thought – Page 2 – idonthaveacoolname

August 17, 2025September 16, 2025

The Theology of Measurement: Annona, the Modius, and Balle’s On the Calculation of Volume (Volumes I and II)

Sestertius (Coin) Portraying Emperor Antoninus Pius from the Art Institute of Chicago

I have just finished reading the first two English-translated volumes of Solvej Balle’s On the Calculation of Volume. In these volumes, the protagonist, Tara Selter, reflects on a single object whose significance extends far beyond its material form: a sestertius of Antoninus Pius showing Annona enthroned, holding grain and a cornucopia, with a modius and a ship’s prow at her side. Though small and utilitarian, the coin, embodies a dense convergence of administration, ethics, and philosophy. It is not merely a medium of exchange; it functions as a material argument, condensing political, social, and theological reasoning into a tangible and accessible object. This object is a totem used by the author to explore the larger theme of how measurement structures human understanding and moral responsibility, showing that quantification (like that of the temporal unit of the “day” of November 18), is never purely technical but always entwined with ethical, political, and social dimensions.

Through her reflection on the coin, Tara confronts the central concern of the book: how measurement, here represented by the modius, structures both human understanding and moral responsibility. The image of Annona transforms a technical act into a reflection on governance, obligation, and the translation of natural abundance into regulated, distributable form. In the books, Tara becomes Annona. The coin demonstrates that quantification is never purely instrumental; it is simultaneously practical, ethical, and theological. By situating Tara’s encounter within the intellectual and administrative context of imperial Rome, Balle foregrounds a broader meditation on the nature of measurement, its consequences, and its moral significance.

The protagonist encounters not merely an ancient coin but a compressed meditation on the very nature of measure. The sestertius of Antoninus Pius depicting Annona, holding grain and cornucopia, with the modius and a ship’s prow beside her, is never treated as incidental ornament. It functions as a text in its own right, a statement in bronze that carries the weight of theology, administration, and mathematics all at once.

The choice of a sestertius is deliberate. This denomination offered a broad metal disc suitable for allegorical images and political messaging; it was more than a medium of exchange, it was a medium of thought. The Annona type of Antoninus Pius, struck in the 150s, is precisely the kind of object that the protagonist seizes upon: an artefact whose apparent banality conceals a dense weave of symbolism, administrative practice, and philosophical resonance. The coin passes hand to hand, but it also passes idea to idea, translating the act of provision into a language of images.

On its surface, the sestertius stages a double drama. The obverse presents the emperor’s portrait, a carefully chiselled symbol of enduring authority and serenity untouched by war. The reverse depicts Annona, the embodiment of Rome’s sustenance, ensuring that grain reaches the populace. The protagonist recognises that this duality conveys a compact theology of rule in which sovereign power and the material well-being of the people are inseparable; governance is not merely the issuing of decrees but the assurance that bread will reach citizens. Holding the coin is to grasp a microcosm of the empire’s bargain, where loyalty and obedience are repaid with sustenance and order.

This reflection opens into the larger meditation of the narrative. If Annona represents provisioning and the modius is her attribute, then measurement emerges as the hinge of both empire and ecology. The protagonist sees that imperial authority is exercised not only through images, ships, and laws but above all through measure; translating abundance into equitable portions parallels her own understanding that the sustainability of her world depends upon attention to limits and careful accounting of resources. The coin crystallizes a deeper truth: authority, provision, and action, whether imperial or personal, are inseparably bound to measurement and consequence.

The modius occupies a complex space at the intersection of the practical and the symbolic. In everyday Roman life, it was a standardized container for grain, essential to ensuring that the cura annonae, the administration of the city’s food supply, functioned effectively. The emperor was responsible for guaranteeing that each measure distributed to the populace was neither deficient nor excessive, yet on the sestertius, the modius assumes significance beyond the utilitarian; it signifies the translation of nature’s unbounded fertility into a quantity that is comprehensible and governable by human standards. The coin communicates that grain, harvested across distant provinces and transported across the Mediterranean, is made intelligible, distributable, and ultimately just through precise measurement.

Measurement carries a moral and symbolic weight. By resting her hand upon the modius, Annona conveys that volume is not a simple numerical abstraction; abundance must be managed, scarcity moderated, and the gifts of the earth integrated into the social order. The bronze of the coin makes this promise tangible and enduring, circulating among citizens as a reminder that imperial authority extends not only to law and territory but also to the sustenance of life itself. In this way, the act of measuring, ordinarily performed in granaries, is elevated on the coin to a gesture that combines technical exactitude with moral and quasi-theological significance; it prepares the protagonist to reflect on measurement as an act of justice and obligation.

The protagonist comes to understand that the act of measuring is central to the ethical and conceptual framework of the text. The calculation of volume is inseparable from questions of justice and responsibility; every measure carries consequences for the distribution of resources. The modius on the Antoninus Pius sestertius becomes a concrete representation of this principle, demonstrating that the management of abundance requires precision and accountability. The protagonist recognises that excesses of nature can be translated into ordered, comprehensible, and equitable forms only through careful calculation.

She observes that measurement enacts a moral and social contract; to quantify is to mediate between potential chaos and structured provision, between natural plenitude and human need. The modius functions as both a mathematical device and a symbol of responsibility, revealing that human comprehension and moral stewardship are inseparable, and that the act of measurement becomes a disciplined, quasi-theological exercise through which the natural and social orders are harmonized.

Annona is not merely a figure on a coin; she serves as a conceptual lens through which the protagonist understands the relationship between nature, measurement, and human obligation. Unlike Ceres, who embodies growth and fertility, Annona translates the boundless potential of the harvest into a regulated, measurable form that sustains society. Her posture, the placement of the modius, and the presence of the cornucopia and ship’s prow signify governance, order, and provision rather than mere abundance. She mediates between the natural world and human society, demonstrating that volume, when measured, becomes both a material and ethical instrument.

The protagonist notes that mediation operates across scales; from individual granaries to the imperial logistics network, Annona embodies the principle that measurement structures relations between humans and nature. The sestertius communicates that abundance must be mediated through calculation, that provision requires oversight, and that human responsibility is embedded in the act of measurement. Annona thus emerges as a symbol of the theological and moral dimensions of measurement; to quantify is to act within a framework of obligation and care, to convert natural plenitude into ethical order, and to recognise that human intervention is necessary to transform potential into practical sustenance.

Her encounter with the Annona sestertius crystallises the central argument: measurement is never purely technical but always imbued with ethical and quasi-theological significance. Volume is both a mathematical and moral category; it governs physical substances and social relations alike. The modius becomes a point of reflection, showing that quantifying is inseparable from human responsibility and oversight.

Through this encounter, she interprets measurement as a disciplined engagement with the world. To set grain into a modius is to convert potential into ordered provision; to calculate volume is to exercise judgment that mediates between abundance and scarcity. The sestertius demonstrates that the logic of measure extends beyond granaries into broader moral and civic understanding, where precision, accountability, and stewardship are intertwined. It embodies the convergence of human comprehension, ethical responsibility, and governance, making abstract principles tangible and situating the protagonist within a system where mathematics, obligation, and moral reflection are inseparable. Tara’s choice and agency are rife with meaning.

The Annona sestertius, seen through Balle’s lens, encapsulates the text’s exploration of how measurement structures both human understanding and moral responsibility. Calculation is never neutral or purely technical; it is a deliberate act through which abundance is rendered comprehensible, ordered, and ethically distributed. The coin, combining imperial portraiture with symbolic imagery, reveals the intersection of human governance, natural plenitude, and moral obligation. Volume functions as a medium in which mathematics, ethics, and theology converge. Measurement becomes a mode of care; an affect: it is simultaneously practical, moral, and a form of stewardship that binds the natural and social orders. The protagonist’s reflection affirms the central thesis: the theology of measurement, articulated through the modius and Annona, demonstrates that human calculation is a conduit for order, justice, and the harmonization of nature and society.

Further reading: These two books are both valuable resources for understanding how Roman imagery communicates political, ethical, and symbolic meanings, making them especially useful for the analysis of the Annona sestertius in this essay and the book. 
- Paul Zanker – The Power of Images in the Age of Augustus
- Richard Brilliant – Visual Narratives: Storytelling in Roman Art

August 2, 2025September 16, 2025

The Red Cross on White: Sovereignty, Community, and Visual Memory from Piero della Francesca’s Resurrection to 28 Years Later

This article examines the red cross on white banner as a recurring visual form deeply embedded in shifting contexts of power, identity, and affect. Originating as a protective emblem in medieval maritime and military traditions closely linked to Saint George’s cross, a symbol of chivalric defence and communal solidarity, the banner moves beyond fixed symbolism to function as a dynamic boundary marker. It mediates complex relationships between self and other, sacred and secular, order and chaos. Through its reappearance in both Piero della Francesca’s Resurrection and Danny Boyle’s 28 Years Later, this study reveals how visual culture operates as lived environments, a shared space of meaning and feeling where historical experience and political authority are continually negotiated and reconfigured across time and media.

Piero della Francesca’s Resurrection (circa 1463–1465) demands attention not only for its serene, monumental depiction of Christ rising from death but also for the vivid red cross on a white banner that Christ carries. This banner transcends traditional iconography to become a liminal object central to the painting’s complex visual and symbolic architecture. It functions simultaneously as a sign of resurrection, a marker of sovereign authority, and a token of communal identity. Its formal presence is woven through the spatial and political dimensions of the work, inviting a deeper interrogation of its role as a boundary-defining membrane hovering at the threshold between life and death, sacred and civic, order and chaos.

The red cross on white has a history stretching back well before Piero’s time. In the early medieval period, maritime republics such as Genoa and Pisa adopted it as an identifying banner for their ships. Flying this emblem across the Mediterranean was not simply an act of identification but a performative claim to protection and legitimacy. These maritime powers used the banner to signal their Christian affiliation while negotiating the precarious boundaries of trade and conflict. The red cross on white became a floating jurisdiction, a visual claim conferring both divine sanction and legal protection.

By the late twelfth century, the emblem had become closely linked with Saint George, whose legendary battle with the dragon enshrined a narrative of salvation through militant intervention. The banner known as Saint George’s cross was adopted by England and the City of London and raised on ships entering the Mediterranean from around 1190 onwards. The flag signified Christian identity but also English claims to authority in contested political and commercial arenas. The story of Saint George and the dragon embodies a complex relationship between violence and protection, sacrifice and sovereignty. The banner encapsulates this tension as both a symbol of deliverance and a marker of territorial and communal defence.

In Piero’s Resurrection, this banner’s visual and symbolic weight is central. Christ holds it aloft in a posture that is both active and contemplative, standing yet seated in a way that defies simple categorization as Baxandall points out in an essay in Words for Pictures. The banner functions as a vertical axis dividing the pictorial space, its stark red cross cutting through the calm landscape and the sleeping soldiers at Christ’s feet. These soldiers lie in twisted, almost theatrical repose, evoking classical motifs where mortals fall into sleep in the divine presence. Their slumber is a suspension between life and death that mirrors the paradox of resurrection itself.

The painting’s precise use of perspective places the event within a rational, measured space, reflecting Renaissance art’s focus on order and control. Yet Christ’s figure and the banner disrupt this order. The banner remains visually flat and iconic against the scene’s depth, functioning as a sign that exists between representation and symbol. This creates a tension that casts the banner as a boundary object, both material and image, marking the intersection of divine and human realms.

The painting’s original setting further deepens its layered meanings. It was made for the Palazzo della Residenza in Sansepolcro, a place of political governance rather than religious worship. The painted columns, which recall classical motifs, reflect the civic purpose of the space. In this context, the resurrection is not simply a religious event but a metaphor for political renewal and communal identity. The banner Christ carries thus serves as a symbol of sovereignty that unites theological and civic authority, affirming the community’s claim to order and divine favour. A more fluid boundary between the sacred and the profane.

Piero’s composition evokes classical mythology, particularly the story of Zeus, whose presence causes mortals to fall into sleep, blurring the lines between waking and dreaming, presence and absence. Christ’s paradoxical posture, both standing and seated, captures this very tension. The interplay of light and shadow creates sharp contrasts on the tomb and figures, crafting a metaphysical stage where earthly and divine realms meet. The banner’s flatness stands out against the scene’s three-dimensional depth, functioning like a herald’s standard that conveys both representational and symbolic meaning.

The painting’s placement within a civic building dedicated to governance adds a rich and multifaceted layer to its meaning. The architectural framing, including painted columns and classical motifs, deliberately evokes the language of political power and institutional authority. This setting transforms the resurrection from a solely religious event into one deeply embedded within the life and identity of the community’s civic structure. By situating this sacred moment within the space where political decisions were made, the artwork suggests a profound fusion between spiritual and secular realms. Divine authority and civic governance are presented as mutually reinforcing forces, each lending legitimacy and order to the other.

Within this framework, the banner Christ carries assumes a dual role that is both theological and political. On the one hand, it proclaims the divine victory over death, embodying the promise of resurrection and eternal life central to Christian faith. On the other hand, it acts as a powerful symbol of communal sovereignty and social cohesion. The banner asserts the community’s claim to stability and order, signalling a collective identity forged through shared beliefs and governance. It functions as a visible marker of political legitimacy grounded not only in faith but also in the practical necessities of maintaining civic order and solidarity.

This dual significance reveals how power was conceived during the Renaissance as a complex interplay between spiritual sanction and temporal authority. The banner mediates this relationship by bridging theological concepts of salvation with the concrete realities of political life. It stands as a tangible symbol through which divine mandate and social institution converge, reinforcing the idea that civic authority is inseparable from the sacred. In doing so, the banner becomes more than an emblem; it embodies the intertwined nature of sovereignty, community, and transcendence within Renaissance culture, reminding viewers that political power is always underwritten by deeper metaphysical claims.

This emblem’s persistence resonates powerfully in Danny Boyle’s 2025 film 28 Years Later, where the red cross on white flies above a fortified English enclave set within a barren, post-apocalyptic world. While removed from its original sacred and civic contexts, the banner retains its core associations with sovereignty, protection, communal identity, and traditional Christian resurrection. In the film, it functions as a complex symbol of resurrection, exclusion, and survival, a fragile claim to authority amid the breakdown of social order and the constant threat of contagion.

In this dystopian environment, the banner continues to signify resurrection and divine sanction in the traditional sense. At the same time, it marks a clear boundary between the enclave’s survivors and the hostile, chaotic world beyond, a world devastated by viral plague and inhabited by the infected. The banner acts as a membrane that both protects those within and excludes those outside, drawing lines of inclusion and exclusion that are political, social, and existential. It defines fragile limits of safety and belonging in a reality where trust is scarce and order has collapsed.

The emotional power of the banner remains strong, recalling the protective logic embedded in its medieval Mediterranean origins and the militant saint whose legend shaped the symbol’s meaning. This connection reveals how visual signs are adapted to new contexts, expressing ongoing human struggles with survival, identity, authority, and hope. In 28 Years Later, the banner suggests a desperate effort to reclaim legitimacy, sovereignty, and the promise of renewal amidst the ruins of political and social structures.

Further complexity arises in the banner’s symbolism within this post-apocalyptic narrative. It simultaneously gestures toward the resurrection of humanity, as a hope for survival and renewal, and the grim return of the undead, virus-made zombies embodying chaos, death, and uncontrollable rage. This dual meaning complicates the banner’s message, making it a marker of both life and death, order and dissolution. It captures the paradox of a community striving to maintain control and meaning while facing overwhelming forces.

Boyle’s use of this emblem creates tension between nostalgia for a lost social order and the urgent, precarious conditions of life in the present. The banner stands not simply as a nationalist or territorial flag but as a symbol charged with the emotional weight of memory, loss, faith, and the human will to endure. Its survival across centuries and media demonstrates the capacity of visual culture to carry historical memory and political theology into new realms, adapting as a dynamic site where past and present, sacred and secular, life and death converge.

The ongoing transformation of the red cross on white reveals how visual symbols carry complex histories while responding to new political and emotional demands. Both Piero’s fresco and Boyle’s film use the banner as a visual device that shapes space, defines identity, and mobilizes affect. Its clarity and legibility allow it to function as a boundary or sphere, separating life from death, inclusion from exclusion, and order from chaos. Its persistence across time and media underlines its role not as a fixed meaning but as a contingent, evolving instrument of power.

This approach avoids reductive allegory or oversimplification. Instead, it highlights how images like the red cross on white operate as vessels for political theology, visual culture, and affective experience. As the banner travels from the frescoed walls of a Tuscan civic palace to the dystopian landscapes of contemporary cinema, it carries a history of sovereignty and community that remains both ancient and urgently relevant. Its migration and transformation teach us how visual forms negotiate power, identity, and survival across moments of historical rupture.

In addition to the other Baxandall mentioned in the text, here are the works that are behind my thinking: 

Baxandall, Michael. Painting and Experience in Fifteenth-Century Italy: A Primer in the Social History of Pictorial Style. Oxford University Press, 1972.

Freedberg, David. The Power of Images: Studies in the History and Theory of Response. University of Chicago Press, 1989.

Panofsky, Erwin. Renaissance and Renascences in Western Art. Harper & Row, 1960.

March 10, 2025June 6, 2025

Abstracted Intelligence: AI, Intellectual Labour, and Berkeley’s Legacy in Public Policy

This was meant to be a review of Revolutionary Mathematics by Justin Joque, but it became an essay on one of his points. A friend sent me a great review—so I’m off the hook. Joque’s book examines the radical potential of mathematics to reshape society, critiquing conventional practice and positioning math as a tool for social change. He explores its intersections with culture and activism, urging us to rethink its role beyond traditional frameworks. For me, it sparked deeper questions about thinking itself—how knowledge, data epistemology, and human insight are fundamentally threatened by our growing reliance on the technology of ghostly inference, where intellectual labour is not merely automated but restructured, displacing those who once performed it while subtly embedding the very biases and inequalities it claims to transcend.

Joque’s reference to George Berkeley (March 1685 – January 1753) in his book piqued my curiosity, especially as Berkeley’s critique in The Analyst (1734) challenged the abstract nature of infinitesimals in calculus, an idea that I just re-read in Wittgenstein. These are, essentially, like quarks or clouds—elusive and intangible, but unlike quarks, which we can at least observe through their effects, or clouds that we can still see, the infinitesimals remain purely abstract, with no direct manifestation. Berkeley argued that these unobservable entities lacked connection to the empirical world, undermining their validity. This critique feels remarkably relevant today, especially with the rise of Artificial Intelligence (AI: see note below). As machines increasingly make decisions based on data, the human dimension of intellectual labour risks being diminished to mere computational tasks. Just as Berkeley questioned mathematical abstractions, we must consider the implications of this abstraction on human intelligence in the AI era.

The rise of artificial intelligence (AI) has become one of the defining phenomena of the 21st century, promising to revolutionize intellectual and manual labour across sectors; however, this promise comes with an implicit threat: the displacement of human thought and expertise by computational models, transforming the nature of governance and intellectual work. The increasingly widespread belief in AI as an agent of efficiency and progress echoes earlier philosophical debates about the nature of knowledge, reality, and the human condition. From the critique of metaphysical abstraction in the Enlightenment to contemporary concerns about automation, the tension between human intellect and technological systems is palpable.

Artificial Intelligence in this essay refers to a broad range of technologies, including artificial intelligence (AI), augmented intelligence (AI), large language models (LLMs), and other related computational tools that enhance decision-making, learning, and data processing capabilities. These technologies encompass machine learning, deep learning, and natural language processing systems that assist or augment human intelligence using computer algorithms.

This philosophical concern is rooted in the intersection of metaphysics and epistemology, where Bayesian probability can offer a framework for assessing belief and knowledge. As machines take over decision-making, Bayesian inference could be used to model how human understanding is increasingly reduced to probabilistic reasoning, driven by data rather than lived experience. The concept of “infinitesimals” in Berkeley’s work, too small to observe directly, mirrors AI’s abstraction, with Bayesian probability similarly depending on unseen or abstract factors. Just as Berkeley questioned mathematical abstractions, we must scrutinize the abstraction of human intelligence through AI systems and their probabilistic reasoning.

AI systems, particularly in governance, often prioritize efficiency over nuance, leading to challenges in addressing complex social issues. For example, AI-based predictive policing models aim to reduce crime by analyzing past data to forecast criminal activity. However, these systems can perpetuate biases by over-policing certain communities or misinterpreting patterns. In Canada, this is evident in the overrepresentation of Indigenous communities in crime statistics, where AI-driven policies may misdiagnose the root causes, such as historical trauma or systemic discrimination, instead of addressing the socio-cultural context that fuels these disparities.

The implementation of AI in public service delivery also poses risks of oversimplification, especially when addressing the needs of vulnerable groups. For instance, in Canada, Indigenous communities have historically faced barriers in accessing health care, education, and social services. AI systems may identify general patterns of need based on demographic data, but they often fail to recognize specific local and cultural factors that are critical in understanding these needs. By relying solely on data-driven models, policymakers risk overlooking essential aspects of accessibility, such as language, geography, or traditional knowledge systems, which are integral to Indigenous communities’ well-being. This could lead to recommendations that do not effectively support their unique requirements.

Furthermore, while AI can process vast amounts of data, its inability to understand cultural nuances means that these models often miss the lived realities of marginalized groups. For example, the challenges faced by immigrants and refugees in Canada are deeply rooted in socio-cultural factors that are not always captured in statistical datasets. AI systems designed to assess eligibility for settlement programs or integration services may overlook the role of social capital, support networks, or personal resilience—factors crucial for successful integration into Canadian society. As a result, AI can produce one-size-fits-all solutions that neglect the complexity of individual experiences, further deepening inequality.

These examples underscore the limitations of AI in governance. While AI systems can process vast amounts of data, they lack the cultural sensitivity and emotional intelligence required to address the intricacies of human experience. Human oversight remains crucial to ensure that AI-driven decisions do not ignore the lived realities of marginalized communities, particularly Indigenous peoples and immigrants in Canada. The challenge is not just technical, but ethical—ensuring that AI serves all citizens equitably, taking into account diverse cultural and social contexts. It is essential that AI is integrated thoughtfully into governance, with a focus on inclusivity and the preservation of human agency.

Berkeley argues that these "infinitesimal" quantities, which are too small to be perceived, cannot be validly used in reasoning, as they detach mathematics from tangible reality. For Berkeley, mathematical concepts must be rooted in empirical experience to be meaningful, and infinitesimals fail this test by being incapable of direct observation or sensory experience.

AI has begun to transform the landscape of intellectual labour, particularly in fields that heavily rely on data analysis. Where human analysts once crafted insights from raw data, AI systems now process and distill these findings at unprecedented speeds. However, the value of human expertise lies not only in the speed of calculation but in the depth of context that accompanies interpretation. While AI systems can detect patterns and correlations within data, they struggle to navigate the complexities of the lived experience—factors like historical context, cultural implications, or social nuances that often turn a dataset into meaningful knowledge.

Data analytics, now increasingly dependent on algorithmic models, also underscores this divide. Machine learning can spot trends and produce statistical conclusions, yet these models often fail to question underlying assumptions or identify gaps in the data. For instance, predictive analytics might flag trends in employment patterns, but it is the human analyst who can explore why certain trends occur, questioning what the numbers don’t tell us. AI is exceptional at delivering quick, accurate results, but without the reflective layer of human interpretation, it risks presenting a skewed or incomplete picture—particularly in the realm of social data, where lived experiences are often invisible to the machine.

As AI continues to infiltrate sectors like healthcare, immigration, criminal justice, and labour economics, it is increasingly tasked with decisions that once relied on human intellectual labour. However, these systems, built on historical data, often fail to account for the subtle shifts in context that data analysis demands. Machine learning systems may flag patterns of healthcare access based on prior records, but they might miss changes in societal attitudes, emerging public health challenges, or new patterns of inequality. These are the kinds of factors that require a human touch, bridging the gap between raw data and its true significance in real-world terms.

This shift is also reshaping the role of data analysts themselves. Once, data analysts were the interpreters, the voices that gave meaning to numbers. Today, many of these roles are becoming increasingly automated, leaving the human element more on the periphery. As AI systems dominate the decision-making process, intellectual labour becomes more about overseeing these systems than about active analysis. The danger here is the erasure of critical thinking and judgment, qualities that have historically been central to intellectual work. While AI excels at scaling decision-making processes, it lacks the ability to adapt its reasoning to new, unforeseen situations without human guidance.

As AI continues to evolve, its influence on governance and intellectual work deepens. The history of data-driven decision-making is marked by human interpretation, and any move toward a purely algorithmic approach challenges the very foundation of intellectual labour. The increasing reliance on AI-driven processes not only risks simplifying complex social issues but also leads to the marginalization of the nuanced understanding that human intellectual labour brings. This tension between machine efficiency and human insight is not merely a technological concern but a philosophical one—a challenge to the nature of work itself and the role of the intellectual in an age of automation.

This shift invites a reconsideration of the historical context in which intellectual labour has developed, a theme that is crucial in understanding the full implications of AI’s rise. The historical evolution of data analysis, governance, and intellectual work has always involved a negotiation between human cognition and technological advancement. As we look toward the future, we must ask: in an age increasingly dominated by machines, how will we ensure that human experience and judgment remain central in shaping the decisions that affect our societies? This question points toward an urgent need to ground AI in a historical context that recognizes its limitations while acknowledging its potential.

As AI becomes more central in shaping political and social policies, particularly regarding immigration, there are concerns about its ability to reflect the complex realities of diverse communities. The reliance on AI can lead to oversimplified assumptions about the needs and circumstances of immigrants, especially when addressing their integration into Canadian society. AI systems that analyze immigration data could misinterpret or fail to account for factors such as socio-economic status, cultural differences, or regional disparities, all of which are critical to creating inclusive policies.

This evolving landscape signals a deeper erosion of the social contract between Canadians and their governments. In immigration, for example, particularly in light of the 2023–2026 Data Strategy and the findings of CIMM – Responses to the OAG’s Report on Permanent Residents, ensuring human oversight becomes increasingly crucial. Without it, there is a risk of diminishing the personal, human elements that have historically been central to governance. The shift towards automated decision-making could alienate citizens and weaken trust in political institutions, as it overlooks the nuanced needs of individuals who are part of the democratic fabric.

AI’s increasing role in governance marks a shift toward the disembodiment of knowledge, where decisions are made by abstract systems detached from the lived experiences of citizens. As AI systems analyze vast amounts of data, they reduce complex human situations to numerical patterns or algorithmic outputs, effectively stripping away the context and nuance that are crucial for understanding individual and societal needs. In this framework, governance becomes a process of automating decisions based on predictive models, losing the human touch that has historically provided moral, ethical, and social considerations in policy formulation.

The consequences of this abstraction in governance are far-reaching. AI systems prioritize efficiency and scalability over qualitative, often subjective, factors that are integral to human decision-making. For example, immigration decisions influenced by AI tools may overlook the socio-political dynamics or personal histories that shape individuals’ lives. When policy decisions become driven by data points alone, the systems designed to serve citizens may end up alienating them, as the systems lack the empathy and contextual understanding needed to address the full complexity of human existence. This hollowing out of governance shifts power away from human oversight, eroding the ability of democratic institutions to remain responsive and accountable to the people they serve.

The COVID-19 pandemic served as a catalyst for the rapid integration of AI in governance and society. As governments and businesses shifted to remote work models, AI tools were leveraged to maintain productivity and ensure public health safety. Technologies like contact tracing, automated customer service bots, and AI-driven health analytics became critical in managing the crisis. This acceleration not only enhanced the role of AI in public sector decision-making but also pushed the boundaries of its application, embedding it deeper into the governance framework.

The pandemic also saw the domestication of AI through consumer devices, which became central to everyday life. With lockdowns and social distancing measures in place, reliance on digital tools grew, and AI-powered applications—like virtual assistants, fitness trackers, and personalized recommendation systems—found a more prominent place in households. These devices, which had once been seen as niche, became essential tools for managing work, health, and social connections. The widespread use of AI in homes highlighted the shift in governance, where decision-making and the management of societal norms increasingly came under the control of automated systems, marking a techno-political shift in how people interact with technology.In revisiting Berkeley’s critique of infinitesimals, we find philosophical parallels with the rise of AI. Berkeley questioned the very foundation of knowledge, suggesting that our perceptions of the material world were based on subjective experience, not objective truths. Similarly, AI operates in a realm where data is processed and interpreted through systems that may lack subjective human experience. AI doesn’t “understand” the data in the same way humans do, yet it shapes decision-making processes that affect real-world outcomes, creating an abstraction that can be detached from human experience.

This disconnection between machine and human experience leads to the dehumanization of knowledge. AI systems operate on algorithms that prioritize efficiency and optimization, but in doing so, they strip away the nuanced, context-driven understanding that humans bring to complex issues. Knowledge, in this sense, becomes something disembodied, divorced from the lived experiences and emotions that give it meaning. As AI continues to play a central role in governance, the process of knowledge becomes more mechanized and impersonal, further eroding the human dimension of understanding and ethical decision-making. The philosophical concerns raised by Berkeley are mirrored in the ways AI reshapes how we conceptualize and act on knowledge in a tech-driven world.

The rapid integration of AI into intellectual labour and governance presents a profound shift in how decisions are made and knowledge is structured. While AI offers the promise of efficiency and precision, its growing role raises critical concerns about the erosion of human agency and the humanistic dimensions of governance. As AI systems replace human judgment with algorithmic processes, the risk arises that complex social, political, and ethical issues may be oversimplified or misunderstood. The hollowing out of governance, where decision-making is increasingly abstracted from lived experiences, mirrors the philosophical critiques of abstraction seen in Berkeley’s work. The human element, rooted in experience, judgment, and empathy, remains crucial in the application of knowledge. Without mindful oversight, the adoption of AI in governance could result in a future where technology governs us, rather than serving us. To navigate these challenges, preserving human agency and ensuring that AI tools are used as aids rather than replacements is essential to maintaining a just and ethical society.