Tag: <span>ETHICS</span>

There is a strange moment when you realise something has shifted. You log in, you scroll, you click… and there’s this dull fatigue, as if every gesture demands a little more energy than it did yesterday. The services we once loved have grown heavy, chatty, saturated with demands. You catch yourself sighing at a feed that looks less and less like a conversation, and more like a supermarket hallway on stimulants.

This slide isn’t anecdotal. It’s a precise mechanism, patient, almost geometric. First the platforms charm us, then they tighten their grip, and eventually they squeeze. And we stay there, convinced it’s normal. Because “everyone is there”. Because leaving would cost too much, too many files, too many connections, too many habits.

What if this slow deterioration wasn’t a fate, but a system?
What if the tools designed to simplify our lives had turned into machines that erode our attention, our knowledge, and sometimes even our institutions?

We may have entered an era where technology doesn’t simply malfunction, it decays methodically, and takes us with it. The challenge now is not indignation, but understanding. Because once a mechanism is decoded, it stops being a trap.

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.

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?