In May of 1997, the computer program ‘Deep Blue’ defeated Garry Kasparov in a six-game chess match in New York City, becoming the first machine to beat a reigning chess champion at a tournament match. Kasparov was shocked by the apparent ingenuity of the program, going so far as to allege that the computer had “cheated” by receiving the input of a rival grandmaster. Within a few years, however, any such accusation would become deeply ironic. With the domain of chess theory fully dominated by computer programs, the intricate study of engine moves became a prerequisite for top play. Cheating scandals now involve the clandestine use of a computer to procure an advantage. While chess is still widely played among humans, professional chess has become, in many ways, the art of most skillfully imitating a machine.
Today, the rapidly accelerating power of artificial intelligence eerily parallels the rise of chess engines 30 years ago. Already, the daunting intellectual power of these machines is undeniable: In early September, OpenAI published a solution to the famously unsolved Navier–Stokes problem, plunging the mathematics community into crisis. Unlike Kasparov at the time, tech leaders today largely welcome the rise of AI. Elon Musk and Sam Altman speak of a coming world of boundless productivity where “no job is needed” and—with the appropriate safeguards—humans can thrive in a “renaissance of creativity and discovery.” Anthropic CEO Dario Amodei believes that at this rate, “it cannot possibly be more than a few years before AI is better than humans at essentially everything.” Not only are jobs at risk, but, according to some researchers, we will face “more competitive machine alternatives to humans in almost all societal functions.” As a result, it is plausible that political decision making, emotional relationships, and artistic creation will all be domains encroached on or even ceded to AI agents.
Yet with much of the AI discourse understandably preoccupied with the myriad ways humans could lose control over the technology, a seemingly benign but equally frightening question begins to emerge: What if everything goes right? What if the idyllic vision of the reigning tech leaders is realized and all cognitive tasks necessary for the proper functioning of society are willingly outsourced to a computer? Could human purpose endure in such a world where—while we may all be immensely wealthy—we would also be wholly redundant? Perhaps the true existential threat of AI comes not from some apocalyptic technological failure, but instead from the gradual collapse of humanity’s sense of meaning and self-worth, and the resulting feeling of being a subsidiary species with no functional consequence to the social order.
While there is no consensus among philosophers or psychologists about the precise nature of “purpose,” many agree that it is inextricable from the need to contribute to something beyond oneself. American philosopher Susan Wolf argues that one’s life is only meaningful “insofar as one is gripped or excited by things worthy of one’s love, and one is able to do something positive about it.” Another important element of meaning is the sense of being relied upon: In the article “Mattering: Inferred significance and mental health among adolescents,” psychologists Morris Rosenberg and B. Claire McCullough point to the feelings of being depended on, regarded as important, and paid attention to as the three essential elements of mattering. In a similar vein, Viktor Frankl famously argued in Man’s Search for Meaning that “A man who becomes conscious of the responsibility he bears toward a human being who affectionately waits for him, or to an unfinished work, will never be able to throw away his life. He knows the ‘why’ for his existence, and will be able to bear almost any ‘how’.” But if—as many AI leaders believe—artificial intelligence will supplant the societal need for human action altogether, how will anyone feel capable of making the contributions necessary for a meaningful life? The crucial link between effort and purpose may be dismantled irrevocably. With all material problems resolved and each desire satiated, a certain paradox of utopia may emerge. As suggested by philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer, life may collapse into “a fearful emptiness and boredom.”
Worse yet, even our most bold or ingenious achievements may feel like a kind of spectacle, carried out for our own amusement but wholly unnecessary. Incapable of competing with AI machines, the great mathematicians, logicians, and scientists would likely be valued only for their novelty and entertainment. Displaced from laboratories and university halls, their skills may be exhibited as if in a circus show. Human intelligence itself could be reduced to the rank of a parlor trick.
Top AI leaders argue that humans will continue to find fulfillment even in areas where AI has outpaced human ability, pointing to entertainment and artistic creativity. People could still write poetry, play sports, and watch movies. Perhaps, in their totality, these activities could be sufficient to constitute a content existence. DeepMind CEO Demis Hassabis seems to have adopted this line of reasoning, conceding that AI might produce the need for “a new philosophy of how to live”, but pointing to activities like “sports, meditation, [and] arts” as proof that humans can find joy in things without social utility. Bill Gates expressed a similar attitude in a 2025 interview, in which he agreed that humans won’t be needed for “most things” but argued that “there will be some things we reserve for ourselves.” This argument initially seems plausible; there is more to human flourishing than one’s tangible contributions. However, there are two reasons to be skeptical of this type of claim.
First, Hassabis and Gates are much too hasty in their assumption that people will be able to achieve a sense of purpose merely through a pursuit of inessential hobbies and passion projects. After all, leisure is no real remedy to redundancy. Some may find lasting contentment through divine faith or spirituality, yet a nation is not a monastery, and it would be unreasonable to expect the bulk of society to conjure up a feeling of value from religious practice alone. Even if life would appear like a kind of paradise with nearly all diseases cured and abundant wealth, this is unlikely to be enough. Rich or poor, people want to matter: Studies show unemployment to be highly associated with depression “even after accounting for sociodemographic, economic and psychological variables.” Further, philosophers Anca Gheaus and Lisa Herzog point to several central goods of work unrelated to wages, including “making a social contribution.” A few weeks spent in pursuit of idle entertainment may be enjoyable, but when months grow into years, life may collapse into a nightmare of listless nihilism as each person searches for direction in a social structure they have no real role in creating or maintaining.
Second, even if individual fulfillment persists, a civilization would struggle to cohere when everyone’s lives are devoted purely to their own self-satisfaction. The notions of “providing to one’s family” or “contributing to the community” would be anachronistic in a world where everything needed has been created and distributed without human input. Worse yet, AI systems could presumably excel at nurturing children and comforting friends, stripping interpersonal relationships of much of their present necessity. Already, nearly 20 percent of surveyed young people have used AI for emotional support. A study found that AI significantly outperforms humans in emotional intelligence tests. When a robot can provide better reassurance and advice than even your closest friends, what incentive remains to turn towards the latter in times of hardship? Bonds between individuals may begin to drastically erode. We may even reach the point where no human feels wholly indispensable to any other. If so, the fragmentation of society at large seems likely to follow.
Ultimately, AI is not inherently destructive, and it could even bring immense good to the world. Many of its prominent proponents are clearly intelligent and appear to be well-meaning. Yet, at the very least, AI leaders should be wary of their imagined utopia. They should encourage global conversation not only about the risk of technological malfunction, but also on the danger of its potential “success.” The history of technology has been in many ways a quest to eradicate our slightest inconveniences; it would be a tragic irony if the final casualty of our crusade was human contentment itself. If nothing else, we should fear a world where all of life rings with hollow unreality, like a stage show, or a game of chess.