When liberals become conservatives

For much of modern American political history, conservatives have been associated with preserving tradition, maintaining established institutions, and approaching cultural change with skepticism. Liberals, meanwhile, have tended to be more progressive-minded, positioning themselves as advocates of change, challenging established conventions and embracing new possibilities for social progress. These categories have never been absolute, but they have provided a familiar framework for political disagreement.

Artificial intelligence appears to be complicating that arrangement. Today, parts of the American political right are enthusiastically embracing a technology that could fundamentally transform education, employment, culture, and perhaps society itself. Meanwhile, parts of the political left, traditionally associated with progress and innovation, have become more concerned about the consequences of that transformation.

The conservatives are embracing disruption. The liberals are calling for restraint. Apparently, progress is desirable only when it moves in the right direction.

This reversal raises an interesting philosophical question. Are these positions grounded in consistent ideological principles, or do our attitudes toward technological change depend more heavily on whether we perceive ourselves as benefiting from it? And perhaps more provocatively, when does an ethical objection to technological progress become an attempt to preserve existing power?

The ideological reversal

The shift is not merely anecdotal. Recent polling suggests that American attitudes toward artificial intelligence have undergone a measurable political reversal.

According to a Pew Research Center analysis, Republicans were more concerned about AI than Democrats in 2021, but Democrats have since become more concerned. These shifting attitudes suggest that something more complicated than traditional ideological commitments may be shaping how Americans evaluate technological progress.

Of course, expressing concern about AI is not the same as opposing its development, nor does support for regulation necessarily signal technological conservatism. The question is what changed.

Liberals have legitimate reasons to approach artificial intelligence with caution. Its energy demands and environmental footprint raise sustainability questions. Algorithmic bias, labor displacement, economic inequality, and the concentration of corporate power are equally serious concerns, and all fit comfortably within longstanding progressive priorities. They deserve scrutiny regardless of who is making the argument.

Yet AI’s potential benefits speak to many of those same priorities. Easier access to knowledge, fewer barriers to education, more affordable forms of specialized assistance, and better tools for people with disabilities could broaden participation well beyond the institutions that have traditionally controlled it. These outcomes are not guaranteed, but neither are they trivial. A technology that makes useful capabilities available to more people has an egalitarian appeal that ought to be familiar to the political left.

That leaves a tension worth examining. If AI can both challenge and advance progressive values, why do its dangers seem to dominate so much of the political conversation? Some of the answer may lie in the harms themselves. But it is also worth asking whether the institutions most unsettled by AI have something besides principle at stake. That possibility brings us to Nietzsche.

Nietzsche and the morality of power

Friedrich Nietzsche might have offered an uncomfortable explanation. In On the Genealogy of Morality, Nietzsche challenges the assumption that moral judgments necessarily originate from disinterested reflection about what is good or just. Instead, he examines how moral values emerge historically through relationships of power, conflict, and resentment.

His account of master morality and slave morality is particularly relevant.

In Nietzsche’s account, master morality originates with those who possess power and affirm qualities associated with strength, independence, and self-determination. Slave morality develops among those who experience themselves as powerless relative to others. Through what Nietzsche calls ressentiment, qualities associated with the powerful become morally condemned, while characteristics associated with weakness or restraint are elevated into virtues.

Nietzsche’s argument is more complicated than suggesting that morality is merely disguised self-interest. His concern is that moral judgments can emerge reactively, defining what is good primarily through opposition to what is perceived as threatening.

As the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy explains, Nietzsche’s genealogical approach examines the historical and psychological origins of moral evaluations rather than simply accepting their stated justifications.

Applied to contemporary debates about AI, this raises an intriguing possibility. What if some objections to artificial intelligence are not primarily reactions to the technology’s inherent ethical problems, but responses to disruptions in existing power relations?

Consider the institutions that have traditionally exercised authority over knowledge, expertise, and cultural production. Universities and newsrooms are not politically uniform, but evidence suggests that the people working in them tend to lean left.

A national survey of more than 6,000 faculty found that university faculty lean predominantly liberal, while a 2022 study of American journalists reported that 53.4% identified as liberal and just 7.1% as conservative.

Although these findings do not establish the political orientation of every institution, they suggest that liberal perspectives have a substantial presence in higher education and journalism. This helps explain why conservatives might see AI’s potential to undermine these institutions’ authority as an opportunity to shift the balance of power.

Artificial intelligence threatens to alter those relationships. Knowledge that once required institutional access can now be explored through conversational systems. Tasks previously reserved for credentialed professionals can sometimes be performed by individuals with comparatively little formal training. Creative and intellectual production, historically mediated by professional expertise, is becoming more accessible.

None of this eliminates the importance of genuine expertise. AI systems remain fallible, and producing information does not equal understanding it. Nevertheless, the technology challenges assumptions about who possesses knowledge, who exercises authority, and who gets to participate.

For those whose identities or institutional positions depend on these arrangements, the disruption may be particularly uncomfortable.

When progress becomes a threat

There is an irony in watching institutions that have historically championed social transformation become concerned about a technology that threatens to transform them. Progress, it seems, becomes considerably less attractive when one’s own position is subject to revision.

Some conservatives may embrace AI for precisely the opposite reason. Weakening the authority of universities, established newsrooms, and professional gatekeepers could shift cultural influence away from institutions they regard as hostile. Enthusiasm for AI may reflect an expectation of political advantage as much as a commitment to innovation.

This is a hypothesis about political incentives, not proof of anyone’s motives. Conservatives have longstanding commitments to entrepreneurial freedom, while liberals have legitimate concerns about corporate power and inequality. But these principles do not make the question of power disappear.

The liberal becomes conservative when progress threatens an established position. The conservative becomes progressive when disruption promises to challenge an opposing institution. Ideological commitments begin to look remarkably flexible.

The problem with moral certainty

Identifying the possible origins of a moral judgment does not establish whether that judgment is correct. Someone might oppose AI because it threatens their professional authority while raising legitimate ethical concerns. Someone else might support it because it challenges institutions they dislike while recognizing genuine benefits.

Motivation and justification are not the same thing. Ethical arguments deserve examination on their merits, regardless of the interests of those making them.

Nietzsche offers a reason to examine the circumstances in which we invoke our values. Regulation can protect people from genuine harm, but it can also preserve established advantages and restrict competition. Invoking ethics alone does not establish which outcome a policy serves. Nor does enthusiasm for innovation excuse its advocates from justifying the consequences.

Who gets to decide what progress looks like?

The challenge is to examine particular technologies, the values in conflict, and the reasons for imposing constraints on others. Technological change can threaten legitimate goods while challenging institutions that deserve scrutiny.

The reversal in American attitudes toward AI does not prove that ethical concerns are merely expressions of threatened authority. It does, however, raise a question about how consistently we defend our principles when our own influence is at stake.

Would either side defend the same principles if the balance of power were reversed?

Don’t miss out! Join my email list and receive the latest content.