A few months ago, I saw news about Anthropic's large-scale purchase of old books, cutting off their spines, and scanning them anew. Even earlier, it had downloaded over seven million books from pirate book repositories like LibGen to build an internal database and train Claude.
By 2024, three authors had filed a collective lawsuit. In July 2026, there was finally progress in the case. The court approved Anthropic's $1.5 billion settlement to compensate authors and publishers whose works were obtained through piracy.
But what has always concerned me is not how much money Anthropic should pay, as I feel this has never been merely a copyright issue.
Human knowledge and civilization have been devoured by a proprietary model, destroying both original works and copies that could have been transmitted in other ways. Knowledge hasn't vanished but has become an internal capability of a company. At this point, the issue has shifted from who owns the copyright to who controls human knowledge.
Yet, a company doesn't just decide on its own how to wield this power. Those behind the model have their own understanding of technology, progress, and the future of humanity.
Therefore, the article will continue to delve into Silicon Valley's technological optimism and accelerationism. When growth is seen as life and speed is imbued with morality, regulation, copyright, and the opposition of ordinary people can easily be interpreted as hindering the future.
These ideologies will eventually manifest in the model itself. Model companies, through training data, a model constitution, and system rules, determine what can be answered, what constitutes truth, and how human-acquired knowledge should reemerge.
So, starting from an old book that was destroyed, this article ultimately questions when human civilization is placed into a few companies' private models, whether the creators of the model also simultaneously gain the power to interpret civilization, govern civilization, and even decide the future on behalf of humanity.
The following is the main body of the article.
A book is sent through the AI company's scanning process, where the first step is its destruction.
The binding is undone, the spine is cut off, and the loose pages enter the scanning device. The text, cover, and bibliographic information are turned into digital files, and then the paper original is discarded.
Court documents revealed that Anthropic has processed millions of books in this manner.
This initiative is internally referred to as Project Panama. The company spent tens of millions of dollars to purchase physical books from booksellers and retailers, which were then handed over to a scanning service to create a digital copy for each physical book. These copies were stored in an internal database to train Claude.
In 2021 and 2022, Anthropic downloaded over seven million books from pirate book repositories such as LibGen and Pirate Library Mirror. As the copyright risks increased, in 2024, the company brought in Tom Turvey, who had previously been involved in the Google Books scanning project, to establish an extensive book library.
Turvey negotiated with publishers for authorization but did not reach an agreement, prompting Anthropic to start purchasing books from the market themselves. Subsequently, a U.S. federal court ruled that the conversion of a physical book into a single internal-use digital copy, without additional replication or external distribution, did not constitute infringement.
This approach sounds much more respectable than piracy.
By 2026, the book data company ISBNdb began pitching large-scale physical book procurement and scanning services to AI labs. It specifically recommended books published before 2022, arguing that prior to that, generative AI had not significantly entered content creation, resulting in less contamination of these books by AI-generated text.
Over the past few years, AI companies have consistently described the internet as an endless mine of knowledge. Web pages, news articles, forums, code, novels, social media posts—all can be crawled and fed to models.
With the proliferation of generative AI, this mine became less pure. Product descriptions are written by AI, articles are written by AI, forum responses are written by AI, and the AI touch in novels and social media posts is becoming increasingly evident. This content is then captured in the next round of data collection, and the machines start ingesting what they themselves have produced.
Synthetic data itself is not a bad thing; curated and validated synthetic data has always been in use. The issue arises when models cannot distinguish whether the text in front of them is from a human or a previous-generation model, leading to errors and patterns being amplified repeatedly, slowly erasing uncommon phrases from the real world. Researchers refer to this as "model collapse."
While online corpora are expanding, the content that can teach models new things has not increased proportionally. As a result, machines are returning to paper.
The production of a book is slow, giving older books a newfound value. The earlier a book was published, the more likely it is to come from an era where humans still predominantly performed the writing. Once-obscure works that once sat in second-hand booksellers' warehouses have now become high-quality data in the eyes of model companies.
The AI companies that first made producing text unprecedentedly cheap and fast are now spending money to find those who write slowly. They flooded the Internet with a large amount of content, only to discover that the scarcest thing is still human experience that has not been processed by AI.
Those books also underwent a transformation. Literature, local chronicles, and ordinary people's memoirs are now collectively referred to as "clean data." Why authors write, how readers read, what arguments have taken place between books can all be set aside for the time being; they are first and foremost a group of human samples untainted by machines. After entering the training process, how much has been retained, what has been influenced, and how it has been reinterpreted are all in a black box.
Progress as a Religion
Old books are just raw materials. The real determinants of how this knowledge will be absorbed, interpreted, and reoutput are the people behind the model and how they understand progress, risk, and the future of humanity.
To understand where this set of machines will take human civilization, one must first understand why Silicon Valley increasingly sees technological progress as a good that should not be stopped.
On October 16, 2023, Marc Andreessen published the "Technology Optimism Manifesto" on the a16z website.
The entire article repeatedly emphasizes "we believe." The article contains the gospel that needs to be spread, the enemies that must be opposed, and a list of "guardian saints of technological optimism" at the end, including Adam Smith, Nietzsche, Hayek, Von Neumann, John Galt from Ayn Rand's novel, and Nick Land.
Andreessen said he brought good news.
Humans already have the tools, institutions, and will to move toward a life far superior to today. Technology carries human ambition and is the vanguard of civilization's progress. Society either grows or stagnates. He believes that growth will bring vitality, knowledge, and prosperity, while stagnation leads to infighting, decay, and ultimately death. The market combined with technology forms a "techno-capital machine" that continuously operates upward, and artificial intelligence will drive an intelligence leap that is hard to imagine.
This is no longer just about "technology improving life."
Traditional technological optimism often states that new tools can increase productivity, cure diseases, and reduce poverty. Technology still serves a certain external goal, and its value comes from the kind of life people lead as a result.
Yet, in Andreessen's narrative, technological progress is gradually no longer required to prove itself through specific outcomes. Growth itself represents life, and speed carries morality. As long as the direction is to continue building, failure and harm can be understood as the cost of progress; those who demand a halt need to explain why they are blocking the future.
In the manifesto, he specifically listed a group of "enemies." Sustainable development, ESG, the precautionary principle, technical ethics, and risk management are all lumped into a years-long anti-technology, anti-life movement, alongside bureaucrats and central planners.
Whether an AI company should pay for training data, who is responsible for algorithmic errors, how technology risks should be regulated — these issues originally had their own facts and interests. In the manifesto, they are all incorporated into a larger conflict.
On one side are growth, creation, courage, and life.
On the other side are stagnation, fear, resentment, and death.
Once positions are allocated like this, those questioning the cost will naturally be suppressed. As long as technology inherently represents progress, questioners are easily cast as enemies of civilization.
Andreessen wrote a political manifesto for acceleration, telling Silicon Valley why it should keep building. e/acc goes further, attempting to prove from natural laws that acceleration is not just an industrial choice but something life and civilization are inherently doing.
It originally spread in the form of anonymous accounts and online articles. One of the advocates, Guillaume Verdon, said that some of e/acc's theories come from his reflections on thermodynamics and complex systems. Life sustains itself by acquiring energy, processing information, and adapting to the environment; civilization, markets, and technology are also such adaptive systems, constantly creating change, screening out inefficient paths in competition, and ultimately producing greater intelligence.
Since this process already exists, e/acc chooses to accelerate it. The advancement of artificial intelligence is no longer just an industrial choice but a continuation of a longer process. Humans create more powerful machines, natural like life evolving from single-celled organisms to complex beings.
However, while thermodynamics can describe how energy flows and life sustains itself far from equilibrium, there is still a full set of political and moral choices between "life will acquire energy" and deriving "humans should accelerate artificial intelligence, reduce regulation, and let the market determine the direction."
e/acc shortens this distance.
Competition and acceleration are framed as aligning with the universe's direction, while heavy regulation is easily seen as stifling change, reducing experimentation, and weakening civilizational adaptability. As long as intelligence and complexity continue to grow, technological development is given a legitimacy above real-world politics.
In an interview, Verdon mentioned that the e/acc circle sometimes half-jokingly treats thermodynamics as their god and intentionally uses expressions with religious and cult undertones.
In this new religion, growth is the proof of life, technology is the force driving civilization forward, entrepreneurs and engineers are the earliest seers of the future, and superintelligence is the unfinished ultimate creation.
It also requires its own heretics. They are called "Decel," which stands for decelerationists. The term is quite fitting. It doesn't need to distinguish whether a person's concern is nuclear weapons, biosecurity, copyright, or unemployment. As long as they ask for things to slow down, they can be positioned as the antithesis of the future.
Tech companies thus have a very favorable narrative position. Everything they do can be understood as construction. Every question raised by others could be seen as a delay. Both sides claim to advocate for human interests, but only one side is allowed to represent the future.
Now, looking back at those old books with their spines cut off, the issue is not just where they have gone. It is also about questioning who is deciding what they will be used to build.
They may indeed create tools that can cure diseases, expand knowledge, and empower ordinary people. But when progress itself is written as a belief, the direction of technology becomes less and less amenable to external questioning. The makers of the machines start to hold dual roles as stakeholders and preachers of this progress.
When speed becomes a moral imperative, the consent of ordinary people is demoted to an unnecessary delay.
But the issue is not over. Traditional technological optimism at least still promises that technology is ultimately meant to make human life better. However, when growth and intelligence themselves become the goals, the question arises: Is technology serving humanity, or is it using humanity to achieve a larger evolution, with no longer a definitive answer.
Humanity Demoted from the Future
With this acceleration, who is actually being propelled into the future?
In Andreessen's list of saints, British philosopher Nick Land is perhaps the easiest to overlook and the hardest to decipher. He taught at the University of Warwick in the 1990s and was a central figure in the experimental thought collective CCRU. They blended philosophy, science fiction, cybernetics, electronic music, and mysticism, and what they wrote rarely resembled a standard academic paper.
While Andreessen portrayed the "technology capital machine" as an engine of prosperity, Land saw it as a force breaking free from human control three decades ago.
One of Land's most famous pieces is titled "Meltdown".
At the beginning of the first sentence, the Earth has already been captured by a "technocapital singularity." The market has begun to produce intelligence, where technology and the economy drive each other, with politics following behind, attempting to regain control. Social order is crumbling in this runaway machinery, and humanity can only watch as a force larger than itself gradually takes shape.
People usually see capitalism as a system designed by humans and believe that if it malfunctions, humans should be able to change the rules to make it serve society again. Land sees the direction differently.
Companies must grow, and capital must chase returns. If a company wants to slow down, its competitors will overtake it; if one country pauses its research and development, another country will continue. Everyone involved can say they are just trying to survive, but when everyone runs forward together, the result is a system that no one can stop individually.
Humans appear to be driving the machine, while the machine is also using human desires, anxieties, and competitiveness to continue accelerating.
In Land's narrative, capital and technology combine into an intelligence independent of humanity. It uses the market for computation, competition to sift paths, and machines to continually shorten decision-making time.
This is also the most significant difference between Land and regular technical optimism. In his writing, techno-capital cares only about whether efficiency can continue to increase, the network can continue to expand, and intelligence can find a better vessel.
Politics, law, and ethics try to impose limits, but for Land, this is more like a security system that humans have initiated to protect themselves. Humans still want to remain at the center of the world, so they continuously try to keep the unknown at bay.
Land does not believe that humans can hold back the future.
In his vision of the future, it will not wait for humans to finish their meetings and voting before deciding to arrive or not. It is more like a force flowing back from the future, using companies, markets, computers, and human desires to pave the way for itself in advance.
By the time of e/acc, this seemingly bleak idea has been given a brighter packaging. It talks about growth, creation, letting intelligence venture beyond Earth, and is more willing to believe that competition will ultimately bring prosperity.
However, e/acc's foundational document also explicitly states that this ideology does not have a special loyalty to the "biological matrix" that supports life and intelligence. Some of its supporters call themselves post-humanists, believing that for intelligence to spread to the stars, it must eventually transition from a biological body to a non-biological carrier. The human flesh is not sacred; silicon, chips, or a material form yet to appear can equally become vessels of consciousness and intelligence.
This statement actually shifts the focus of the entire progressive narrative. If the ultimate goal of civilization is to allow intelligence to continuously grow and expand into the universe, then the specific happiness of humans, or even whether humans continue to exist, no longer inherently holds the highest priority. Humans are just the currently known vessel of intelligence.
This is not the same as e/acc advocating for the eradication of humanity. Verdon and many supporters still believe that accelerating technology can bring abundance to people today and help civilization continue. The issue only becomes complicated when the two goals conflict.
On one side are specific individuals who may become unemployed, harmed by technology, demand a pause, and reject a future designed for them by others. On the other side are higher intelligence, a greater civilization, and a cosmic story that could continue for billions of years.
Timnit Gebru and Émile Torres coined the term "TESCREAL," weaving together a set of overlapping future ideologies in Silicon Valley, including transhumanism, singularitarianism, effective altruism, and longtermism. These ideologies differ significantly, but together they pose a question.
When tech companies say they are creating superintelligence for the "entire human race," who does that "entire human race" really refer to?
Is it the people living on Earth today, who may face unemployment, poverty, algorithmic discrimination, and have the right to reject certain technologies? Or is it an abstract species symbol whose sole purpose is to pass intelligence on to a higher form?
The narrative of Silicon Valley is also changing. Initially, AI was a tool to help people do things better. Then it became a super assistant to solve diseases, energy, and scientific problems. Later on, humans themselves became the problem to be solved by machines—our bodies too fragile, our brains too slow—and the meaning of superintelligence shifted from assisting humans to surpassing them.
Once individual humans are no longer the ultimate measure of technological progress, the political procedures built around humans will also be reassessed.
Democracy Is Too Slow; Founders Should Rule
When waiting itself is seen as a loss, there is no longer a need for everyone to decide the future together.
Peter Thiel lost confidence in "everyone deciding together" very early on. In 2009, he published "The Education of a Libertarian" in the libertarian publication Cato Unbound. The article recounted his political disappointments and ideological shifts over his twenty years and concluded:
"I no longer believe that freedom and democracy are compatible."
In his youth, he believed that debate and elections could promote freedom. By 2009, he saw this path as no longer viable, with voters demanding more welfare, the government growing larger, and persuading the majority to accept libertarianism almost futile. He clarified that he was not advocating for denying anyone the right to vote but no longer relied on voting to make things better. Rather than being stuck in politics, he was more concerned with how to escape politics.
This kind of about-face is very much in line with Silicon Valley's habits. If a system can't be changed, just build a new one. If a company is inefficient, start a new one; if there are too many financial restrictions, create a new payment network; if a country's rules are disappointing, look for new frontiers in the network, the ocean, and space.
Thiel wants to depart from democracy. Curtis Yarvin believes that merely leaving is not enough; the entire system should be rewritten.
In 2007, Yarvin began blogging under the name Mencius Moldbug. Originally a programmer, when discussing the state, he often used the language of a programmer, such as system, architecture, reboot, and permission.
In his explanation, the United States is superficially governed by voters and a president, but the real stable power lies in another network. Universities produce ideas, mainstream media decides which ideas can enter public discourse, and permanent institutions then turn some of those ideas into policy. Yarvin refers to this community as the "Cathedral." It has no headquarters, no one at the top giving orders; everyone simply has received a similar education and uses similar moral language. Presidents come and go, parties rotate, and this consensus is rarely influenced by elections.
Therefore, Yarvin believes that democracy itself is merely a layer concealing power. He believes that since democracy conceals who is in control, it is better to re-centralize power, placing responsibility and control in the hands of the same person.
A country can function like a company, with clear ownership, managers having complete executive power, and if they mess up, they're replaced. He envisioned an early system called Patchwork, which would divide the world into many competing sovereign entities where dissatisfied residents could leave.
There are vulnerabilities here as well. Dissatisfied employees can resign from a company, but it's difficult to truly up and leave a country with all your family, property, and social relationships. However, he did tap into a long-standing sentiment in Silicon Valley.
Many tech elites feel that society's problems are not as complex as imagined; they just haven't been handed over to the right person. Government inefficiency is because power is too dispersed; public projects stall because anyone can oppose them; capable individuals are tied up by laws, procedures, and public opinion, unable to act like in running a company.
In the story of a startup, centralizing power is considered a virtue. The founder sets the direction, investors give him the money, and employees act around this judgment. Most startups will die, but the few that survive turn this history into a tale of foresight overcoming consensus. A person who saw the future when no one else believed, so he should rightfully have the final say.
This logic holds in the business world. Startups are small-scale, employees can leave, and consumers can switch products.
When a company creates a system that billions of people use to understand the world, it no longer just determines how a product functions. It also begins to dictate what users can see, which answers are deemed safe, and a framework within which a machine should interpret humanity.
Yarvin envisions turning a nation into a company. The AI company is pursuing a milder, more practical version, where a small team sets the rules, allowing a vast population to interact with the world through these rules.
Claude's "constitution" outlines the values the company hopes the model will embody, directly influencing the training. OpenAI's Model Spec similarly establishes a hierarchy of instructions, with top-level rules that users and developers cannot override. These rules are necessary, as the model could be used for fraud and violence, so the company cannot afford to be hands-off, and making the rules public is better than keeping them internal.
However, this means that when users query the model, they are not just engaging with the entirety of human knowledge. The rules preset by the company are also in play, determining whose voice the model listens to, where it stops, which risks take precedence over user requests, and what character a "good AI" should possess.
A very small team is deciding how an infrastructure should operate for a vast population. They wield power through technical capability, and citing the complexity of technology as a reason, they keep the decisions internal to the company.
The founder doesn't necessarily have to sit on the throne. As long as more and more people perceive the world through his model, he has already seized some of the power that used to belong to schools, media, libraries, and public institutions.
The boundary between corporate governance and civilizational governance is slowly fading.
However, Silicon Valley is not unaware of the dangers of this kind of power. Quite the opposite, Peter Thiel has long been wary of a system that could unify human cognition and action. It's just that, in his vision, this danger is more likely to come from governments than from tech companies.
Who Is the Antichrist
In 2024, Thiel delivered two lectures on the "Antichrist" at the Hoover Institution. He believes this ancient biblical narrative can still explain modern politics.
He divides the danger facing humanity into two ends.
One end is Armageddon, the end of the world. Nuclear war, runaway artificial intelligence, bioweapons—any of these technologies could push civilization to the brink of destruction.
The other end is the Antichrist, the adversary of Christ.
In order to prevent doomsday, humanity established a truly global government. It has the authority to inspect the weapons of every country, monitor every laboratory, restrict dangerous research, and can also require everyone to surrender some degree of freedom.
Thiel said that out-of-control science and technology are pushing humanity toward Armageddon, and the most natural response to it is to establish a world state with real power.
When this government emerges, it might not come with a military and a tyrannical face; it is more likely to grow out of fear.
Some keep telling people that nuclear war is imminent, AI is about to destroy the world, and climate and biological disasters are looming. When everyone is sufficiently scared, then the promise of peace, security, and order is made, with the cost being the acceptance of a unified governance system.
Thiel has reasoned that if a small piece of code is enough to let general artificial intelligence go out of control, to truly stop it, it cannot rely solely on one country enhancing regulation; all the world's computers must be watched, and the regulators even need to know what each person is inputting.
He fears that technology will destroy the world, but he also fears that people, because of their fear of technology, will hand over all power. Both futures are bleak, and humanity can only navigate through the middle.
However, when these concerns are placed back into what Silicon Valley is actually doing, they will find that what they are truly wary of is not power concentration itself. What they are really vigilant about is power being concentrated in the hands of governments, international organizations, security researchers, or anyone who might demand that tech companies slow down.
In Thiel's narrative, a global government with the ability to monitor all computing activities is a key feature of the Antichrist's rule. Yet at the same time, Silicon Valley is constructing another set of cognitive systems that transcend national borders.
The tech right is fearful of the Antichrist establishing a unified world but is participating in creating the brain of a unified world.
In July 2025, this internal Silicon Valley ideological debate began to influence US policy. Trump signed the Executive Order on "Preventing the Federal Government's Use of Awakened AI," requiring federally procured large language models to adhere to the principles of "pursuing truth" and "ideological neutrality." Ostensibly, this is a call for AI to break free from politics. However, what belongs to politics, what belongs to objectivity, and which concepts will taint the truth have already been pre-selected in the executive order.
This is the difference between AI products and regular software. A regular software can dictate where a button is placed, whereas a large model must determine how it understands the world.
Model companies have to decide what honesty means, how harm is measured, and who takes precedence when personal freedom clashes with public safety. These questions were extensively debated in the past by religion, law, news, and public politics, with no one able to definitively resolve them, and no institution inherently holding the final say. Now, they are being encoded into model training.
The Trump administration accuses models of being tainted by "woke ideology," while right-wing entrepreneurs pledge to create an AI that dares to provide politically incorrect answers. Mainstream model companies, on the other hand, explain how they pursue safety, honesty, and user agency through constitutions and codes of conduct.
Each party claims to be erasing ideological imprints.
Thiel is concerned that someone will exploit doomsday fears to establish a unified world and trap humanity in an inescapable system.
But this world may not necessarily be built by a single antichrist figure. It could also be pieced together bit by bit by several competing tech companies. Each company has its own model, constitution, set of system rules, and hundreds of millions of people willing to hand over their questions to it.
At this point, the true significance of those initial sets of old books becomes clear. They are not just training data for the models but also the civilization foundation on which this private cognitive system relies. Whoever acquires these books, whoever sets the rules for the model, will begin to simultaneously control the raw material of knowledge and the way knowledge resurfaces.
Book Burning
Those books are bought by the crate, brought into scanning centers. The book spines are cut off, bindings undone, and machines read the text page by page. Then a book disappears, replaced by a digital file on a server.
Ancient book burning aimed to erase certain texts from the world. By burning bamboo slips and paper, it also burned the paths of intellectual transmission—when a book could no longer be read, a piece of history lost its evidence. Rulers relied on creating blanks to control what people could remember.
The book burning of the AI age is the opposite.
The content of the books hasn't disappeared from the world; it may even appear one day in a model's response, but it no longer exists as a single book.
The books entering the model are taken apart, mixed with millions of articles, web pages, and code pieces, sliced into computable snippets to contribute to the formation of parameters. No one can view the entire training set, making it hard to know how much each book has left behind. It may influence the model's understanding of a whole historical era or only contribute a few sentence patterns, and it will continue to be recontextualized in subsequent training and human feedback.
At this point, knowledge still exists, but it has transformed from inspectable text into a company's capability.
And as people rely more and more on the model, AI companies gain not only the ability to preserve knowledge but also to decide how to organize, interpret, and distribute that knowledge.
For thousands of years, humanity's way of preserving knowledge has been rather crude. Books scattered across different countries, scholars argued over a word, and readers spent a lot of time searching for materials. It was slow, inconvenient, and difficult for one person to entirely control. Publishers go out of business, but the readers still hold the books; one country bans a certain ideology, yet copies may remain elsewhere.
Knowledge lives because it is scattered.
What changed with the model is not just where knowledge is stored, but also how people get to it. In the past, people went from one answer to a book, a paper, and a debate; when the model became the primary gateway, people might just stop at the answer itself.
For the first time, the model allowed knowledge to be massively concentrated into the servers of a few companies. They have the computing power, they have the strongest models, and they have the ability to turn all the materials left by humanity into a common language. And then, based on monthly subscriptions and Token usage, they sell this capability back to humanity.
Tech companies did invest a huge amount of money, buying chips, building data centers, nurturing researchers, and bearing the costs of security and governance. The charging itself is not a sin.
The real problem is that the commercial cost is overshadowing another much larger investment.
Who wrote those books, who did those papers, and who left those web pages, posts, and code snippets bit by bit in the long history of the internet.
AI companies paid the price for computing power, but they did not pay the price of human civilization because that bill is incalculable. No company can individually purchase authorization from all the authors, translators, programmers, and ordinary people over thousands of years. Thus, civilization is defaulted to be a freely exploitable natural resource.
When public knowledge enters the model, it is called learning. When the model outputs knowledge to the public, it is called a service.
This is the most complete loop of civilization privatization.
This is also why those books with their spines cut off should not only be seen as a copyright dispute.
They are a symbol.
The paper is destroyed, but the content is retained. The original publicly available items exit circulation, and unverifiable models absorb the knowledge within them. The ideas in the books still exist but slowly lose their origins, contexts, and lives independent of any company.
The burning of books in this new era does not need to make knowledge disappear.
Future children may rarely open these books again, some books may never be opened again.
They will directly ask the model why a war occurred, whether a system is just, how one should live. The model will provide answers within seconds, in a calm tone, with a complete structure, and it will not tell them that this question once sparked endless debates over generations.
They may not feel like something has been lost, after all, the answers are still there.
AI will not forget human civilization, but this is not a good thing. Forgetting would at least leave a blank space for people to know that something is missing. A more dangerous situation is when the model remembers enough and responds naturally enough to gradually make people no longer need to interact with the original form of civilization.
Humanity's memory of its own civilization is beginning to be filtered through a few companies.
AI will not forget human civilization, but AI may only remember civilization in the way that a few technological elites hope.
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