Advocates for the advancement of Artificial Intelligence (AI)—and the potential development of Artificial General Intelligence (AGI)—contend that it promises a transformative era of human welfare. This perspective is rooted in the belief in social progress. However, while it is accurate to acknowledge that societies are in a constant state of flux, it remains uncertain whether these changes always yield positive outcomes.
Today, we are confronted with significant challenges: poverty and inequality, health crises, food insecurity, armed conflict, and environmental degradation, among others. Current large language models (LLMs) have yet to substantiate claims that they will successfully address these pressing issues. Optimists in the tech sector argue that we are merely in a transitional phase, insisting that the vast cognitive capabilities of advanced AI are precisely what we need to model climate trends or improve global food distribution. However, this assertion unveils a fundamental contradiction.
Massive investments in this technology are consistently justified by the speculative hope that it may one day alleviate these crises. Private sector spending on AI is projected to reach $757.3 billion between 2013 and 2025, with total expenditure expected to hit $581.7 billion in 2025 alone. As driven by extensive hyperscaler data center developments, global AI expenditure and infrastructure investments are forecasted to surpass $2.5 trillion in 2026, trending toward almost $3 trillion by 2028.
In stark contrast, a recent study indicates that a fraction of this substantial investment—specifically, $318 billion annually—could effectively eradicate extreme poverty worldwide. Additionally, experts continuously raise alarms about the ecological crisis and our unsustainable resource utilization. Yet, the current AI infrastructure contributes to this dilemma rather than alleviating it; in fact, it exacerbates the problem.
Debating these figures or the rationale for addressing such issues may be constructive. However, it ultimately highlights a collective delusion: we are funneling trillions into creating an automated intelligence in the hope that it will rectify our world while simultaneously engaging in practices that do the opposite.
It would seem more accurate to argue that these investments are sustaining the U.S. economy through a facade of growth. This system is being designed, as I have posited, to enhance mechanisms of surveillance and financial oversight. Globally, it is sparking an arms race—nations are compelled to dominate this emerging frontier or risk being dominated themselves. Within this context, a carefully crafted aura of inevitability prevails.
L.M. Sacasas describes this phenomenon as the “Borg Complex.” He asserts that “the adoption of AI is predominantly driven by the rhetoric of inevitability, intensified by the governing logics of the prisoner’s dilemma and an arms race.” He further explains, “I’m terming this inclination, in homage to Herman and Chomsky, manufactured inevitability.”
Societies are in a state of constant evolution, adapting rapidly to new circumstances compared to previous epochs throughout history, particularly in response to industrialization, novel financial mechanisms, transportation, and technological advancements. In this evolution, a monoculture has emerged—what I refer to as the world system, as opposed to the world order.
The world system serves as the foundation for societal operations, setting it apart from earlier structures: reliance on oil, financial intermediation through banking, and state governance. While these foundations exist universally, their strength varies significantly across countries. In contrast, the world order pertains to the political frameworks—whether robust or lacking—that states employ to engage with one another.
All major and middle powers operate within the same system. Countries like China, the U.S., Russia, Iran, India, Pakistan, Turkey, Indonesia, South Africa, Brazil, and Germany share a common systemic foundation. This shared framework engenders a perception that for any state—regardless of size—to gain respect and grow, adherence to this system is essential. Subsequently, this has constricted our collective political imagination.
In the book The Dawn of Everything, authors David Graeber and David Wengrow present a compelling argument that Indigenous American communities possessed political awareness and sophistication comparable to their European counterparts, if not surpassing them. They simply chose not to organize themselves in identical ways due to differing political ideologies and principles. Furthermore, the authors provide historical examples illustrating that political thought has been integral to human society for at least 25,000 to 30,000 years.
One particularly striking example dates back around 13,000 years to Göbekli Tepe in modern Türkiye, where a significant ceremonial complex was constructed, necessitating extensive planning and collaboration. Scholars across various fields are intrigued by “the evident proof they offer that hunter-gatherer societies had developed institutions to facilitate substantial public works and monumental constructions, thereby establishing a complex social hierarchy prior to their transition to agriculture,” as noted by the authors.
Their key assertion is that humans have engaged in political contemplation for at least two hundred thousand years. While many “respected scholars” at least acknowledge the concept of the “psychic unity of mankind,” not all political organizations that emerged subsequently would necessarily have been regarded as progress by those existing prior to them.
A Roman senator from the Republic era, prior to Augustus, might have found the political landscape of France in the Middle Ages abominable. They had purportedly sworn—whether this claim is mythological or factual remains inconsequential—not to accept a monarchy. The term “rex” was employed as a serious accusation against political adversaries. Viewed from the lens of a Roman senator, the feudal structure implemented in Europe following the fall of the Empire would likely be seen as social regression rather than advancement.
Likewise, to Native Americans, the political framework imposed by European colonizers appeared inferior to their own systems. They derided the idea of subservience to an external authority. Graeber and Wengrow compellingly argue that the individual freedom concept, which became foundational to political development in Europe, was influenced by interactions with Indigenous peoples.
For a Muslim residing in seventeenth-century Constantinople, present-day Istanbul would not only be unrecognizable but likely unlivable. The societal norms upholding the Osmanlı Devleti were premised on governance that did not centralize legislative authority, extensive public welfare operated through charitable foundations (awqaf), and a strong prohibition against usury.
Thus, it remains unclear whether social and political structures, or modes of human existence, can be perceived as continuously progressing. What is undeniable is that they are in a state of perpetual evolution and adaptation to new circumstances. The assessment of this transformation ultimately hinges on the viewpoint of the critic.
The ongoing development of artificial intelligence—more aptly termed algorithmic intelligence—alongside emerging forms of digital currency, will undoubtedly influence how societies structure themselves politically. At this stage, there is insufficient evidence to support the notion that these changes will enhance human societies. In fact, growing evidence suggests that they may exacerbate existing challenges: increasing inequality, heightened resource depletion, intensified surveillance, and declining cognitive function.
Consequently, it is reasonable to question whether these shifts can genuinely be classified as social progress—representing a collective stride toward improvement. Perhaps, instead, we should look back to historical political organizations as inspiration for imagining a more promising future.
