Theuth,Thamus,and digital civics: Plato’s formulation of memory and its lessons for civic life in the digital age

Introduction

Acknowledging the classical antecedents from which our modern concepts are drawn, this paper explores Plato’s telling of the story of Theuth and Thamus, in the Phaedrus, as a means of seeking insights to challenges in digital age civic life.

Through the lens of Plato’s anecdote, which considers the impact of introducing new communications technology as a means of external memory, we can recognise many of our own digital age struggles with new technologies of memory. This suggests that (1) successful ways of approaching our digital age challenges to counteract the negative effects of new technologies of memory might be found in classical literature. To this end, following (2) a brief discussion of the definition of memory as useful to this research, the following observations and arguments, considering first individual and then corporate dynamics, will be advanced:

The popular colloquialism demonstrating the value of studying history informs us that examining our past can prevent the repetition of mistakes. As the roots of our Western philosophical tradition, Plato can yield specific and invaluable insights for digital age issues. For, if the roots of our thinking are Platonic, it is logical that the trunk, branches, and leaves springing forth from them are Platonic, also. As I will argue, some of our contemporary issues with memory are actually digital age incarnations of Platonic problems – problems engaged by the Theuth and Thamus anecdote – and can be effectively addressed by implementing Platonic-styled responses, tailored to fit the digital age. Indeed, the legal scholar Martha Nussbaum has famously argued that ancient Classical texts have the potential to ‘make a substantial contribution to our contemporary legal and moral thought’ (Nussbaum, 1994: 1518). Thus, Plato provides a critical resource for the formulation of robust and enduring responses to digital age challenges and grants us a potent reminder that we are not divided from, nor devoid of, help from our past, particularly, when we face the issues of new technology and memory.

What is memory?

For the purposes of this paper, memory is defined as the ability ‘to encode, store, and retrieve information’ (Tulving, 2000). This might occur in a human sense (as the brain is able to encode, store, and retrieve memories), or in terms of mechanical, or computerised memory (such as encoding files to be saved and stored on a device, and retrieved later for further use). ROM (read-only memory, the permanent memory that allows you to do things like boot your computer – it reminds your computer how to start, as it were) and RAM (Random access memory, the type of memory that can be edited and changed, such as data in files, for instance) are considered crucial to the very essence of computing (Turing, 1937). Thus, memory is a crucial component of a digitally mediated world and is critical to its function.

The value of memory in digital age life can be seen, not only through the human’s ever expanding megabyte requirements (Keeton, 2017; McCalpin, 1995), or the focus on computer parts enabling this, but through the behaviours enacted towards concepts of memory in the online world, such as recording events, and honouring memories, where the deeds or legacy of a person or group are shared and remembered. This is evident, not simply in Facebook memorial pages, designed to digitally immortalise the memory of a deceased loved one, but in the shared photos and posts of daily events and incidents recorded and shared on any social media channel. The development of technologies that allow such recording of memory, however, raises a number of issues and challenges, from questions of how we use that memory, to whether or not we can trust its veracity.

As such, this definition seeks to encompass the overarching similarities between human and computer memory that will allow the exploration of important philosophical concepts in this paper: drawing out past human experiences of the introduction of new technologies of memory in Plato (writing), and considering the potential of these experiences in approaching digital age issues.

However, it is important to observe that differences also exist between human and computer memory function (Foltz, 1991) and that memory in the digital age is mediated in new ways (Hoskins, 2009: 27; Van Dijck, 2007: 28). For instance, the memory ecologist Andrew Hoskins, describes a ‘connective turn’ that ‘drives an ontological shift in what memory is and what memory does’ (Hoskins, 2018: 1). It is important to acknowledge that digital age technologies of memory (including computer hardware and software) introduce new aspects to, or fundamentally alter, our concept of memory (for example, changing its rate of decay, or undermining our belief in its stability), because it is precisely this conceptual shift in our notion of memory that links our experiences, of the impact of digital technology on memory, to Plato. When Hoskins contrasts the impact of writing on preliterate society, citing Jay David Bolter’s insight that at this point ‘memory became tiered or layered’ (Bolter, 1991: 215) with the insight that ‘because of the digital: memory has moved from tiers and layers to connections and networks’ (Hoskins, 2018: 12), he is also providing a valuable comparison: that significant technological advancement creating a new form of memory technology results in a significant shift in the way we understand memory, and ourselves. As will be explored, Plato would undoubtedly agree with modern scholarship that ‘new ways of finding sorting, sifting, using, seeing, losing and abusing the past, both imprisons and liberates active human remembering and forgetting’ (Hoskins, 2018: 1).

The Mithraic scholar David Ulansey observes that new scientific and technological discoveries in the classical period (specifically those discussed in Plato) spurred philosophical crises that required the formation of new ideas for individual, social, and civic life to succeed (Ulansey, 2000). Interestingly, a similar process of adjustment resultant from new technologies is identified occurring in the digital age by information philosopher, Luciano Floridi (Clements, 2019: 573) termed, the ‘Fourth Revolution’ (Floridi, 2009). This suggests that exploring classical ideas can provide pertinent insights into digital age issues, making such history a useful source from which to draw in approaching digital age challenges (Clements, 2019), particularly given Floridi’s observations that information society has taken 6000 years to unfold (Floridi, 2009: 3).

One of Plato’s most well-known passages in regard to the impact of new technology is his story of Theuth and Thamus (Plato, Phaedrus 275), in which Plato presents (either his own, or Socrates’) beliefs regarding the necessity or appropriateness of memory in considering orality in the Phaedrus. By so doing, he highlights some of the issues regarding new technologies of external memory in the classical age that seem to persist in our modern digital world and grants us some insight into the potential origins of these issues, and the ways in which they might impact on our modern civil society. Thus, it is to this particular passage that we now turn our attention.

Pharmakon: missing information and misinterpretation: medicine or poison?

In ‘The Phaedrus’, Socrates relates the myth of Theuth (a mix of the Egyptian Thoth, and Greek Hermes [Leary, 2010: 101]), and Thamus (the Egyptian King), and presents questions regarding memory and the impact of the new technology of the written word – or ability to record ideas – on human memory through this anecdote. In the story, the ibis-headed god Theuth, bequeaths the gift of writing to the King (writing is characterised as ‘pharmakon’, a word that could mean both, medicine or poison [Derrida, 1981]) as an aid to memory. King Thamus, however, feels strongly that writing will have a negative impact, suggesting that man will suffer loss of his own ability for memory as a result of the introduction of written characters.

τοῦτο γὰρ τῶν μαθόντων λήθην μὲν ἐν ψυχαῖς παρέξει μνήμης ἀμελετησίᾳ, ἅτε διὰ πίστιν γραφῆς ἔξωθεν ὑπ᾽ ἀλλοτρίων τύπων, οὐκ ἔνδοθεν αὐτοὺς ὑφ᾽ αὑτῶν ἀναμιμνῃσκομένους: οὔκουν μνήμης ἀλλὰ ὑπομνήσεως φάρμακον ηὗρες. σοφίας δὲ τοῖς μαθηταῖς δόξαν, οὐκ ἀλήθειαν πορίζεις: πολυήκοοι γάρ σοι γενόμενοι ἄνευ διδαχῆς πολυγνώμονες εἶναι δόξουσιν, ἀγνώμονες ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ πλῆθος ὄντες, καὶ χαλεποὶ συνεῖναι, δοξόσοφοι γεγονότες ἀντὶ σοφῶν.

For this invention will produce forgetfulness in the minds of those who learn to use it, because they will not practice their memory. Their trust in writing, produced by external characters which are no part of themselves, will discourage the use of their own memory within them. You have invented an elixir not of memory, but of reminding; and you offer your pupils the appearance of wisdom, not true wisdom, for they will read many things without instruction and will therefore seem to know many things, when they are for the most part ignorant and hard to get along with, since they are not wise, but only appear wise (Plato Phaedrus, 1925: 275a/b).

This argument, which Socrates uses to discuss the roles of memory and writing, highlights concepts and ideas around what occurs in a society when new media technologies are introduced. Indeed, the word ‘invention opens up a realm of possibilities that had not existed beforehand . . . good . . . as well as bad’ (Staehler, 2013: 85). In this instance, Plato’s characters consider the impact of this new media on orality, with Thamus observing the potential loss in wisdom ensuing from the establishment of the written word (Leary, 2010: 102): somewhere, in the process of crystallising memory through the new technology of writing, important accompanying information can be lost with a variety of ill effects. As a result, Thamus argues that written words are only useful to those who already know the meanings of what is written. He also suggests that they have an inherently dangerous quality (An idea that Plato explores further in Socrates’ subsequent discussion with Phaedrus), allowing their meaning to be misinterpreted and eventually lost because they are unable to ‘protect themselves’ from misinterpretation.

γραφῇ, κυλινδεῖται μὲν πανταχοῦ πᾶς λόγος ὁμοίως παρὰ τοῖς ἐπαΐουσιν, ὡς δ᾽ αὕτως παρ᾽ οἷς οὐδὲν προσήκει, καὶ οὐκ ἐπίσταται λέγειν οἷς δεῖ γε καὶ μή. πλημμελούμενος δὲ καὶ οὐκ ἐν δίκῃ λοιδορηθεὶς τοῦ πατρὸς ἀεὶ δεῖται βοηθοῦ: αὐτὸς γὰρ οὔτ᾽ ἀμύνασθαι οὔτε βοηθῆσαι δυνατὸς αὑτῷ.

and every word, once it is written, is bandied about . . . for it has no power to protect or help itself (Plato Phaedrus, 1925: 275e)

For Socrates (and his character Thamus), the preservation of memory (through the human, and independent of a new medium) is of vital importance, and the introduction by Theuth of a ‘drug’ (pharmakon) capable of enhancing the gift of memory is a danger and not a boon, to the ancients. For the drug promotes reliance on false memory, causing atrophy to both memory and wisdom through their declining use; it is a ‘Faustian bargain’ as the media ecologist Neil Postman might put it 2500 years later (Postman, 1995: 02:05). Potentially trading in our true knowledge for an apparent extension in what we know, while in actuality, we may simply have access to a greater breadth of information which we do not properly understand, and which may consequently do us harm. Socrates might easily endorse the modern insight of Hoskins, who states, ‘Despite the thrill and opportunities of the “magic” of this new everywhere media consciousness, it also exposes the user and wider culture and society to a whole new set of threats, to privacy, security and memory’ (Hoskins, 2018: 5).

You might think a god who is part bird and divinity of new communications would have foreseen the dangers of Twitter. But it is Thamus who complains of the destructive forces of missing information and forgetfulness that arise as a result of this ‘Faustian bargain’, voicing concern that we may become ‘forgetful’ of our own inner-guidance (a wisdom ‘written in the heart’): that we may not engage our reasoning ability, perhaps even forgetting important context that we already know to be true as we navigate the temporary cognitive dissonance that an overwhelming breadth of information can present to us. The multiplicity of cures touted online at the beginning of the Covid-19 outbreak, none of which were ‘cures’ and many of which risked dangerous consequences, suggests this principle: hot drinks and baths, the consumption of bleach, or the shining of UV light to stop Covid-19 are outright ineffective or downright dangerous. But we often forget an important concept that helps us navigate the mountain of misinformation and its misapplication before us: we forget to reason, and as a consequence, may inadvertently suspend reality to accommodate something ridiculous. Missing, or forgotten, knowledge can cause us to misunderstand or misapply the new information we receive – to disastrous effect. Thamus’ concern is also echoed in emerging digital age scholarship, exploring fake news and cognition, that suggests it is a lack of making the effort to reason that causes us to fall victim to fake news and misinformation (Pennycook and Rand, 2019; Ross et al., 2021). We ‘trust the external written characters’, instead of our own wisdom, to our detriment. And information can become literally a cure or a poison, not simply to our person, but to our relationships, civil society, and democratic traditions. This becomes further complicated when information can easily have multiple meanings.

In ‘Dissemination’, Jacques Derrida discusses Socrates’ argument that meaning is lost on a reader who lacks pre-existent knowledge of that which is being written (Derrida, 1981). Interestingly, the psychology professor and linguist, Steven Pinker, makes this same argument for the current age, discussing how people communicate through innuendo; in which pre-existent knowledge of a word’s meaning is required by all parties (they must share memory) in order for that meaning to be fully communicated (Pinker, 2007). This argument is demonstrated neatly in Socrates’ use of the word ‘Pharmakon’. The difficulty in deciding which way to interpret ‘Pharmakon’ as either a beneficial remedy, or a poison, is implicit in the word itself: ‘pharmakon’ can be translated as either, but it is for the reader to decide which, and if the reader lacks the requisite knowledge, then they will translate however they prefer, and of course, miss the wisdom of Plato entirely, thinking they know what is being communicated, but likely falling into the exact trap of misunderstanding that Socrates is outlining (Derrida, 1981: 100).

What is perhaps most interesting is the dual potential of the drug ‘pharmakon’ discussed in the passages. It possesses the same ambiguity as an invention (Staehler, 2013: 89) with its capacity for both good and bad, suggesting Plato well understood the complex ambiguous nature of technological innovation he was discussing: the pharmakon of writing could be a dangerous poison injurious to humanity’s well-being, or it could be understood as a remedy that is taken into and becomes part of the body to promote strength and healing (Derrida, 1981), meaning that even the Thamus story itself could suffer multiple interpretations. Somewhat ironically, it should be noted that there is presently no scholastic consensus on the precise lessons and intention of Plato’s story. Some scholars argue that Plato himself merely undertook this discussion as part of a playful instruction aimed at Phaedrus (Rabbås, 2010); others suggest he seems to have placed great importance on oral instruction to the extent that unwritten teachings to supplement his instruction are said to have existed (Nikulin, 2012). Either way, the subject’s presence in the text suggests Plato considers the issue a pertinent one worth raising. This modern difficulty in ascertaining Plato’s precise meaning through access to his writings alone highlights the very point that Plato himself is making.

Context: primordial sources

Martin Heidegger (1962) observes the manner in which the human is vulnerable to misinterpreting or misunderstanding tradition when failing to appreciate the origins of that tradition:

Tradition takes what has come down to us and delivers it over to self-evidence; it blocks our access to those primordial ‘sources’ from which the categories and concepts handed down to us have been in part quite genuinely drawn. Indeed it makes us forget that they have had such an origin, and makes us suppose that the necessity of going back to these sources is something which we need not even understand. (p. 43)

Without its context, the tradition or knowledge is open to misinterpretation, and there is a potential to take on the dangerous quality suggested by Plato, in which de-contextualised information cannot protect itself, and its meaning can become potentially destructive to the reader’s understanding: in the processes of encoding, storage, and retrieval, information vital to understanding is lost, leading to incorrect interpretations. Inevitably, technologies of memory are divisive: they divide a moment or piece of information, severing it from the whole of experience, meaning that the entire context and surrounding wisdom of that memory are lost, like a single piece removed from a greater jigsaw puzzle. We must ask if we know where our information comes from – not necessarily its originating speaker, as Plato makes clear that the ‘who’ is less important than the ‘truth’ of what is being said (Staehler, 2013: 87) – and how this context illuminates the truth of a recorded message.

We see this in our digital age society, and the problem is exacerbated, as information is increasingly distributed, further separating a work from its original author (or, underlying context). The faster and more accessible the means of distribution, the more we should be aware of the potential of this issue. It is a concern to be kept in focus, at a time when ‘fake news’ arises, and is circulated, unconstrained by the grounding forces of context (or factual evidence) (Berkowitz and Schwartz, 2016; Peters, 2017). Accessible distribution platforms, like social media, are not necessarily as accessible as we believe: although we have access to information, we may not understand that information, particularly as it loses contact with its context, preventing us from accessing its actual meaning.

The problem is further qualified by both Plato and Heidegger in explaining the inability of the human to appreciate the potential for misunderstanding: to engage in a belief that it is unnecessary to go back to the primordial sources, to consider the original context of the information, and by so doing, to overlook the possibility that the interpretation taken, could be a mistake. The issue in this lack of wisdom is one of hubris: a human fallibility that leads us to make mistakes we are unlikely to realise due to our over-confident assumption in our own knowledge. The reader accesses only ‘an aid to memory, but not to remembering . . . not truth, but only the appearance of truth’ (Plato Phaedrus, 1925: 275b) and this gives rise to false views, and damaging misinformation, which the reader, in their hubris, accepts without question. Indeed, Socrates considers himself wiser than many, because he is able to admit when he ‘does not know’ (Plato Apology, 1897: 21d). If wisdom begins with the admission of ignorance, then, as the scholar Charles Ess observes, moral virtues such as humility can play a key role in regulating and educating in the digital environment (Ess, 2009).

This raises a pertinent lesson that when we interact with any medium, be it a post on social media, or a text, long recorded in a book, we must give thought to the general context as well as content of the media we are consuming. And through Plato’s anecdote, we must be open to consideration that perhaps the problem is not the technologies of memory, perhaps, it is us – for it might be our own lack of wisdom that will lead us to fail to employ the technologies of memory successfully. As Thamus might put it, simply having access to more information in the digital age gives us the appearance of wisdom, but does not automatically grant us wisdom itself, such wisdom is something we must work to develop in ourselves.

This is why practices for successful digital age citizenship must involve not only digital or information literacy, as many argue, but also, supporting conceptual structures that help us achieve philosophical understanding and wisdom (Clements, 2019). The word Plato employs in this passage is ‘sophia’, a type of spiritual wisdom that includes both scientific knowledge as well as intuitive understanding. For instance, the classical Greek concept ‘phronesis’ (practical wisdom) can help to achieve wisdom (Sophia) through practises of intellectual rigour that help us govern our own behaviours and understand our actions ethically. Plato, and Thamus, remind us that we must take care how we consume and contextualise our information, and be sure to consider wisdom, and not only information, if we are to avoid the potentially negative consequences for society that Thamus raises. At a time when we see digital technologies impacting civic practices and institutions, it is perhaps critical to remind ourselves that while we may live in an age of information, unless we underpin our civic efforts through engagement with intellectual rigour (Clements, 2019), we will not be living in an age of wisdom – and such a fate comes with all the dire warnings Thamus predicts.

Amnesty and weaponised memory

Failing to contextualise information in the digital media environment can also lead to other, more personally distressing, situations. For example, Victor Mayer-Schönberger observes that memory is creating issues for those whose data are being presented out of context and is open to misinterpretation in potentially damaging ways (Mayer-Schönberger, 2011): ways in which individuals suffer frustrating powerlessness when attempting to restore their reputation. (A notion with which Plato and Thamus could certainly identify because these are manifestations of Platonic problems: the text cannot ‘protect itself’ from new interpretations, even those long after its initial context has expired.) These sorts of issues can arise when outdated materials resurface, suggesting that we may hold views or enact behaviours that are incompatible with our current friends, employers, or social circle. (For example, actor Kevin Hart and director James Gunn both lost jobs when old tweets, deemed offensive, resurfaced, though the latter was eventually reinstated to complete his film project.) But they also arise when materials are misunderstood or misinterpreted because they are circulated beyond the social group for which they were intended (a group that may have more appropriate context for understanding the intended meaning of what is being articulated). To address these issues, Mayer-Schönberger argues in favour of a person’s ‘right to be forgotten’ online; a process in which individuals can have information about themselves removed from online directories and indexes, such as search engines, decreasing its likelihood of circulation in damaging ways. In a world where responsibility is increasingly falling on the user such a policy allows individuals to maintain some control over their personal information and their own selves (given that such information can be viewed as an extension of the self [Floridi, 2005]).

Mayer-Schönberger’s argument was elevated by policy makers (Reding, 2012) and upheld in a European Court of Justice ruling in 2014 (ECJ C-131/12). It has also been codified in the General Data Protection Regulation (European Parliament, 2016: 679) and has received much academic interest (Brock, 2016; Floridi, 2016; Ghezzi et al., 2014). But there is a long and complex history to the legislation that initially led to confusion over its potential implementation. Meg Leta Ambrose and Jef Ausloos observed the extent to which two concepts were conflated and often confused in the initials formulations of the Right to be Forgotten:

A distinction can and should be made between the ‘right to erasure’ and the droit à l’oubli [right to oblivion]. Whereas the former is intended to grant individual control over his/her personal data more effectively in light of the ‘big data’ phenomenon, the latter finds its roots in the protection of reputation, identity, and personality in light of the ‘search engine society’ phenomenon. (Ambrose and Ausloos, 2013: 19)

Current European Union legislation characterises itself as the ‘right to erasure’ (General Data Protection Regulation, 2016), though there is certainly also a need to address the issues raised regarding reputation, identity, and personality. And what of the harms that can be done with our personal data over time? The mechanisms that will allow consent to be revoked are still unclear (Politou et al., 2018: 9), as are the protections the right to be forgotten offers against secondary uses of our data (Esposito, 2017: 8) (a concern I will more specifically address in the following section on Guardians).

So, can Plato and his alliterative characters help us see this policy in a different way, and give us tools to improve it? Can we consider the underpinning ethics informing the spirit of the law, and its subsequent black letter, through the Platonic lens of this anecdote to garner new insights and improve our solutions? To accomplish this, perhaps we can begin by reflecting on some of the harm weaponised memory has inflicted. After all, this issue can be of tragic significance when we consider how it has already harmed many, particularly young, people whose personal information or photographs have been distributed online: whether unaware of the consequences, unwittingly, or without consent. The situation is further complicated when we acknowledge that oftentimes abusers are not strangers hovering in the digital ether, but people that we know and trust. Indeed, a school class ‘is likely to contain varieties of victim, abuser and bystander simultaneously’ (Ringrose et al., 2012: 7). The most capable perpetrators are the people who know us well, and who we trust, who have access to information and memories about who we are that can prove difficult to remove or censor – such as friends, long-term acquaintances, and authority figures. Cases such as that of Rehtaeh Parsons serve as a reminder of this. A 17-year-old Canadian schoolgirl, Parsons was bullied by schoolmates who posted images of her apparently being gang raped, on social media. This led to a suicide attempt from which she later died. The photographs, the context of which were not widely understood (she was apparently intoxicated and victimised by people she trusted) left her unable to restore her reputation. Each time she attempted to move forward with her life, such as, by changing schools, the record of the incident was recirculated with the intention of harming her further, acting as a perpetual weapon from which she could not escape.

The tragedy is a reminder of the severe consequences of weaponised memory, and the need to deal more fairly and compassionately with one another, for we ourselves can all suffer a similar experience. And it is here that we can learn lessons from Plato and his contemporaries in regard to dealing with weaponsied memory, by considering the Athenian concept of ‘me mnesikakein’, from which we formulate the modern concept of amnesty. (Indeed, Phaedrus himself returns to Athens under amnesty [Gill, 2012]). Amnesty could be ‘applied in a moral sense simply to mean “let bygones be bygones”, or “not rake over the past”’ (Joyce, 2016: 6). It also acknowledged the harm that memory can do, as it:

implies that one can use memory of the past as a weapon against others. Hence, the Athenian reconciliation literally translates as follows: ‘It is not permitted for any one to recall wrongs against another . . . To remember a wrong is therefore to punish the guilty party. (Wolpert, 2002)

Such historical insights reinforce the importance of legislation like the GDPR, and suggest reconsideration of how we approach the implementation of policies like the right to be forgotten.

The right to be forgotten (a right to erasure) takes an approach more in line with ancient concepts of damnatio memoriae, in which records, or access to them, are removed, and information destroyed, in an effort to supress or circumvent circulation of unfavourable memory (although in the ancient world this is generally enacted against individuals and for political purposes). But, even in the ancient world, before the power of easily replicated publishing, this proved extremely difficult to enforce and has also damaged our historical understanding. Even when memory is removed, clues to its destruction remain, it is never totally destroyed. (Consider the removal of Pharaohs from official kings lists, making for obvious omissions and challenging reconstructions of ancient timelines.) If, however, the focus of the current legislation, shifted slightly, to draw more from the approach of me mnesikakein, legislation would be concerned with prohibiting the use of memory in damaging ways, and also place responsibility on individuals in the community to behave with self-restraint in relation to any desire to enact harm against others. Power to remove ones’ own data, where practically possible, should be maintained, certainly, but surely we should also be moving to prevent behaviours that intend real harm against others through use of compromising information: behaviours that seek to exploit basic human vulnerabilities solely with the intention to enact harm. Amnesty suggests remembering, but not using memory in injurious ways against others. (For instance, Plato and his Athenian contemporaries did not wish to forget those who perished defending democracy during the tyrannical period of 404 BCE, but these citizens also realised they had to ‘forgo their vindictive instincts’ if they wanted to reconcile as a society (Joyce, 2016: 1) Rather than destroying memory (through the destruction of the record of the event), amnesty encourages responsible behaviours on the part of citizens that exercises self-restraint, and if not empathy and forgiveness, then at least perspective taking and human dignity towards their fellows; an objective aligned with the underpinning spirit of the law as set out by human rights legislation, such as the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (McCrudden, 2008: 667). Employing amnesty means that citizens agree not to discuss or circulate memory that is personally damaging or can lead to particular anguish for a period of time within the bounds of a legally agreed upon framework. (Free speech must be protected yes, but perhaps the practices that protect both free speech, and the prevention of harm to citizens through the circulation of personally harmful materials, in democratic society are the same: empathic perspective-taking, calm, considered and emotionally controlled responses, and the emotional resilience to hear a viewpoint other than our own: the sorts of responses rooted in concepts of moral virtue that Ess espouses as useful to our digital age circumstances [Ess, 2009].) This framework must find ways to help society ‘reconcile’ as the Athenians did: acknowledging the harm memory can do, seeking the prevention of that harm, and preserving the ability for citizens and society to progress if harm has been enacted. As the American Congressman, Ed Markey said, we must preserve the ‘right to develop’, and the ability to ‘free our future selves’ (Markey, 2012).

Indeed, there is a difference between holding an individual to their past (for an appropriate, educational period) and holding an individual in their past. In holding one to the past, we encourage them to reflect on the mistakes they have made, to acquire knowledge from those experiences, and to move forward better informed by that knowledge, which they will hopefully be able to contribute to their community. But to hold an individual in the past is to persist in pointing out their mistakes, tragedies, or painful circumstances until there is no opportunity for them to develop or move forward: they are literally held, trapped, in the past, at the moment of their mistake (or worse, as the Parson’s case attests, at a moment of vulnerability and victimhood). A society that holds its citizens in the past cannot, by very definition, move forward. Nor can it reap the benefits of learning from its mistakes and tragedies to move forward with greater depth of understanding: it cannot develop wisdom. This suggests that wisdom – a skill Plato has warned us is critical to our success with new technologies of memory – comes from practising virtues like humility, empathy, and dignified behaviours towards one another (Ess, 2009). Invoking Friedrich Nietzsche, Elena Esposito recounts the arguments in favour of keeping the future open: ‘Without forgetting you cannot plan nor can you hope’ (Esposito, 2017: 3). But, perhaps rather, it is that without empathy and compassion you cannot plan, nor can you hope. For forgetting (which seems in this context to suggest the erasure of memory) does not approach the heart of the problem, that the memory, if it resurfaces, can still cause harm; nor does it fundamentally change the hurtful or harmful nature of the behaviour that is inflicted on others as a result of the memory. Forgetting (or erasure), in this context, can be a useful aid for human weakness, but it is not an inevitable or ultimate solution. Empathy and compassion, on the other hand, approach the pain and suffering inflicted or enacted by these memories by promoting a choice not to enact harm: an important legislative outcome.

To explore codifying these insights for the spirit of the law into the black letter, we can examine some of the precedents for the curtailing of consequences, while preserving memory, that currently exist. Statutes of limitation provide a litigious example that offers closure and acknowledges that memory can become unreliable with time (Lacy and Stark, 2013) and that recognises that people change and grow. Likewise, American legislation protections for bankruptcy or reinvention limit damage to future success through debt forgiveness, systems that seal or expunge records, the provision of pardons, or the illegality of employment discrimination based on a criminal record (Ambrose and Ausloos, 2013: 9).

As a mechanism for protecting victims, legal concepts rooted in Athenian amnesty can also offer routes to justice against those who seek to stigmatise victims of betrayals of trust by releasing humiliating or intimate information not intended for public distribution. American tort legislation provides protections against the public disclosure of private facts (Ambrose and Ausloos, 2013: 9), while amendments to the United Kingdom’s domestic abuse bill will seek custodial sentences for those threatening to share intimate images (Ministry of Justice, UK, 2021), that is, those who articulate a desire to enact harm.

These approaches are consistent with a framework that upholds the deterrence of harm, and the potential for rehabilitation: the focus is not on punishing mistakes or blaming victims who have had their trust betrayed, but on preventing punishing others unfairly because of mistakes. This strategy could be of particular use in a society in which information is quickly becoming difficult to control and effectively delete. It also encourages the sort of ethical behaviours that are deemed admirable in a good and healthy society. Fostering a community in which citizens develop an awareness of their foibles, and those of others, but protecting the right to make those foibles as an acknowledgement of human fallibility, and to treat them with decency and sensitivity- as learning events, rather than punishable incidents.

Mayer-Schönberger suggests that our current issues arise resultant from ‘perfect memory’ (Mayer-Schönberger, 2011: 4) but there is no perfect memory. Rather, our current difficulties seem, as Plato suggests, due to a lack of qualifying information that allows us to decode memory effectively, this is imperfect memory. Memory is presented out of context, or missing the accompanying information that allows us to properly understand it and view it dispassionately in ways that help us develop and move forward. There are both internal issues in the receiver, who may lack the internal toolset to empathise with the communicator or decode the message; issues with the communicator, who may not have transmuted their experience carefully; or external issues, such as the failure of the medium to encode vital information about the experience or memory leading to an inability to translate fully the meaning of a moment.

These are the same concerns Thamus raises when lamenting the potential loss of wisdom that ensues, when vital information, necessary to comprehending memory, is lost. Indeed, modern communications almost seem to respond directly to this particular concern, suggesting that we continue to address the same challenges Plato raises through exploring technological solutions. In writing on the epistemology of technology in his work ‘Plato and the Internet’, Kieron O’Hara (2002) observes,

much written language today has speech-like features that Plato would have welcomed. E-mails and text messages allow a certain immediacy of interaction, while dynamically constructed Webpages present information to readers that is customised to their requirements and won’t be circulated further. (p. 18)

These qualities can prevent the misuse, misunderstanding, or unintended and widespread publication of materials, beyond audience for which they were intended, and encourage a sort of dialogue in which more personalised interactions can take place. The fact that technologies of memory have improved over the past 2500 years to address many of these issues suggests that the technology can serve as a helpful response to the challenges it, itself, creates (a point to which I will return in section ‘Solving Plato’s Paradox through law, technology, and wisdom’). And that, perhaps such technology should be developing towards capturing ‘perfect memory’. Memory that is able to communicate fully the depth of feeling and context that makes real meaning. Are we as likely to share compromising images when we can feel the distress of the subjects involved? Are we not forced to appreciate that memory arises, not in isolation, but in connection to many other moments?

This also highlights the power of actions taken in everyday life by ordinary individuals. Citizens have agency in these daily circumstances in their choice to exercise empathy and dignity; they can choose not to use memory as a weapon, and by so doing, choose the benefits of that decision for themselves and their society. After 2500 years, while we have at least moved our communications mediums forward to address some of these challenges, our ability to empathise with each other, and practice emotional restraint and resilience seems to develop at a frustratingly slower pace.

Guardians and powerbrokers

In the previous section, I have discussed how legal regulation, technology and wisdom education can all play a role in coping with technologies of memory in our communities. But, technologies of memory are not only used by individuals or groups in our local communities, they are also employed by large corporate organisations, governments, and those with significant levels of power over our lives. We can become trapped in the past, not simply due to the unwillingness to let go of the past in a very human or emotional sense, but equally, new technologies of memory can trap us through AIs and algorithms based on memory that has been collected and stored over time. As mentioned, protections against these secondary uses of our data are still unclear (Esposito, 2017: 8). This is further complicated by the realisation that we may never have agreed, or have failed to understand, that our memory would be recorded in the first place.

In her work on surveillance capitalism, Shoshana Zuboff (2019a) observes how the business model employed by companies like Facebook and Google functions by extracting data about our behaviours that can be used to manipulate us. In effect, these companies demonstrate little (or no) care, as they use memory of our previous actions against us in injurious ways (or provide such insights to others) for fiscal gain. While Zuboff views this as a different relationship between surveillance and power than that described by Foucault, the staggering speed and complexity with which records of our behaviour can be traversed and used suggests, to co-opt a term from Foucault, an epistemic great confinement: in which we are offered, under the guise of an opportunity to improve our life, an imprisonment in which citizen’s (particularly the vulnerable) knowledge serves as a source of fiscal gain. As Zuboff (2019b) describes, ‘Trillions of data points and six million behavioral predictions per second are the surface of a shadow text over which democracy and its demos have no knowledge, no authority, and no control’ (p. 19). The ‘epistemic injustice’ prompted by this small class of surveillance capitalists with control of our memory, whose primary interest is driven by shareholders and earnings, heralds a serious threat to the freedoms of democratic society. As Zuboff (2019b) observes, ‘it is the surveillance capitalists who occupy the catbird seat in this new world. They know, they decide who knows, and they decide who decides’ (p. 19).

The observation is itself an echo of Platonic concern: A system in which power is held by an elite of guardians who inevitably give in to selfish interest and corruption over time, leading to the decay of state (McAleer, 2020: 231). The rulers hold knowledge, while the average citizen, only holds an account that has been censored, or indeed, is entirely unaware of what memory these guardians hold at all, let alone, how it may be used.

So what are the solutions to prevent this in public contexts? Can deletion help us? Or amnesty? What incentive do companies have to forget? And should we act to prevent the mass collection of data?

The situation is complicated by the inter-relationship between information and our sense of self: our need to use and share personal data while simultaneously protecting it.

We use and expose information about ourselves to become less informationally indiscernible. We wish to maintain a high level of informational privacy almost as if that were the only way of saving a precious capital that can be then publicly invested by us in order to construct ourselves as individuals discernible by others. (Floridi, 2009: 11)

In addition, there are potential positives for our lives and society to consider because technologies of memory allow us to glean mass quantities of scientific data. Citizens can benefit from mass data collection, and their own role in it, but only if carefully thought out protections and ethical standards are practised (Clements, 2020).

But if Zuboff’s concerns echo a Platonic issue on the nature of memory and its civic impact on issues of epistemic justice, then can Plato’s insights, and his story of Theuth and Thamus, also demonstrate pertinence in resolving such digital age civic issues so that we can benefit from the potential positives? Can we share ourselves and our memory, and also safeguard our democratic society in the digital age?

Solving Plato’s Paradox through law, technology, and wisdom

If we are to consider the civic relationship between technologies of memory, and the economic and social impact of such technologies in Plato, we must acknowledge the paradoxical nature of our economic and social relationship, and consider how technologies of memory function within that relationship. This scenario is represented in Plato’s paradox. To bastardise a nuanced discussion for the sake of brevity, this paradox acknowledges the discord between the economic and political in Plato’s conception of a functioning republic: by demanding that each class work within a framework of labour distribution for the economic betterment of the city, no class of person is happy, leading to the eventual failure of the political state (Zhu, 2004: 235).

Responding to Plato’s paradox, his former student, Aristotle, observes the usefulness of separating justice from political justice (or rather, viewing political justice as a specifically applied form of justice) (Zhu, 2004: 241). Citizens share the burden of the common good (or Koinos sympheros: a pragmatic range of ideas acceptable to the community resulting in a good life, and peace and stability for the community). Recognising that what is best or right for each individual may not always prevail, but that broadly acceptable solutions can be agreed upon by the community as a whole.

One way in which we can understand this is through the use of a legal framework in which a specific community can enact the necessary rules for political justice which, while they may not always be just, will be ‘politically just’. Put another way, we might say it is the difference between what we intuit as being ‘right’ in our conscience, and what is legal. As the philosopher, Tanja Staehler explains, for Aristotle, ‘legal texts are manmade, yet they also share the binding character of the divine law’ (Staehler, 2013: 84). In this way, the balance between public and private needs can be approached, recognising that we must commonly agree to a set of legal principles, oriented towards what is right, but flexible enough in this to serve the political needs of its society.

For Zuboff, the missing regulation necessary to the appropriate functioning of digital age society might be viewed through this lens. For while, in interview she has encouraged the community to articulate feelings of ethical injustice at data acquisition by large companies ‘saying out loud that the current state of affairs is intolerable’ (Perrigo, 2021), her primary object has been the need for legal engagement which robustly approaches the issues of mass information collection (Zuboff, 2019a, 2019b). While it is important the people recognise the behaviour as wrong, it is the legal imperative that must engage the problem. ‘Surveillance capitalism has thrived in the absence of law and regulation’ (Zuboff, 2019b: 24) and to address this issue we must enact laws that apply in both the online and offline spheres, that are capable of protecting us from the ‘search and seizure of our information in ways that reflect contemporary realities of data production’ (Zuboff, 2019a: 450). Though what those laws will look like, and their effectiveness, is yet to be determined. As Zuboff herself admits, ‘a white paper published by one prominent international law firm rallies corporations to the barricades of data processing, arguing that the legal concept of “legitimate interest” offers a promising opportunity to bypass new regulatory obstacles’ (Zuboff, 2019a: 456). That such legal words would be unable to ‘protect themselves’ are exactly the concern Socrates presciently raised. He also criticised that law, ‘by its very generality cannot cover all contingencies’ (Benardete, 1991: 189), and this suggests that we should seek additional ways to help address this paradoxical situation: that it requires a variety of solutions working together.

And it is here that we retrieve the thread of consideration from the ‘Amnesty and weaponised memory’ section, having discussed the complexity of legal frameworks such as Amnesty and the ‘right to be forgotten’, and the subsequent consideration of O’Hara’s thought on the usefulness of developing technologies of which Plato might approve. In this regard, there are emerging technology responses that can also help reconcile the differing approaches between individuals and communities regarding challenges of personal data in public contexts and their political and fiscal complexities.

The Platonic scholar Seth Benardete suggests that Socrates’ concern in the Theuth and Thamus anecdote was actually aimed at publication (Benardete, 1991: 157): the large-scale distribution of information without thought to how it might be used (or, as Zuboff and Mayer-Schönberger observe, misused). Socrates, as a teacher of ideas, is certainly not against the sharing of thought, nor perhaps even using technologies of memory, like writing, provided those with whom information is shared, are appropriate (or trusted) audiences. Or, perhaps, we might say, provided one employed peer-to-peer communication through trusted individuals and networks. And for this reason, perhaps Socrates might have liked the idea of blockchain technologies to approach these challenges.

Implementations of blockchain technologies (lately popularised through their uses in cryptocurrency) are emerging as solutions to scenarios where personal information is required, but users wish to maintain control of these data (such as authenticating identity, credentials, or banking). Cryptographically secured information is shared in ways that allow users to maintain ownership of their data, while simultaneously being able to use that data to authenticate their access to goods and services. Information need not be surrendered to a third party, as the blockchain can inform the third party whether or not criteria for authentication are met. This, in part, approaches Floridi’s concerns, mentioned earlier, regarding how ‘we use and expose information about ourselves’ to ‘publicly invest’ our ‘precious capital’ to make ourselves ‘discernable by others’ (Floridi, 2009: 11). An individual can use their personal information to authenticate themselves, without technically having to share their data. For instance, the suggested identity credential use cases for secured authentication using the Cardano blockchain through Atala PRISM tackle issues of data insecurity, counterfeiting, and fraud (see atalaprism.io), and seem to present a very Platonic response to a very digital age incarnation of a Platonic problem. But, as with all data security, they are only as strong as the humans using them. For example, the loss or theft of the password (or ‘seed key’) necessary to access one’s account for the blockchain could prove devastating as credentials could be lost, mislaid, or stolen. And while Cardano’s parent company IOHK have developed a system of consensus to tackle the challenges of the blockchain’s governance (Zhang et al., 2019), users and governors must still make decisions in an ethical fashion for those governance systems to be effective.

We are thus prompted to revisit Theuth and Thamus’ initial premise: to understand technologies of memory as an ongoing challenge that can best be faced through their intrinsic link to philosophy. Agreeing with Benardete, Staehler dispels the idea that Plato’s anecdote sought to pass judgement on technologies of memory. Instead, Staehler suggests, ‘The goal of the dialogue might consist in showing the connection between Eros and logos, or in showing how philosophy harbors both those elements and is itself the link between Eros and logos’ (Staehler, 2-13:80). Ultimately, Plato’s message is not whether such technologies of memory are necessarily right or wrong, or whether they can be controlled or stopped, but rather, that in order to use them appropriately, we must cultivate our hearts and minds: we must become philosophers. To understand and decode a memory, to know how best it may be protected or used, requires ‘wisdom’ (Sophia). Returning to our primordial source (discussed in the ‘Context: primordial sources’ section), we have associated wisdom with divine understanding, carrying a tacit ethical suggestion of the implementation of scientific knowledge and intuitive understanding. Thus, our need to develop wisdom makes education another important mechanism for coping with digital age technologies of memory in the civic realm, and points us towards pedagogical frameworks that emphasise this. For example, the ‘conceptual framework for digital civics education’ advocates ‘four conceptual resources that can underpin and guide student development and decision making (philosophy, ethics, civics and history)’ (Clements, 2019: 582). This acknowledges the aspects that have been here discussed, both by Plato’s Theuth and Thamus characters, as well as by modern scholars themselves: Socrates philosophical concern with the impact of new technologies, as akin to Floridi’s ‘Fourth Revolution’; Thamus’ ethical concerns for the behaviours of mankind, and Ess’s advocation of virtues like humility; and the civic institutions and structures like law raised by Plato’s paradox and Zuboff’s quest for regulation. And perhaps, in considering history, Plato’s anecdote holds one final lesson. By employing a tale of Egyptian gods and kings of old, ancient even to the Classical Greeks, Socrates evokes a timeless heritage for these issues. An argument between Theuth and Thamus in supposedly ancient times, by Socrates and Phaedrus 2500 years ago, persists for digital age scholars. Socrates story suggests that these are long-standing challenges, but we are not without tools to manage them, as long as we keep trying, and try we must, for their longevity suggests, they cannot be ignored.

Conclusion

The concept of memory is an important component of both ancient and digital, civic society, and the challenges we face are long-standing. Discussing the loss of information that occurs in memories of technology, this paper explored the potential pitfalls of new technologies of memory, including misinformation and decontextualization, before turning to the challenges of weaponised memory. In discussions of both private and public circumstances and requirements, this paper has advocated a multi-pronged approach encompassing law, emerging technologies, and education, that can offer critical support for these long-standing challenges. In considering law, it has proposed the use of the concept of amnesty from Classical Greece, and acknowledged the value in calling for regulation, as Zuboff insists. In discussing the usefulness of emerging technologies it has explored those for which Plato or Socrates themselves might have advocated, favouring customisable features or the capacity to communicate through trusted networks, notable in blockchain-based solutions. And, finally, it has advanced the premise that wisdom in the Platonic tradition and cultivated through digital civics education can facilitate our ability to decode memory in valuable ways that improve our understanding.

As the godly Theuth might observe, it is prudent to clarify and codify our expectations in law, and to create robust technological solutions to prevent unwanted data intrusions, but as the divine king Thamus insists, our civic success also comes down to what is written in our hearts – learned through the development of wisdom through appropriate educational frameworks. Plato’s anecdote brings both parties together, to help us achieve solutions to everyday civic challenges. Thus, Plato’s story of Theuth and Thamus maintains its relevance, and acts as a powerful ‘aid to memory’, that as we face the challenges of digital age civic life, we are not devoid of help from our past.