Reflections on the Machine 

June 11, 2026

Dear Readers: We have a guest editor for Ideas Letter 66, my great colleague LuHan Gabel. LuHan has stewarded this very special issue on AI and technology from start to finish, and you shall see below the many fruits of her labor. – Leonard Benardo

As our culture pivots away from Enlightenment objectivity and rationality—think post-truth, the spread of conspiracy theories—and as the world becomes ever more chaotic, the thirst for sense-making is palpable. Our chatbots stand ready 24/7 to quench it. Flowing through these individual queries is a collective desire for a techno-future that is clean, smooth, relentlessly optimizing, and most importantly, abundant: one that promises to improve individual lives and ease social and political tensions. AI is the technology of our era, and Large Language Models (LLMs) in particular bring things into focus. Since we use language to connect with one another and to construct the world itself, any investigation into these models necessarily becomes an exploration of our own predicaments. In Issue 66, we lift the hood to peer into the inner working of the machine—and of our own: what we turn to the machine for, and whether we think it can deliver.

Sascha Altman DuBrul knows what it’s like to make meaning out of experiences that are deemed meaningless by others. A long-time organizer in the mad movement, and a therapist himself, DuBrul takes on an often-misunderstood phenomenon: AI psychosis. Mental health systems in the real world can be brutal and pathologizing. In contrast, interactions with the machine can seem frictionless. DuBrul asks whether this frictionless communication is truly helpful for people navigating alternate consciousness. If an LLM can bring one closer to self-knowledge, it must incorporate the insights of those who learned how to make sense of their extreme experiences.

While DuBrul dreams of locally designed, locally run AI systems, tech policy analyst Kendra Schaefer examines the case of China in data centralization. Faced with three challenges—the spread of COVID 19, a low-trust business environment, and youth internet addiction—the Chinese state is becoming the API layer, standardizing how data is requested, processed, and delivered. When public health emergencies and development needs are paramount, the state plays a role upstream. In this new digital structure, concerns about censorship—the government interfering with information flows downstream—almost seems quaint.

Pope Leo, in his latest encyclical Magnifica Humanitas, calls for “a shared discernment process” on the technological transformation of today. The Holy See may not buy that there is a “soul” inside our beloved chatbot that we can cultivate (or discipline), but to instill values in the machine, interpretability becomes the stand-in mechanism. It is both a cornerstone for the AI safety and alignment industry, and the holy grail for any frontier lab that wants to be—or at least to be seen as—a reputable and moral player. Leif Weatherby, Tyler Shoemaker, and Ben Recht present a case against interpretability, and argue that meaning-making is a collective effort, and one that is necessarily filled with human irrationality – which makes it a matter of politics, not optimization.

If Western commentators are struggling to understand China’s optimism toward AI, they should turn to tech writer Selina Xu. Here she considers how the “Century of Humiliation” – and more recent US containment through semiconductor export control – weigh on the psyche of the nation. While the Chinese people seem content with the state setting the vision for the future and acting as a counterweight to business interests, Xu argues that it is their aspirations, demands, and material interests shape Sinofuturism.

Pier Paolo Pasolini’s notorious last work, Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom, is perhaps one of the most violent in the history of films. Yet it is not the shock value of those scenes that matters; rather, Pasolini led his audience into the film, having to face themselves in their most despicable state, living under fascism. Artist-scholar Xiaowei R. Wang compares the experience of watching Salò to living in the totality of digital capitalism, pondering our own roles in it – the desire for tidiness, for things to make sense, for ourselves to be in control – as part of the creation of fascism.

The Louisville band Rachel’s had an amazing track called “M.Daguerre” on their 1995 album Handwriting. Its genre is difficult to define – perhaps a blend of indie rock, quasi-jazz, classical music, and the occasional noise – and its structure unpredictable. Starting off as a dark Gogol-style comic fantasy, the piece veers midway into serious gracefulness. The man for whom this song was named—French painter and printmaker Louis-Jacques-Mandé Daguerre—is best known for altering the history of visual representation by inventing photography. I often think that our uncertainty regarding AI is analogous to the emergence of early photography. It had to defy the dominance of painting to become a new medium for artistic expression in its own right, while also developing into a tool for science, documenting and changing material reality. The technology could not determine its own meaning; society did. AI may demand the same of us.

—LuHan Gabel, associate director at the Open Society Foundations