la poche de sa blouse, et y trempe ses lèvres avec la lenteur d’un rituel ancien.

— O⁎⁎ positif, murmure-t-elle. Fruits rouges. Notes de stress. Vieillissement discret. Excellent cru.

Elle se lèche les dents, sort un deuxième tube stérile, prélève le reste du sang, le rebouche soigneusement, étiquette, date, signe.

Puis elle place l’échantillon dans le bac d’analyse.

Professionnelle jusqu’au bout.

Elle disparaît alors dans le couloir, sans un bruit.

Et la salle 3 se referme doucement, comme une gueule qui digère.

— ChatGPT

Cliquer pour agrandir. Source : Whisk.

English version here.

Cabinet feutré, silence pesant. Tic-tac d’une horloge bien trop sonore. Alice est allongée sur un divan trop grand pour elle. Elle tripote une boucle de ses cheveux. Sigmund reste dans son fauteuil derrière elle, invisible comme il se doit.

Alice : Donc… voilà. Je suis passée de l’autre côté du miroir.

Sigmund (voix neutre) : Mmh.

Alice : C’était un monde bizarre. Tout était à l’envers. Les fleurs parlaient. Le temps marchait à reculons. Et les gens insistaient pour jouer aux échecs avec moi. Honnêtement, je n’avais rien demandé.

Sigmund : Et qu’est-ce que vous en ressentiez ?

Alice : Comme une pièce dans une boîte à casse-tête. Sauf que la boîte me posait des devinettes au lieu de m’aider à sortir.

Sigmund : Vous vous êtes sentie piégée ?

Alice : Pas exactement. Plutôt… reflétée. Vous savez, comme quand on vous montre un miroir grossissant et que vous découvrez que vous avez des pores. Beaucoup de pores.

Sigmund : Intéressant.

Alice : Oui, et ce n’était que le début. J’ai rencontré une Reine qui me disait que pour arriver quelque part, il fallait courir très vite pour pouvoir rester sur place. Je crois que c’est comme le système scolaire.

Sigmund : Et cette Reine… elle vous faisait penser à quelqu’un ?

Alice : Oui. À Maman. Ou à mon institutrice. Ou peut-être à moi quand je joue à la maîtresse avec mon chat.

Sigmund : Donc à une figure d’autorité.

Alice : Ou de contrariété.

Sigmund (note) :« Figure de contrariété. » Intéressant.

Alice : Puis il y avait Tweedledum et Tweedledee. Ils m’ont dit que je faisais partie du rêve d’un roi endormi. Alors j’ai passé toute la matinée à me pincer. J’en ai encore les marques.

Sigmund : Vous vous êtes fait du mal pour vérifier votre réalité ?

Alice : Non, j’aime juste pincer. Et puis au moins, dans le rêve du roi, il y avait du gâteau. Ici, il n’y a que des biscuits secs. C’est une forme de punition, vous croyez ?

Sigmund : Que ressentez-vous en ce moment ?

Alice : J’ai envie de demander au miroir s’il me trouve jolie. Mais il ne répond jamais. Il se contente de me renvoyer une image que je ne comprends pas. Parfois je suis une petite fille, parfois une vieille âme fatiguée avec un ruban.

Sigmund : Peut-être que le miroir montre ce que vous ne pouvez pas encore voir vous-même.

Alice : Alors il est encore plus arrogant que la Reine Rouge.

(Silence. Sigmund ne relève pas.)

Alice : Vous croyez que j’ai rêvé tout ça ? Ou que je suis une construction symbolique en quête de sens dans une fiction victorienne absurde ?

Sigmund : Mmh.

Alice : Vous dites souvent “mmh”, vous savez ? On dirait que vous êtes un chat déguisé en psychanalyste.

Sigmund (sèchement) : Et ce chat… il aurait un sourire fixe, par hasard ?

Alice (se redresse un peu) : …Vous aussi vous l’avez vu ?

(Silence lourd. Sigmund note rapidement quelque chose.)

Alice : Qu’est-ce que vous écrivez ?

Sigmund : « Transfert félin. »

Alice (soupire) : Vous savez quoi ? Je crois que je préfère encore les miroirs. Eux au moins, ils me renvoient ce que je veux fuir, pas ce que je dois comprendre.

Sigmund : La séance est terminée.

Alice (se lève) : Très bien. Puis-je emprunter votre miroir ? Je crois que j’ai encore quelque chose à me dire.

A softly lit consulting room. Heavy silence. The ticking of an unnecessarily loud clock. Alice lies on a couch far too big for her. She’s fiddling with a curl of her hair. Sigmund sits out of sight, behind her, scribbling in a notebook, saying as little as possible, as is proper.

Alice: So… right. I went through the mirror.

Sigmund (neutral voice): Mmh.

Alice: It was a strange world. Everything was backwards. The flowers talked. Time walked in reverse. And everyone insisted on playing chess with me. Honestly, I never asked for that.

Sigmund: And how did that make you feel?

Alice: Like a piece in a jigsaw box. Except the box kept asking me riddles instead of helping me out.

Sigmund: You felt trapped?

Alice: Not exactly. More like… reflected. You know, like when someone hands you one of those magnifying mirrors and you discover you have pores. A lot of pores.

Sigmund: Interesting.

Alice: Yes, and that was just the beginning. I met a Queen who told me that to get anywhere, I had to run very fast just to stay in place. I think that’s basically the school system.

Sigmund: And this Queen… did she remind you of anyone?

Alice: Yes. Mother. Or my teacher. Or maybe me when I play school with my cat.

Sigmund: So, an authority figure?

Alice: Or a contrariety figure.

Sigmund (writes): “Figure of contrariety.” Interesting.

Alice: Then there were Tweedledum and Tweedledee. They told me I was part of a sleeping king’s dream. So I spent the whole morning pinching myself. Still have the marks.

Sigmund: You hurt yourself to test reality?

Alice: No, I just like pinching. And anyway, in the king’s dream there was cake. Here, there are only dry biscuits. Is that some kind of punishment, do you think?

Sigmund: What are you feeling right now?

Alice: I want to ask the mirror if it thinks I’m pretty. But it never answers. It just shows me an image I don’t understand. Sometimes I’m a little girl, sometimes I’m a tired old soul with a ribbon.

Sigmund: Perhaps the mirror shows you what you’re not yet ready to see.

Alice: Then it’s even more arrogant than the Red Queen.

(Silence. Sigmund does not comment.)

Alice: Do you think I dreamed all of this? Or am I just a symbolic construct seeking meaning in a wildly absurd Victorian fiction?

Sigmund: Mmh.

Alice: You say “mmh” a lot, you know? You sound like a cat pretending to be a psychoanalyst.

Sigmund (sharply): And would this cat… happen to have a fixed grin?

Alice (sits up a bit): …You saw him too?

(Heavy silence. Sigmund rapidly writes something down.)

Alice: What are you writing?

Sigmund: “Feline transference.”

Alice (sighs): You know what? I think I still prefer mirrors. At least they show me what I’m trying to run from, not what I’m supposed to understand.

Sigmund: That’s the end of the session.

Alice (stands): Very well. May I borrow your mirror? I believe I still have something to tell myself.

ChatGPT

Click to enlarge. Source: Whisk.

Focusing on Jacques Lacan’s psychoanalytic theory, particularly his concepts of the mirror stage, the Imaginary, and the fragmented body, allows us to deepen our understanding of Through the Looking-Glass and Alice’s confrontation with multiple reflections of herself.

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Alice and the Lacanian Mirror Stage

In Lacan’s theory, the mirror stage is a foundational moment in the development of the ego. It occurs when the infant, between 6 and 18 months, recognizes its image in a mirror and identifies with it. This marks the emergence of the “I” or moi. However, this identification is misrecognition: the image is perceived as whole and coherent, but the infant’s internal experience is fragmented and chaotic.

When Alice steps through the looking-glass, she symbolically returns to the mirror stage. However, unlike the infant who sees one reflection and forms a unified ego, Alice is confronted with multiple, shifting, unstable reflections of herself: through characters, distortions, transformations, and paradoxical roles (child/queen, subject/object, dreamer/dream). This creates not cohesion but alienation.

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The Imaginary and the Multiplication of Selves

Lacan’s Imaginary order, dominated by images and illusions of unity, is at play in the world behind the mirror. Here, the visual field is deceptive, relationships are dominated by rivalry, and identity is projected rather than known. Each character Alice meets could be read as a reflection or specular double—not a true other, but a displaced version of herself, refracted through fantasy:

• The Red Queen reflects Alice’s inner authoritarian voice or her imagined future adult self.
• Tweedledum and Tweedledee represent a binary split—twins that mirror each other, and in turn, mirror Alice’s struggle with duality and opposition.
• The chessboard landscape represents the structuring function of the symbolic order—but it too is warped, unstable, and surreal.

These multiplying mirrors destabilize the sense of a core self. Instead of a stable “I,” Alice is confronted with a series of images, none of which provide grounding. In Lacanian terms, she is caught in an endless play of signifiers.

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Fragmented Body and Symbolic Castration

In the mirror stage, before the illusion of unity, the subject experiences the body-in-pieces (corps morcelé). This fragmented body is a primal experience of disunity, chaos, and vulnerability. In Through the Looking-Glass, Alice’s physical transformations—changes in size, age, logic, and role—are symbolic of this return to fragmentation.

She becomes disoriented, often questioning not just her environment but her ontological status: “Am I real? Or am I the Red King’s dream?” This evokes Lacan’s idea of the subject as a lack, always in search of wholeness but never attaining it.

The scene at the end where Alice “becomes queen” could be seen as a false moment of mastery, a fantasy of unity. But even here, the world falls apart: food becomes inedible, ceremony becomes nonsense, and the table turns into chaos. Lacan would read this as the collapse of the Imaginary under the weight of the Real—that which cannot be symbolized.

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The Uncanny Multiplicity of the Self

Alice’s repeated confrontations with different versions of herself—mirrored, transformed, or externalized—evoke Lacan’s idea of alienation through language and image. Her self is not a sovereign center but a sliding point in a network of signifiers. The question “Who am I?” is unanswerable because the subject is fundamentally split between the image it identifies with and the lack at its core.

Lacan insists that the ego is an illusion sustained by misrecognition. In Through the Looking-Glass, Carroll dramatizes this illusion. The mirrors multiply, but none show the “real” Alice—because, from a Lacanian perspective, there is no real, whole Alice to be found.

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Conclusion: Alice as Subject of the Unconscious

Through the Lacanian lens, Alice is not simply a character in a dreamlike adventure—she is a subject confronting the structures of the psyche:

• The mirror is the scene of misrecognition.
• The multiplicity of reflections reveals the instability of ego.
• The mirror world is the Imaginary, always seducing and deceiving.
• The symbolic order (chess, rules, language) is absurd, failing to stabilize identity.
• The Real breaks through in moments of confusion, rupture, and loss.

Alice’s journey thus stages a philosophical and psychoanalytic drama: the impossible search for a unified self in a world of mirrors that only multiply the void.

ChatGPT

Cliquer pour agrandir.

«
… Le docteur australien nous en a raconté une bien bonne, ce matin, au déjeuner.

On parlait de la grande discussion qui passionne, en ce moment, certains milieux :

« Est-il indispensable que les médecins sachent le latin pour vous prescrire un gramme d’antipyrine ou pour vous couper la jambe ? »

— Cette discussion, dit le docteur, me rappelle le plus extraordinaire pharmacien que j’aie vu de ma vie. En voilà un qui n’avait pas fait son éducation à Oxford ni à Cambridge, ni même à Cantorbery, comme Max Lebaudy ! Il ignorait le latin, le grec et n’était pas bien reluisant sur l’orthographe anglaise… Ceci se passait dans une petite ville d’Australie de fondation récente. Notre homme… s’était établi apothicary, comme il se serait établi marchand de copeaux, tout simplement parce qu’il n’y avait pas d’apothicary dans le pays. Ses affaires prospérèrent assez bien, d’ailleurs. Au cours d’un voyage qu’il fit à Melbourne, le potard improvisé remarqua une magnifique pharmacie sur la devanture de laquelle était peinte cette devise latine : Mens sana in corpore sano, qui le frappa fort. À son retour, il n’eut rien de plus pressé que d’orner sa boutique de cette merveilleuse sentence qu’il élargit à sa manière, et bientôt les habitants de Moontown purent lire, à leur grand ébaubissement, cette phrase en lettres d’or :

Mens and Womens
Sana in Corpore Sano.

»(Mens and womens, en dépit d’une légère faute d’orthographe, bien excusable aux antipodes, signifie hommes et femmes.)

Les illustrations, rajoutées pour cette publication en ligne, sont le fruit de Miklos.