Philippe Buschini Posts

A few years ago, we complained about having too much information. Today, our brains still run at their natural pace… but the world has hit x20.

So we tried to keep up. To go faster. And we did. So fast that we no longer read, we scroll. So fast that we no longer think, we react. And when we no longer have time to understand, we ask a machine to summarize the world for us. We’ve handed over to algorithms what made us most human: doubting, searching, fumbling, thinking. They answer faster, more clearly, more convincingly than we ever could.

And yet, something fades within that flawless surface: the effort to understand, the joy of discovery, the slow birth of meaning.

In this accelerated world, speed has become an ideal, almost a moral value. But by chasing it, we’ve stopped moving forward. We react instead of reflecting, we produce instead of thinking. What if real intelligence wasn’t about computing power, but about the ability to slow down?

That’s what this article is about: the speed that shapes our minds, the trap of automatic thinking, and the lucid slowness we must relearn, not to go backward, but to rediscover the art of inhabiting the world with attention.

Because in the age of artificial intelligence, thinking slowly is no longer a luxury, it’s an act of courage.

OPINION

What if, by letting machines think for us, we were slowly forgetting how to think at all?

Once, we had to get lost to learn how to find our way. Today, a synthetic voice guides us step by step, and our mind quietly drifts to sleep. We outsource everything: memory to the cloud, logic to algorithms, decisions to recommendations. It feels smooth, effortless, almost magical. But comfort comes at a cost, the slow erosion of intellectual effort.

We call it progress. Yet behind this promise of efficiency lies a silent drift: cognitive laziness. That subtle surrender where we stop reasoning, doubting, searching, and simply validate what a machine suggests.

This article explores that phenomenon, not to condemn technology, but to question what it’s turning us into: ever-assisted beings, seemingly brilliant, yet increasingly absent from their own thinking.

And perhaps, in this age of constant assistance, thinking is our last true act of freedom.

OPINION

There was a time when people said: “Americans invent, the Chinese copy, Europeans regulate.” Today, the US dominates AI, China manufactures the most advanced products… and Europe watches the train go by while debating whether ChatGPT should use gender-neutral pronouns.

Europe is quietly losing the global race for artificial intelligence and innovation. The United States invents, funds, and dominates: over $100 billion invested in AI in 2024, compared to less than $10 billion for China and mere crumbs for Europe. China, meanwhile, no longer copies, it now controls global production of robots, batteries, and semiconductors.

During this time, the European Union perfects its regulatory arsenal, without an industrial strategy or common vision. France loves to imagine itself as a Gaulish village: Mistral AI shines, Paris attracts attention, but 56% of French capital flees to the United States, and talent follows.

The result: a continent that regulates what it no longer produces, dependent on American clouds and Asian supply chains. If we’re not careful, the risk is becoming permanently a digital colony, merely consuming technologies designed elsewhere.

Europe can still react by linking regulation with industrial strategy, by investing massively, by unifying its markets. But the innovation train won’t wait for those who remain on the platform debating the color of the cars.

OPINION

344 times a day. That’s how often the average adult checks their phone, according to the BBC. Every four minutes. Even at night, even for no reason, even when there’s no notification.

In tropical rainforests, there’s an ant that climbs onto a leaf, locks itself in place, and dies. A fungus has taken control of its nervous system to better spread its spores. Biologists call it a parasitic infection. Poets might say: a dispossession of the living.

That fungus took millions of years to perfect its strategy. Our smartphones only needed a decade. The biological parasite forces its host. The digital parasite convinced its host it couldn’t live without it.

This parallel between biological parasitism and digital colonization isn’t just a metaphor. It’s an operating system. The same mechanisms, the same precision, the same result: a host working for its parasite while believing it’s acting freely.

So maybe the real question isn’t: are we addicted to our screens? But rather: at what point did we stop being the masters and become the host?

OPINION

Here is the third and final installment of my series on the privacy of our data. After exploring our own surrenders and the illusion of voluntary transparency, it’s time to ask the most unsettling question of all:

What are we leaving to our children? Not as a material inheritance, but as an inheritance of gaze.

For they are born into a world where the intimate fades before it has even existed, where surveillance dresses itself in the clothing of play, where freedom is confused with permanent connection. What was for us a loss is for them self-evident. Where we see an encroachment on privacy, they simply see life.

This article examines this silent shift: how do we pass down inner freedom to a generation that has never known secrecy? How do we teach depth to those we’ve accustomed to exposure? And above all, what will remain of freedom if we forget to teach it to them?

OPINION