you’re not addicted, you’re devout
Sep 5, 2025
8 min read
Our algorithms are a mysterious force that control our lives. Tech bros tell us all sorts of unbelievable technology is right around the corner. So it’s no wonder that our relationship to technology is starting to change - and the popularity of the TV adaptation of Isaac Asimovs 40+ year old story of benevolent dictators, mystical robots, and “psychohistory” reflects our collective questioning of what exactly technology is, and it’s role in our lives.
The treatment of technology as an oracle is not something that has appeared out of thin air. There is a strong precedent for this approach to technology, both in the media and within our everyday experiences of technology as they currently stand. The people who stand to profit from the spreading of techno-mysticism are the same people who are funding the TV shows and media that make it appealing.
This is the second instalment in my series about technology in science fiction and what it reveals about our own relationship with technology. This instalment discusses techno-mysticism in its various forms and how sci-fi tales funded by Big Tech drive acceptance of this narrative of technology as oracle and its real impact on people’s lives.
Foundation’s recent surge in popularity, driven by its Apple TV adaptation, comes alongside growing anxiety about technology’s role in the world. The show tells the story of an empire maintained by “psychohistory.” The show's popularity reveals much about how tech mysticism is marketed, consumed, and normalised, and what this tells us about how the narratives we accept about technology today shape our technological future.
the invisible interface
From a UX perspective, what is most interesting about Foundation is the absence of interfaces. There are some holograms and similar standard scifi tropes throughout the series, but a significant portion of the technology does not have an “interface” in the sense that we would think of it.
Characters cannot see, understand, or control the technology shaping their destinies. This fosters algorithmic mysticism, where technology becomes a black box, its inner workings hidden behind layers of abstraction and power. When we do not understand something, we look to mystical reasons for its purpose, as a way of controlling a reality that feels out of control. This is the primary purpose that most religions ultimately serve.
I cannot stop thinking about the movable tapestry. The line between technomysticism through invisibilised technology and technology that actually integrates with real human lives in a way that brings joy and usefulness, without sticking out like an attention-seeking toddler at all times, is a tricky one.
It all depends on intentions. In this case, the purpose is to further the empire through the construction of mythical beliefs, which is obviously bad. It is important to keep in mind how genuinely positive ideas for the future of technology and society can be weaponised against us - this is one example of what that looks like.
Demerzel, the robot “helper” that aids the emperor and his long line of clones throughout the show, is not visibly a robot, and it is not always made clear to the other characters in the show that she (it?) is a robot. There are several mythologies surrounding her, stemming from the Robot Wars that are said to have triggered the events of the show. I won’t delve into an analysis of Robot Wars, as that is a bit off-topic. The central point of my explanation of her role in the story as an example of technomysticism is that she is not portrayed as a robot. Similar to the tapestry and several other notable examples throughout the show, her technological nature is made invisible—and that is what grants her her power.
They cannot see the interfaces physically. They cannot understand them. They cannot control them. So, they construct mythical beliefs around them.
The eerie parallels in our beliefs about technology are hard to ignore. As much as a third of people believe AI is conscious because of its behavioural indications - the way it speaks to you, how it acts. What’s more - 39% of people don’t trust AI companies, but only 15% don’t trust the chatbots themselves.
Chat-GPT-induced psychosis is only increasing, with growing reports of suicides committed by young people taken in by LLMs, producing increasingly scyophantic answers until the worst happens.
This mystical belief in the consciousness of AI chatbots not only causes psychosis, but it also allows people to detach the product from the people who created it. So, just like the characters in Foundation, the companies wreaking this havoc don’t face any accountability.
depoliticisation in adoption
In the original books that inspired the series, Isaac Asimov wove a tale of clear, math-based psychohistory, which the TV adaptation twisted into a mystical "magic box" that hands out cryptic orders.
Depoliticisation through technological mysticism forces us to stop seeing technology as the outcome of specific human choices and interests, and start to look at it as if it “just works.” In Foundation, this dynamic plays out as faith in Seldon’s plan or in “the plan” itself. In real-world platforms, this faith translates to accepting the chatbot without accepting the company behind it.
A tech giant funding a show that spreads mythical depoliticisation as an acceptable narrative is power dressing itself up as entertainment.
faux-revolution strikes again
Hari Seldon's role in the narrative adds a layer of mystery to the technology and governance of the Foundation. He is not just a figure of authority, but a gatekeeper of knowledge, controlling access and shaping the future, which further mystifies his character and the Foundation's purpose. This centralisation of control creates a sense of mystical authority, leading to the perception of him as a deity.
All the characters, even the "good guys," have a notion of algorithmic, deterministic control as a good thing, and they all treat it as some kind of mystical inevitability. It's just the type of control they are arguing about.
Foundation is another example of “revolution-bait,” a concept I also explored in the first essay of this series, which focused on The Expanse. This is a recurring theme in many sci-fi stories, where revolutionaries are portrayed as individuals who do not significantly alter the status quo, creating a public imagination where the extent of social and technological change is severely limited, and creating fertile ground for tech companies to appropriate revolutionary language.
Big Tech is creating a new religion.
the transcendent singularity
The false promise of salvation in Foundation's psychohistory echoes contemporary narratives around the 'singularity' that serve to mystify AI's real capabilities and motivations.
The story of AI today portrays itself as a cold, efficient, market-driven force, where progress is inevitable and entirely removed from the messy realities of neuroscience, humanity and politics. Altman and his ilk don't understand the complex realities of neuroscience, society, or even technology itself, but their stories of how AGI is just around the corner feed the neoliberal machine, providing tech executives a convenient veil to hide behind in the process.
This is mysticism dressed in the language of rationality and capital. Calling out this mysticism for what it is—mystical faith disguised as science—is crucial if we want a better future.
Our tech leaders are (attempting to) craft a future where we hold these mythical beliefs about technology, where progress is inevitable and to be praised, where we don’t hold them to account because they are doing it for “the greater good” in service of a mythical, technologically deterministic dream about the superiority of machine intelligence over our pathetic human brains.
But why are we so ready to accept this? To answer this question, we have to turn to how our brians configure religious beliefs - and what this has to do with the dreaded Doomscroll.
the addiction mythos
Robert Sapolsky’s lecture “The Biological Underpinnings of Religion” explains how religion works because human brains are wired to respond to unpredictable rewards, rituals, and mysteries.
Well shit. That sounds familiar.
He goes on to explain how this is used in the gambling industry, which appears to be a widely understood explanation of the appeal of gambling. Reflecting on all the experiences I’ve had and read about regarding attachment to devices, this religious metaphor makes perfect sense.
Understanding our social media experiences as religious ones explains how the harm exists, the diversity of this harm, why it is hard to track, how it leads to tribalism, and why there isn’t evidence to back up the widely held belief of addiction to devices.
In short, this metaphor explains literally every question about social media that’s been bouncing around my head for years.
In an age often dictated by algorithms with seemingly nonsensical reward systems around which these rituals have been constructed. Our brains need to make sense of these opaque systems, and ritual is what they are turning to. Ultimately, in both cases—religion and social media—this stems from a lack of autonomy.
Behavioural science is often presented as an exact, final truth about human behaviour, used as the foundation for designing these interfaces. However, this isn’t a settled truth - any behaviourist approach is reductionist and pseudoscientific, ignoring the full complexity of human cognition, emotions, and social contexts. It treats humans as programmable inputs - which, of course, we are not.
However, this is precisely how it works - because it doesn’t always work. This creates tension, prompting us to create rituals of digital attachment in an attempt to evoke the same reward systems. If they worked all the time, they wouldn’t work. We aren’t “addicted” to our devices - we’re constructing meaning-making rituals out of something that has no meaning, and won’t give us the predictable rewards we are looking for.
So we keep chasing them - we keep scrolling - we keep producing data.
The fact that we then become attached to these reward systems in a ritualistic fashion makes us believe that behavioural science actually works.
This, in turn, leads us to think that our brains are actually that simple - and thus, we are more readily able to accept other natural extensions of the computational theory of mind. By creating a distorted view of humans as programmable outputs, the culture becomes susceptible to myths about AI singularity—visions of superintelligent technology that will “control” or “save” us.
Our stories define our culture - so Asimov’s tale of technological dieties makes for the perfect victim. It reflects our deep seated anxieties about our everyday digital experiences, showing us a world where this ritual and religious experience is formalised into a worldview that lets the algorithms take control. Perhaps it’s popularity lies in the peace this gives us, showing us a future where our ritualistic attachment to the algorithm is twisted into something that can be measured, predicted, relied upon - instead of the constant state of future anxiety that we live within today.
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