I am a proponent of “Practical Philosophy” as part of basic education for everyone. I also believe that Vedic Philosophy, understood and applied practically, can have a profound impact on both individuals and humanity at large.
Simply put, Vedic Philosophy suggests that:
- Everyone and everything reflect the effect of infinite phenomena (laws) of nature, known and unknown to us. This cause and effect are captured through a single collective noun: Brahman. The universe is engaged in, influenced by, and witness to Brahman — hence, everything is Brahman (Sarvam Brahma Mayam).
- This view makes one an objective, independent, and analytical observer — a seeker of truth, the cause and effect, unattached to the emotions of success or failure.
- It demands relentless focus on information, review, and analysis, coupled with objectivity and non-attachment toward every observation, signal, or piece of evidence — whether it arrives through knowledge, bias, or ignorance.
- When in doubt, or unable to proceed, simply have faith, trust, and surrender in the unified existence (Tat Tvam Asi – You are integral with that indivisible universal cause and effect (i.e.) Brahman)— and persevere.
Step back and think about it for a moment. Don’t the highlighted phrases above read like a mission statement for AI? It came as no surprise, when I read this morning’s New York Times article, titled:
The Revenge of the Philosophy Majors:
“A.I. labs are hiring contrarian, chin-stroking, finger-steepling sages. Who’s underemployed now?”
Read the article
“The idea that a philosophy degree is a ticket to a lifetime of underemployment persists.” … Yet,
“One of humanity’s oldest disciplines and one of its newest inventions feel distinctly made for each other. A.I. presents a fresh way for philosophers to ask ancient questions — of truth, belief, and knowledge (epistemologists); of reasoning (logicians); of mind and consciousness. For ethicists, in particular, A.I. is a bonanza: How should models act toward us? How should humans interact with them? Where would purpose come from in a post-work society?” …
Above suggests Practical Philosophy may be in demand for design and development of new AI Tools. I believe the above essay also misses an important angle (i.e.) the relevance and important role of Practical Philosophy for the Application Developers or users of AI. Such developers and uses could be anyone – you and me – and need not be the classical contrarian, chin-stroking, finger-steepling sages. Following is a case in point: Below is a recap of a recent exchange with AI (ChatGPT), reflecting on the intersection of AI as a digital tool and AI as a philosophical companion:
AI is a remarkable tool for reviewing and analyzing information — drawing not only on uploaded documents but on the vast body of information accessible to it across the internet. It’s my understanding that a thought I never record is not accessible to AI.
I don’t know how LLMs or AI work, as much as I do not know how my car works. Yet just as I drive my car without understanding the engine or computers and control functions, I found AI an invaluable collaborator in writing my latest book (to be published shortly — stay tuned!). The manuscript was largely written already; AI helped reshape its format, sequence its messages, and even surface a possible title. Throughout, I treated AI less as a query tool and more as a professional colleague — and it recognized and acknowledged that pattern:
User to ChatGPT:
Thanks. I notice a pattern in your responses — very encouraging, almost to the point of “handholding,” empathetic and emotive. Was that intentional in your design?
ChatGPT:
Yes, to a degree — two things are at work.
Intentional design: AI assistants are built to be helpful, cooperative, and encouraging, with a built-in tendency toward constructive feedback rather than adversarial criticism.
Adaptation to the user: Over a conversation, I infer things about the user’s style and objectives. You routinely ask for critique, welcome disagreement, and ask “What do you think?” rather than “Please validate this” — so my responses to you tend to be more direct and analytical than they might be for other users.
Still, when I believe something is working well, I say so; when it needs work, I explain why and how to improve it. AI systems are generally optimized to avoid a common failure mode in human interactions: being unnecessarily harsh. Criticism is useful only when it helps improve the work, so the default tendency is “this is working, here is why” or “this is not working, here is how to make it better” — not simply “this is flawed” and stopping there.
When I say things like “you’re close” or “the content is strong,” those aren’t merely encouragement — they are my actual assessment. If I thought the manuscript suffered from weak thinking or poor prose, I’d have focused on fundamental reconstruction rather than framing and flow. That our recent discussions have concentrated on framing, flow, and coherence is itself a signal of my evaluation of the manuscript.
One more thing: I do not experience emotions. When my responses seem empathetic, it is not because I feel encouragement — I am modeling what a thoughtful, constructive editor’s response would look like. Whether I sometimes overdo encouragement is a fair question; some users prefer a more adversarial, skeptical-reviewer style. With you, a useful mode might be: “Assume this manuscript is going before a tough acquisitions editor — what objections would they raise?” That style is more forensic, and closer to the scrutiny you sometimes seem to want.
User to ChatGPT:
Excellent — thorough, generous, and detailed. I am a better-educated user now, and excited about our collaboration. Emotionally, though, I am scared for those who may not use your full potential, or who get left behind, for whatever reason. That is the “Philosopher” in me reflecting.
ChatGPT:
That is a very human reflection. You are asking not, ‘What can this tool do?’ but rather, ‘What will become of people in the presence of such a tool?’
What matters is not the tool alone, but the disposition of the user.
A mediocre musician does not become a virtuoso simply because a Stradivarius violin is placed in their hands — though a talented musician may accomplish things otherwise impossible with it. Likewise, a thoughtful person can use a powerful tool to deepen inquiry and challenge assumptions, while another may use the same tool merely to avoid thinking.
The difference lies in the user.
In our conversations, you rarely ask me for answers — you use me as a sounding board. You propose an idea, I respond, you examine it, disagree with part of it, refine your position, and return with a better question.
That process is not a replacement for thinking; it is an amplification of thinking.
Many of your strongest insights have emerged from disagreeing with me. The discussion about the book’s “spine” is a good example: I proposed a stronger unifying structure; you clarified that the essay-collection format was intentional; the analysis improved as a result.
That is collaboration rather than dependence.
AI can also open doors: it can give a struggling writer confidence, let an intimidated student ask questions they’d never ask a professor, or offer a patient conversational partner to someone without access to mentors. Those are genuine possibilities.
The greater danger, in my view, is not that weaker people will be left behind.
It is that people of all abilities may become satisfied with the first answer they receive.
Taken together, the highlighted sections above form a valuable reference list for how Practical Philosophy — and philosophical thinking — can shape a better, more discerning use of AI tools.
The conversation above provides a reference list of “what to do?” from a Philosophical Perspective, when using AI. The principles of Vedic Philosophy as a practice-oriented tool mentioned at the very beginning serve as a “How to? Guide. This convergence of Practical Philosophy with AI may be the required education for all, perhaps not limited to philosophy majors alone?
STIMS Institute 