#cynicism

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As a technology, AI isn't exceptional. It's not exceptionally wicked. It's not exceptionally good. Take away the accompanying, galactic-scale stock-swindle, and we'd call AI's applications "plug-ins" and we'd use them and abuse them in the same way that we've used every other technology:

https://www.normaltech.ai/

As a destructive economic pathology, AI is extraordinary. AI boosters have spent a baffling and terrifying sum of money – over $1.4T, most of that in the past year – on the promise of making as many workers unemployed as possible, while lowering the wages of the meager survivors of this jobspocalypse. To make things worse, AI can't do the jobs it's replacing: AI is predicated on the premise that the monopolies, duopolies and cartels that control the global economy can deliberately worsen their products without suffering economic or regulatory consequences, because they're the only game in town.

In service to this bubble, AI companies have suborned regional governments into running roughshod over environmental and planning review in order to build endless acres of data centers, many of which will likely end up casualties of the imminent bubble-pop, never to be switched on or even completed. What an indignity to have your farm or house seized through eminent domain, only to see it razed and replaced by a weed-choked empty field, a lonely foundation slab, or an abandoned empty building that could only ever be repurposed for laser-tag or an ICE concentration-camp:

https://gizmodo.com/trump-on-data-centers-you-cant-fight-it-you-have-to-go-with-it-2000790014

This is just one of the many negative effects of AI that can be traced to the scale of the bubble. Were it not for the imperative to turn more than a trillion dollars of losses into a profit, we would not have the aggressive, site-destroying scraping epidemic. Nor would we see AI crammed into every part of every product and service we use. And of course, in the absence of the investment bubble, businesses wouldn't be firing productive workers and replacing them with defective chatbots.

The single most salient fact about AI is the investment bubble, not the technical characteristics of chatbots or recent advances in statistical inference. AI's investor story is an incoherent tangle of predictions about AI's future, ranging from the outlandish ("Once we spend enough money, AI will become God and solve all our problems, including our profitability crisis") to the dystopian ("The majority of jobs in the economy will be done by our chatbots, and the employers who previously employed those workers will split the wage savings with us").

None of these stories are plausible, which raises an urgent question: why have the world's wealthiest investors been so eager to hand over trillions to finance this bubble?

I have previously written about one reason that billionaires find the AI story so compelling: at root, many billionaires just don't believe most other people are actually, fully real. How could they? Achieving billionairehood requires that you inflict pain on vast numbers of people. If you truly believed that those people were as real as you are, you'd never be able to look yourself in the mirror. Whether it's Leona Helmsley's claim that "only the little people pay taxes," or Elon Musk's habit of calling people who disagree with him "NPCs," the whole ideological project of billionaireism is shot through with a kind of solipsism:

https://pluralistic.net/2026/01/05/fisher-price-steering-wheel/#billionaire-solipsism

This is true even in one-on-one encounters: for the Epstein Class, the children raped on his island weren't fully real – certainly not as real as their own children. It's even more true for the people that billionaires experience as statistical artifacts, such as Jeff Bezos's vast army of drivers and warehouse workers, with their sky-high on-the-job injury rates and the everyday indignity of their piss-bottles. It gets worse for social media bosses like Mark Zuckerberg, for whom AI's principal appeal is the prospect of ending socializing on social media, swapping your mulish friends for pliable chatbots who will organize their interactions with you to maximize your platform usage and thus the number of ads you see:

https://pluralistic.net/2026/01/19/billionaire-solipsism/#sirius-cybernetics

I think billionaire solipsism can account for much of the malinvestment in this obvious bubble, but I don't think it's the whole story. Rather, I think there's a whole cohort of investors who don't believe in AI, but believe that other people will believe in AI.

This is a well-established investment principle. As Keynes wrote, the point of investing isn't necessarily to pick the most beautiful contestant to win the beauty contest – it's to pick the contestant that the other judges will hand the crown to:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Keynesian_beauty_contest

In other words, you don't get rich from stock speculation by identifying the businesses whose profitability will grow the most – you get rich by identifying the businesses that other investors will pile into, pushing the price up. All you need to do is sell your shares after the price spike, but before anyone else figures out that the business is a turkey. It's like that old joke: "I don't need to run faster than the bear (market), I just have to run faster than you."

Perhaps it's just me. But the geopolitical insanity that I see and learn from my peers all over the world, doesn't feel like the end. No, it... it feels like change. The last horrible and panicked gasps of the dying old, because it refuses to accept that it is not sustainable anymore, and the world is moving towards the better, through protests and unity and human goodness. I've seen this before - in stories from the older generation, and in history books.

But I also feel terribly guilty whenever I start thinking like that, for some odd reason? I feel guilty whenever I try and rationalize that despite it all, the world will continue existing, and even in the worst case scenario (which we already have avoided), there would be forests and oceans and species and biodiversity and ecosystems and people and cities and countries to see and love, because after all, nature is resilient and adaptable - just like our species are.

I feel guilty for feeling this cautious curiosity about what the future might hold for us, the bad and the good. Because I feel like I am obligated to be grieving and panicking and angry, like many people are - but that's just... so tiring.

Hi Anon,

This is going to be a long one because I think your ask gets at something difficult that I have a lot of thoughts about.

Your phrase “cautious curiosity” made me think of psychology researcher Jamil Zaki’s idea of “hopeful skepticism”. Which is not assuming that everything will inevitably get better, but open to the possibility that it could and curious to see the paths it might take to get us there.

Our society tends to view a cynical outlook as more intelligent or even more moral, but research shows that a cynical outlook actually makes people worse at predicting outcomes, worse at cognitive and problem-solving tasks, less likely to vote or protest, and even measurably harms their physical and mental wellbeing.

I think the guilt you describe is likely coming from the feeling that while we have been significantly improving conditions for humanity on this Earth and will likely continue to do so in the long run, in the present there are many real humans suffering--it can be hard and uncomfortable to hold these two truths together.

Even if this last dying breath is temporary and brief, it is destroying real people’s lives and many more live in fear that they will be next. The fact that child mortality has absolutely plummeted even just in my own lifetime is both a miracle of humanity and means little to the parent who has lost their child to a preventable death. To quote the philosopher Max Roser, “The world is much better; the world is still awful; the world can be much better.”.

You don't need to feel guilty for having hope for the future. Carrying feelings like hopelessness, grief, and fear all the time is entirely valid, but like you said it is also exhausting—and there is nothing inherently moral about emotionally suffering particularly if it’s harming your ability to live your life or take positive action.  

You are right that we are still making progress in the correct direction in many ways. You are right that history is rife with examples of forward momentum provoking a reactionary backtracking but that the forward momentum usually ultimately prevails.

The key here, is to understand that the future path you describe is possible—even likely more probable than a lot of people think—but it is not inevitable. We still have to take action to make it happen. The arc of history bends towards progress only because so many millions of mostly unnamed unknown people have put the work in to bend it in big and little ways.

I’ll end with one of my favorite quotes from Rebecca Solnit: “Hope is not a lottery ticket you can sit on the sofa and clutch, feeling lucky. It is an axe you break down doors with in an emergency. Hope should shove you out the door, because it will take everything you have to steer the future away from endless war, from the annihilation of the earth's treasures and the grinding down of the poor and marginal... To hope is to give yourself to the future - and that commitment to the future is what makes the present inhabitable.”

Reminding others that progress is still happening and that there is hope for a brighter future is important work in getting members of your community to pick up their own axe and make that future happen. Hope in dark times is not just ok or reasonable--it is a precious, vital tool.

As your interactions with others gradually cease, you stop participating in their shared reality, which means the norms and truths of that reality stop applying to you. Even the natural world, which seems to impose certain conditions on your existence, can be mostly avoided or at least mitigated through technologies that allow you to separate yourself from nature. When all of your basic needs can be met without interacting with anyone, then your isolation has become total. Your new world has a population of one, and its form is whatever you give it.