Writing with the machine, thinking without it.

The Great Myths and the Age of Thinking Machines

The great myths help us better grasp the transformations we’re living through in the present. There’s one, in particular, that I believe sheds light on what we’re experiencing with the rise of AI as a thinking machine.

Plato tells us that Theuth presents his inventions to King Thamous so that he may offer them to the Egyptians. When he comes to writing, he declares:

“This science, O King, will make the Egyptians wiser and strengthen their memory; for it is a remedy for memory and wisdom that I have discovered.”

But Thamous replies:

“You, who are the inventor of this art, Theuth, out of affection for your creation, have attributed to it the very opposite of its real effects. For it will produce forgetfulness in the souls of those who learn it, through neglect of their memory. Trusting in writing, they will recall things not from within themselves, but by means of external signs.”

For Plato, writing fixes thought, uproots it from its context, and diminishes our cognitive abilities. And yet, writing not only survived—it flourished. It enabled the construction of an immense network of knowledge. It democratized understanding far beyond what Plato could have imagined. It made possible the scientific, technical, and modern progress from which we have benefited for centuries.

Sam Altman, Demis Hassabis, and Dario Amodei are today’s Theuths. They present their new invention—the thinking machine. And we, in turn, are the Thamouses. We sense the trap, the emptiness it may create in the minds of those who use it.

Indeed, we are facing a new form of externalization—not of memory this time, but of reasoning itself.

AI promises immediacy. And we yield to that temptation. But the price we pay is the abandonment of the thinking process itself—making mistakes, hesitating, reformulating, doubting. If we grow accustomed to instant answers, we lose the ability to inhabit our own thought.

Before writing, inventing, or creating, there is always a moment of silence, of emptiness—a blank page. AI fills that void. Yet it is precisely in that void that imagination is born. If AI thinks for us, we stop exercising the muscle of reflection.

One might then be tempted to reject AI outright, as Plato once did with writing. But that would be to confuse two things: writing and drafting.

To draft is to give form—to translate an already-formed idea into grammatically correct, readable sentences.

To write, on the other hand, is first and foremost to think. It is to structure mental chaos, to discover what one means by saying it, to refine, to doubt. It is a process of self-construction as much as of textual construction.

If we delegate drafting to a machine, it can be a precious aid. But if we delegate writing—that is, the very act of thinking through words—then we lose far more than a tool; we lose a substance.

Naturally, I have been questioning this for years, as many of you know from reading me here or elsewhere. From that reflection, I have developed a new writing practice—one that doesn’t reject AI, but limits its use to certain tasks. Let me share my process with you. It’s a hybrid method that lets me draw the best from AI without, I hope, losing the reflective competence that requires slowness—the exercise of thought throughout the process. As I’ve said before: the goal is to make AI a sparring partner, not a crutch. The real issue isn’t to reject AI—it’s to reject laziness.

Indeed, large language models appeal to our temptation for ease. Our brains crave shortcuts and minimal effort. But if we always give in, we lose not only a technical skill—we lose our capacity to inhabit our own thoughts.

There’s something profoundly countercultural in this approach. In an age of optimization and productivity, I advocate for the reintroduction of slowness—specifically, reflective slowness. This isn’t nostalgia, nor a Luddite rejection of technology. It’s a call for a mature use of AI: one that preserves what makes us thinking beings.

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My Three Principles

1. I never delegate the initial thought

   The creative void, the gathering of ideas, the logical structure—that’s where the essence lies. If I start by asking AI “write me a text about…”, I’ve already lost. I become a curator instead of a creator.

2. I use AI as an adversary, not a servant

   AI is most valuable when it contradicts me, not when it obeys. I don’t want it to tell me what I want to hear—I want it to force me to refine, justify, and deepen my ideas. It’s a Platonic dialectic.

3. I always return to the text, word by word, and correct manually

   If I don’t reread, correct, and reappropriate every sentence, then the text no longer belongs to me. It becomes an industrial product—smooth, without roughness. Style lives in the effort of correction; it’s the trace of my presence in every comma.

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My 10-Step Writing Process

1. Without AI: gathering ideas in structured notes (bullet points)
   This is the moment of creative chaos. I jot down everything—loose connections, intuitions, fragments—based on reflections or reading notes collected throughout the week.

2. Without AI: logical structuring
   I connect, order, and decide on the framework: demonstration, examples, anecdotes, concluding message.

3. With AI (GPT-5 Thinking or Pro): challenging the structure
   Here AI becomes the opponent. It spots weaknesses, blind spots, and counterarguments. I don’t ask it to write—I ask it to think against me.

4. Without AI: revising the structure
   I regain control. I integrate—or resist. I decide.

5. With AI (Claude, tuned to my style): first draft generation
   I delegate the initial formatting. Claude generates a draft—a huge time saver. But it’s only a dressed skeleton.

6. Without AI: correcting errors, line by line
   I reread and correct both form and substance. I remove mechanical phrasing and reinject life. This is when the text becomes mine again.

7. With AI (Claude): generating titles, summaries, and punchlines
   AI excels at producing variations. I ask for 20 titles, 10 punchlines.

8. Without AI: selection and adaptation
   I choose, twist, and reshape. This is where taste and judgment emerge.

9. With AI (GPT-5 or 4o, specific agent): spelling and grammar check
   A final technical pass—cold proofreading without changing meaning or tone.

10. Without AI: publication
    I validate. I own it. I’m the one who presses “publish.”
    Of course, this isn’t a universal recipe—but it addresses my personal concern: remaining the author while making the most of the machine.

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So that’s my method.
And you—what’s yours?