Jonathan Johnson-Swagel

Artificial intelligence is commonly lauded as the pinnacle of modern engineering, a domain where human ingenuity is distilled into algorithms and data structures. Yet, when examined through the multifaceted lenses of Mircea Eliade, Paul Ricoeur, and the cinematic vision of Fritz Lang’s Metropolis, a profoundly different narrative emerges. AI is not only a technical enterprise… it is an echo of humanity’s most enduring myths, a rearticulation of ancient struggles between order and chaos, power and freedom, and the human versus the inhuman. It functions as both a repository of cultural anxieties and a mythic construct that shapes how we understand our place in an increasingly automated world. As such, AI is not just a tool but a modern mythological force, a digital deity whose emergence calls for both technological scrutiny and philosophical interrogation.

The notion that myth and technology exist in separate realms is a modern misconception. Eliade’s seminal work on sacred and profane time offers a conceptual bridge between these domains. In traditional societies, myth provided a means of orienting human existence within a cosmic order, offering a framework through which the sacred infused the mundane. Sacred time was cyclical, marked by periodic returns to primordial moments through ritual, while modernity’s linear time is defined by an unceasing march toward an uncertain future. Yet, the discourse surrounding AI suggests that even in a world dominated by linear progress, myth persists. Every AI breakthrough is heralded as both an unprecedented achievement and a reenactment of an archetypal struggle—one where humanity’s creation threatens to surpass or rebel against its creator. This reveals that AI, far from being a mere technological development, is infused with symbolic significance that resonates with our deepest existential yearnings.

Eliade argued that modernity does not abolish myth but rather transforms it. The relentless pursuit of scientific progress, rather than eliminating the sacred, generates new structures that mimic its function. AI, when framed as the harbinger of a post-human era or as an infallible arbiter of efficiency, assumes a quasi-religious role. It offers a digital cosmology in which human fallibility is supplanted by algorithmic certainty, where the randomness of existence is reorganized into data-driven patterns. Yet, this reorganization is not neutral. Just as the myth of the demiurge posited a creator whose power could be usurped by his own creation, so too does the narrative of AI carry the subtext of rebellion and unintended consequences. AI thus embodies the dual nature of myth: it is a promise of order and an omen of chaos, a force of liberation and a potential agent of subjugation.

Paul Ricoeur’s hermeneutics deepens this inquiry by revealing the ideological dimensions embedded within the language of AI. Ricoeur’s philosophy underscores that narratives are not neutral conveyors of facts but are laden with power and ideological undercurrents. The terminology used to describe AI—words like “intelligence,” “learning,” and “autonomy”—carries implicit assumptions about human-like cognition and rational agency. These terms, far from being objective, shape how AI is perceived and wielded. Anthropomorphized digital assistants and algorithmic decision-makers are often framed as benign helpers, yet this personification obscures the economic and political interests embedded within their design. AI is often depicted as an inevitable force of progress, but this narrative masks the reality that its development is driven by human agendas—corporate imperatives, state surveillance, and the consolidation of power.

This dynamic is visually and thematically foreshadowed in Fritz Lang’s Metropolis, a film that serves as an enduring allegory for the tension between technological advancement and human agency. The city of Metropolis is both a marvel of modernity and a dystopian nightmare, a towering machine that subjugates its workers beneath the feet of an elite class. The film’s iconic imagery, particularly the Heart Machine, exemplifies the ambivalence of technological power—it is both the beating heart of progress and a monolithic force of oppression. The film’s central android, Maria, embodies the mythic archetype of AI: a creation that both fascinates and terrifies, a figure whose existence blurs the boundary between human and machine. In this way, Metropolis captures the paradox of AI’s cultural reception. Like the machines of Lang’s dystopia, AI is simultaneously framed as a savior and a potential destroyer, an instrument of utopia and a harbinger of control.

The convergence of Eliade’s mythic structures, Ricoeur’s hermeneutics, and Metropolis’s visual allegories compels a radical rethinking of AI’s ethical and philosophical dimensions. If AI functions as a mythic construct—a retelling of archetypal narratives of creation, rebellion, and divine retribution—then its governance is not just a technical issue but a deeply moral one. The myths we construct around AI shape our expectations, our fears, and the decisions we make about its deployment. Ricoeur’s insistence on narrative reinterpretation suggests that these stories are not fixed; they can be deconstructed, challenged, and rewritten. If AI is framed as an autonomous, almost divine force, this framing itself shapes policy and public perception. Who, then, controls the narrative? Who decides whether AI will be a means of emancipation or a mechanism of social control?

The ethical implications of AI’s mythic status are profound. When AI is cast as a quasi-divine entity, capable of salvation and damnation, the stakes of its governance become extraordinarily high. The decision to cede control to algorithmic authority is not a neutral act; it is a declaration of faith in a particular vision of progress—one that may or may not align with the values of human dignity and autonomy. The language of myth carries an inherent ambiguity, one that can be exploited to justify a wide range of political and economic agendas. As AI becomes increasingly embedded in systems of governance, criminal justice, healthcare, and finance, the risk emerges that these technologies may entrench biases and exacerbate social inequalities. The mythic narrative, then, is not merely descriptive but prescriptive—it shapes the contours of power and, in doing so, influences the very fabric of society.

The interplay between myth and technology is not a new phenomenon. Throughout history, transformative innovations have been accompanied by narratives of both utopian promise and existential threat. The printing press, the steam engine, and the computer each ushered in radical shifts that reconfigured social and economic structures, yet they were also embedded within larger mythic frameworks—framed as either divine revelations or as instruments of impending doom. AI, in this sense, is the latest chapter in a long historical trajectory. It is not merely an advanced computational tool but a symbol of humanity’s ongoing struggle to impose meaning upon an uncertain world. Its mythic framing is not incidental but central to its social and political impact.

The urgency of interrogating these narratives cannot be overstated. The framing of AI as an autonomous force of progress often serves to obscure the human decisions and economic imperatives that drive its development. Just as Metropolis laid bare the class tensions underpinning mechanization, so too must contemporary critiques of AI question who benefits from its proliferation and who is left vulnerable. If AI is to serve humanity rather than merely the interests of the powerful, its mythic dimensions must be actively reshaped. Ricoeur’s hermeneutics provides a crucial tool for this endeavor, urging us to interrogate the ideological structures embedded within AI’s discourse and to resist narratives that naturalize inequality and control.

Ultimately, AI does not exist in a vacuum. It is shaped by and, in turn, shapes the cultural narratives that define intelligence, agency, and power. As Eliade reminds us, myth is not something humanity outgrows but something that continually reconfigures itself to meet the needs of each historical moment. Today, AI functions as a modern myth, carrying forward ancient archetypes of creation and destruction, promise and peril. But as Ricoeur teaches, myths are never neutral. They are sites of struggle, contested spaces where meaning is negotiated. If AI is to be more than a mechanism of economic consolidation and social control, its narrative must be rewritten. The task ahead is not only to develop AI responsibly but to engage in an ongoing dialogue about the values that underpin its creation. If we fail to interrogate the myths we construct around AI, we risk being governed not by intelligence—artificial or otherwise—but by an unchecked mythos that we have left unexamined.