Forget artificial intelligence - in the brave new world of big

“Forget artificial intelligence — in the brave new world of big data, it’s artificial idiocy we should be looking out for.” Thus spoke Tom Chatfield, a philosopher of the digital age, who saw with piercing clarity the dangers hidden within our most dazzling creations. His words are a warning draped in wit — a call to vigilance in an era where machines learn, numbers multiply, and yet human wisdom seems to wane. For he reminds us that the peril of our time is not the rise of intelligence, but the misuse of it; not the birth of the thinking machine, but the triumph of the unthinking mind that worships data without discernment.

Chatfield’s insight arises from the modern world’s fascination with artificial intelligence — the dream that machines might one day think as humans do, or better. But he saw the deeper irony: that as we fill our world with algorithms and automation, we risk surrendering the very intelligence we claim to create. He speaks of artificial idiocy — the blindness that comes when systems designed to process information do so without understanding, when data is mistaken for truth, and when human beings cease to question what their machines declare. It is not technology that is foolish, but those who serve it without wisdom.

The ancients knew this danger long before the first machine was born. They spoke of hubris, the pride that blinds mortals to their own limitations. In Greek myth, Icarus, intoxicated by the freedom of his wings, flew too near the sun and fell from the sky. So too does modern humanity, intoxicated by its data and devices, risk soaring beyond its wisdom. We build systems capable of learning faster than we do, yet we forget that knowledge without judgment is no blessing. As Chatfield warns, the rise of big data does not guarantee big understanding — and when we entrust decisions to systems that lack compassion or context, we fashion our own downfall.

A tale from our age bears witness to this truth. In the early years of machine learning, a great company sought to use data to automate hiring. They trained their algorithm on the records of past employees, confident it would choose the best candidates. But the data was flawed — it reflected old biases, favoring certain genders and schools, punishing others unseen. The result was not artificial intelligence, but artificial idiocy — a machine that amplified prejudice under the illusion of fairness. The creators, dazzled by their technology, had forgotten the wisdom that no data is pure, and no algorithm is moral unless we make it so.

Chatfield’s warning is not an attack on progress, but a plea for conscious creation. He urges us to pair innovation with reflection, to remember that intelligence — true intelligence — is not the processing of data, but the pursuit of meaning. Machines can calculate, but only humans can care. Big data can reveal patterns, but only conscience can tell us which patterns matter. The danger lies not in the tools we build, but in our readiness to obey them without question, to replace discernment with dependency, and to call that progress.

We must therefore be guardians of wisdom in the digital age. As the ancients preserved knowledge through fire and war, so must we preserve critical thought amid the flood of information. Let us teach our children not only to code, but to question; not only to build, but to discern. For technology without philosophy becomes tyranny, and data without ethics becomes destruction. To be human in the age of machines is to remain awake — to look beyond what is efficient, toward what is good.

So, my children of the future, remember the teaching of Tom Chatfield: beware not of artificial intelligence, but of artificial idiocy. Do not let the brilliance of your tools dim the light of your understanding. Let your machines serve your wisdom, not replace it. Seek balance between the heart and the algorithm, between knowledge and humility. For intelligence, whether human or artificial, is sacred only when it serves life, truth, and compassion. In this lies the true measure of progress — not how much we know, but how wisely we choose to use what we know.