Charles King has a lot to say about Edward Gibbon's The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, the current situation in America, and the application of the former to the latter. For example, setting the stage:
Anyone living in the 18th century could see the contemporary relevance of Gibbon’s Rome — just as we can see it today, during the year of America’s semiquincentennial. “Substitute the word America for the word Rome,” Henry Adams wrote after reading “Decline and Fall” in 1860, “and the question became personal.” Adams could sense the work’s significance for the United States, which was then mired in sectional conflict and preparing for civil war. In the century and a half since, Gibbon has been reliably cited as the perennial prophet of what happens when a good country goes bad.
Here's the heart of the matter:
Because Gibbon has become a universal sage, it is easy to miss this principal fact about him and his great work. He was an honest historian who, in an age of political division, fading empires and revolutionary upheavals, scribbled a long book with a large and surprising message at its core. Gibbon’s singular insight was that the whole point of reading a history book — or writing one — is not to come away with one big truth. The stealthy purpose of studying history is to get you comfortable with changing your mind.
That resonates with me, not so much for its applicability to the current state of American politics and society. Rather, I believe it's what I'm up to with my book on AI, Play: How to Stay Human in the AI Revolution. That's why I'm putting two chapters of (science) fiction in an eight chapter book where the other chapters are non-fiction.
Later:
At its most basic, making the chaotic events of the past into a coherent thing we call history is an act of intentional, purposeful understanding. History forces us to confront things we don’t comprehend, decisions we can’t fathom, and ways of being and believing that seem utterly bizarre. It makes us look for evidence in unlikely places. It requires that we think like grown-ups, drawing conclusions that we know will change when the available evidence does.
Facing up to AI has similar requirements.
All the things we consider normal, dear and true will one day pass away, as they did for the thousands of emperors, queens, citizens, soldiers, philosophers, priests and parents who populated “Decline and Fall.” Yet the possibility of happiness, meaning and a legacy that matters lies not in a disembodied hope for a better future. It lies in the hard evidence — here, let me show you, Gibbon tells us across the centuries — that the dead managed these things, too.
I can't say that (science) fiction counts as evidence. It does not. But it may made you open to different evidentiary requirements, different modes of construal.
There's more at the link.
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