In E.M. Forster’s prophetic 1909 novella The Machine Stops, humanity lives in isolation. Each person is confined to a small, cell-like room where all physical and intellectual needs—food, music, literature, even conversation—are delivered by the omnipotent Machine. People no longer travel, touch, or question. They speak of the Machine with reverence, as if it were a god. “You talk as if a god had made the Machine,” one character observes. “I believe that you pray to it when you are unhappy.”

Once considered far-fetched, Forster’s vision now feels uncannily familiar. Today, we have Uber for transport, HelloFresh for meals, Spotify for music, Amazon Prime for consumer needs, and Zoom to “connect” with loved ones. We are not yet sealed in pods—but many of us live highly digital, disembodied lives, dependent on unseen infrastructures that power our convenience.

But behind this frictionless lifestyle lies a growing unease: Are we freer than ever—or quietly enslaved by comfort?

The Illusion of Ease

Convenience promises efficiency, but it often comes with invisible costs. The more we automate and delegate, the less we engage directly with the world. Digital services reduce friction, but they also reduce depth.

Forster captured this hollowing out of human experience. His characters worship the Machine and fear the outside world. “Beware of first-hand ideas!” one warns. “First-hand ideas do not really exist. They are but the physical impressions produced by love and fear.” In this world, originality is dangerous. Physical presence is almost obscene. People communicate only through video screens—eerily close to our Zoom-saturated reality.

This curated life may seem easy, but studies show it’s increasingly stressful. Digital burnout, decision fatigue, and algorithm-induced anxiety are rising. Loneliness is now considered a public health crisis. The Machine, so to speak, is humming along—but we’re the ones breaking down.

Tacitus and the Ancient Warning

This isn't a new dilemma. The Roman historian Tacitus described a strikingly similar phenomenon during the Roman Empire’s colonization of Britain. In Agricola (written around 98 AD), he recounts how Roman authorities pacified the fierce, freedom-loving Britons—not through violence, but through seduction by luxury.

“The Britons were gradually led into demoralising servitude by the attractions of Roman culture,” Tacitus wrote. “They gave the name of ‘civilisation’ to this aspect of their slavery.” (Agricola, Chapter 21)

The Roman governor Agricola introduced Roman baths, forums, fashionable clothing, and liberal education. Tacitus wasn’t fooled. He saw it not as progress, but as a strategy of pacification: “All this in their ignorance, they called civilisation, when it was but a part of their servitude.”

Tacitus’s insight still resonates. People can be subdued not only by force, but by comfort. Freedom isn’t always taken—it’s sometimes traded, quietly, for ease.

From Luxury to Necessity

Over time, luxuries become expectations. Smartphones, same-day delivery, smart homes—once considered futuristic indulgences—are now seen as basic tools for modern life. This shift isn’t inherently bad. After all, progress is part of human evolution. Indoor plumbing, antibiotics, and electricity vastly improved quality of life.

The Machine Still Runs: Are We Enslaved by Convenience?

But when convenience becomes a default, we risk losing perspective. We may forget that the value of many things—conversation, creativity, resilience—lies precisely in their effort and complexity. When everything becomes easy, we may start mistaking passivity for peace.

In The Machine Stops, Forster warns that “the Machine develops—but not on our lines. The Machine proceeds—but not to our goal.” He foresaw that our tools might one day evolve beyond our control, driven more by their internal logic than by human purpose. Sound familiar?

Comfortable in the Dark: Fahrenheit 451 and the Erosion of Thought

Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 presents a chilling vision of a society that willingly trades depth for ease. In this world, books are outlawed not simply by force, but because people no longer want to be challenged. “It didn’t come from the government down,” explains one character. “There was no dictum, no declaration, no censorship to start with… Technology, mass exploitation, and minority pressure carried the trick.”

Citizens spend their days immersed in constant entertainment via massive wall-sized screens, surrounded by noise but starved of meaning. The richness of literature and real conversation is replaced by superficial interaction and numbing spectacle. Bradbury’s warning is clear: when comfort becomes more important than understanding, thinking withers—and freedom soon follows.

We’re not burning books, but we are losing our appetite for sustained thought. Today’s equivalent of Bradbury’s screens are the infinite scroll of TikTok, the autoplay of Netflix, and the endless churn of algorithm-fed content. In an attention economy, complexity is the enemy. As information becomes easier to access, many of us are consuming more—and thinking less.

This leads to what researchers are now calling digital obesity: not physical but cognitive overconsumption. Just as overeating processed food harms the body, overconsuming low-quality digital content—clickbait headlines, AI summaries, short-form videos—leads to poor intellectual health. We are stuffed with data, but starved of meaning.

The rise of AI has only sharpened the issue. Increasingly, we outsource not just tasks, but thinking itself. Students use AI to write papers. Workers use it to draft emails, summarise meetings, and generate ideas. While AI is a powerful tool, overreliance risks turning it into a cognitive crutch. If we stop engaging with problems—stop reflecting, reading, analysing—we weaken the mental muscles that enable independent thought.

In Fahrenheit 451, the firemen burned books to keep society quiet. Today, we don’t need firemen. We have convenience, speed, and distraction doing the job just fine.

Finding the Balance: Evolution, Not Escape

The point is not to reject technology or long for a pre-digital world. Tools are part of what makes us human—our ability to innovate, adapt, and improve life is a defining strength. But the real challenge lies in balance.

Warm baths and togas didn’t destroy the Britons. AI won’t destroy us. But forgetting why we value thought, discomfort, and deep attention just might. We must not confuse a frictionless life with a fulfilling one.

Wisdom is not a product of ease. It’s born of experience, struggle, reflection, and engagement. We can embrace technology without becoming its servant. We can use the Machine—without letting it use us.