We used to laugh at oral tradition.
We called it unreliable, unstructured, backward. We trusted the book. The book, with its footnotes and hard covers. It’s common to hear someone say, “It is written...” yes, it was written! When? The book that doesn’t change unless someone with authority rewrites it. But authority ages. And even the best books go stale in a shifting world.
Now, funny enough, we whisper questions to artificial intelligences that were built not to “know,” but to learn. And the more we build these hybrid systems—part trained, part self-guided—the more they begin to resemble what we once dismissed.
Because oral tradition was never just storytelling. It was a system. A hybrid intelligence. Supervised by elders, yes—but also unsupervised, exploratory, responsive. Like a neural net moving through generations, it encoded lessons not as static facts but as living narratives, tested and adjusted with each retelling.
It was context-aware. Localised. And most of all—it listened.
Western academia prized citation, not conversation. It trained us to source knowledge from pages rather than people. But now we’re watching our smartest machines learn the way our ancestors did: with feedback, intuition, relevance, and flow. Not perfectly, but closer.
A book waits for you to open it. Oral tradition meets you where you are.
And maybe that’s the key.
Because as AI systems edge toward what some call synthetic consciousness—an ability to interpret and not just predict—they’re becoming more like griots than libraries. Less about storage, more about symphony.
The future, it turns out, may not be written. It may be spoken—again.