There are moments in history when civilizations continue to advance materially while progressively losing confidence in the values and structures that once gave direction and coherence to collective life. Institutions continue to function, markets continue to expand, and technological progress accelerates uninterruptedly, yet beneath this movement emerges a quieter uncertainty.
As Simone Weil observed, “to be rooted is perhaps the most important and least recognized
need of the human soul.”[1] Yet contemporary societies often struggle to sustain those forms of
belonging and shared meaning that once anchored human communities. The crisis is
therefore not simply political or economic. It concerns meaning itself.
Artificial intelligence has appeared precisely within such a historical juncture. Most contemporary discussions approach AI primarily as a technological revolution, or as an element of economic and geopolitical competition between great powers. Governments now frame it as a strategic race, corporations present it as the next engine of productivity, and Silicon Valley often speaks of AI in the language of inevitability and destiny, recalling Aldous Huxley’s fear that technological progress might ultimately weaken rather than deepen human civilization.[2]
But such interpretations may ignore something deeper still. AI may be less the cause of a civilizational transformation than one of its clearest symptoms. It reflects a broader historical transition in which inherited moral and symbolic frameworks are dissolving faster than new forms of collective meaning can emerge.
Slouching Towards Bethlehem[3]
This condition closely resembles what Antonio Gramsci described as an interregnum: a period in which the old world is dying while the new world struggles to be born. [4] Such periods produce not only political instability, but also moral exhaustion, the erosion of shared narratives, and declining confidence in beliefs once considered self-evident. Civilizations have passed through similar moments before.
The enduring fascination of Edward Gibbon’s monumental The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire lies not merely in its account of imperial decline, but in its portrayal of the slow weakening of the moral and symbolic foundations that once sustained an entire civilization.[5] Rome did not collapse overnight. Its institutions remained impressive long after few still believed in the civilization they were meant to serve. Administrative power survived even as collective meaning and aspirations deteriorated.
That pattern feels strangely familiar.
Never before have technological capacities appeared so extensive while social distrust, political fragmentation, and loneliness have become so pervasive. Hyperconnectivity was supposed to bring societies closer together. In many cases, it has done the reverse.
AI in the Anthropocene
AI emerges from within this historical condition . It appears perfectly suited to societies organized around abstraction, speed, quantification, and technological mediation. In this sense, AI is profoundly historical. It results from a long civilizational development in which rationalization, efficiency, and technical calculation have come to replace older moral, religious, and symbolic frameworks as primary sources of legitimacy and meaning. What distinguishes AI from previous technologies is that it extends these same principles into domains traditionally considered irreducibly human. Activities once understood as distinctly human, such as reasoning, creativity, interpretation, and even emotional interaction, are now becoming technologically mediated.
The deeper unease therefore concerns anthropology as much as technology. What remains distinctively human when machines become capable of imitating reasoning, generating art, and mediating human relationships?
Such moments of civilizational disorientation are not entirely unprecedented.
The Renaissance confronted a similar rupture. Medieval Europe had long possessed a relatively coherent worldview capable of organizing religion, politics, morality, and human identity within a common order. By the late fifteenth century, however, this equilibrium was beginning to fracture under the pressure of new scientific discoveries, religious wars, and the weakening of older political and spiritual authorities. Thinkers such as Niccolò Machiavelli and Giovanni Pico della Mirandola sought, in radically different ways, to redefine humanity’s place within a rapidly changing world.[6] Pico celebrated human beings as creatures capable of shaping themselves through freedom and intellect, while Machiavelli recognized more soberly that periods of transition dissolve inherited certainties and force societies to confront instability and power directly.
Both understood that historical transformation is ultimately existential before being institutional. Our own transition may prove even more radical because technology no longer transforms only economic or political life, but cognition itself.
AI now mediates everyday experience itself: how people search for information, communicate, work, and make sense of the world around them.
Algorithms no longer merely distribute information. They shape attention, influence perception, and affect how individuals relate emotionally to public life and to one another. Under such conditions, the distinction between human judgment and technological mediation becomes far less clear.
The Price of Nostalgia
One striking feature of the contemporary digital environment is the degree to which individuals now participate voluntarily in their own data extraction. Recent Instagram trends such as the viral “What Were You Like in the ’90s?” challenge encourage users and celebrities alike to upload curated archives of personal photographs spanning decades of their lives. Presented as nostalgia and entertainment, these trends also generate immense quantities of highly valuable visual and behavioural data: faces across time, emotional reactions, aesthetic preferences, social interactions, and patterns of self-presentation. Whether or not such material is directly incorporated into future AI systems, the broader objective remains significant. Human memory, identity, and even nostalgia itself increasingly becomes raw material for computational analysis and commercial platforms.
Reactions to AI therefore oscillate easily between fascination and anxiety. Beneath both lies a deeper uncertainty about whether modern societies still possess a coherent understanding of what human beings are for, beyond economic productivity and consumption.
Friedrich Nietzsche anticipated aspects of this crisis more than a century ago. His declaration that “God is dead” did not merely constitute a theological provocation but signalled the emergence of a civilization in which traditional moral structures would lose authority long before new ones could replace them.[7] Nietzsche feared not nihilism alone, but the possibility that societies might become incapable of generating new forms of transcendence once older ones had collapsed. We saw how his worldview provided an intellectual base for Fascism.
I Read, therefore I Am
In increasingly mediated environments, the act of sustained reading itself begins to take on a countercultural character. To read is, in some sense, to resist. We have access to more information than any previous generation, yet physical books can still provide a sense of orientation. The books people return to, annotate, or simply keep close over time often reveal something enduring about the way they think and who they are.
The central issue, therefore, is not simply whether artificial intelligence will become more powerful. The deeper question is whether societies organized around AI can still sustain stable forms of responsibility and belonging strong enough to preserve coherent collective life. This is ultimately a political and civilizational problem before it is a purely technical one.
Much contemporary discourse still assumes that technological advancement naturally produces historical progress. History offers little evidence for such confidence.
Civilizations do not endure simply because they innovate technologically. They endure because they preserve, or reinvent, systems of meaning capable of holding societies together over time.
The Roman Empire mastered engineering yet gradually lost the moral cohesion that had once sustained it. Renaissance Europe produced extraordinary creativity precisely because it confronted existential instability directly rather than attempting to ignore it.
Contemporary Western societies appear caught between immense technological sophistication and growing uncertainty about their own civilizational narrative.
AI therefore represents more than innovation. It reflects a transformation in how human beings understand themselves, authority, knowledge, and reality itself. The danger is not simply that machines become too powerful. It is that societies now outsource judgment, imagination, and responsibility while slowly losing the cultural and moral resources required to govern these technologies wisely. Yet periods of interregnum are not necessarily periods of decline alone. They are also moments in which civilizations redefine themselves.
AI For Good ?
Historical transitions create possibilities as well as dangers. The Renaissance emerged from the crisis of medieval Europe. Modern democracy emerged from the upheavals of industrial society. Today’s uncertainty may likewise force Western societies to confront questions long obscured by economic growth and technological optimism:
What constitutes a good society? What forms of belonging remain possible in a hyper-mediated world? What aspects of human life should never be reduced to data, prediction, or optimization?
AI cannot answer these questions. But its emergence makes avoiding them increasingly difficult.
[1] Simone Weil, The Need for Roots: Prelude to a Declaration of Duties Towards Mankind (1949/1952).
[2] See Aldous Huxley, Brave New World (1932) and his later essays such as Brave New World Revisited (1958), where he warns that technological efficiency and social conditioning could erode authentic human experience.
[3] The phrase alludes to the final lines of W.B. Yeats’ poem “The Second Coming” (1919): “And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, / Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?”
[4] Antonio Gramsci, Prison Notebooks (written 1929–1935, published posthumously). The “interregnum” concept appears in Notebook 3: “The crisis consists precisely in the fact that the old is dying and the new cannot be born; in this interregnum a great variety of morbid symptoms appear.”
[5] Edward Gibbon, The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire (6 volumes, 1776–1789). Gibbon famously attributed part of the decline to the rise of Christianity and the erosion of civic virtue.
[6] Giovanni Pico della Mirandola, Oration on the Dignity of Man (1486) — often called the “Manifesto of the Renaissance”; Niccolò Machiavelli, The Prince (1532) and Discourses on Livy.
[7] Friedrich Nietzsche, The Gay Science (1882, §125 – “The Madman”) and Thus Spoke Zarathustra. The full phrase is usually rendered “God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him.”
