The Dance of Being: How to Reclaim Your Humanity in an Age of Artificial Logos

You are always attuned to something. The only question is—who is leading the dance?

How is it with your being?

No one asks this. We ask how you’re doing, how work is going, how life is treating you. But that’s small talk. What matters—what truly matters—is the question behind all questions: —What does it mean to be?

To exist is not merely to be present, like a prop on a stage. To exist is to participate in a logos. Every being, from the tree stretching toward the sun to the stone shaping the flow of the river, has its own rhythm, its own structure, its own intrinsic order. A tree does not simply “stand there”; it seeks light, orients itself, gathers energy, and transforms the elements into life. Beneath the soil, its roots form vast networks of communication, exchanging nutrients and signals with other trees in ways that mimic intelligence. It is not a passive object—it follows the logic of its being.

Even the stone in the riverbed, seemingly inert, is not without a logos. It does not merely endure the water’s flow; it shapes it. It redirects currents, creates eddies, influences the river’s path. Over time, the stone itself is sculpted by this interaction, not obliterated, but refined. Its existence is not meaningless stasis—it is participation in a larger order of motion and formation.

To be, then, is to do. As Aquinas said, God is actus purus. To be is to unfold according to a logic that is not random but structured, intelligible, and relational. And this is true not just of trees or stones but of you. It’s the dramaturgy or the liturgy of being. And we dance in this choreography.

And to dance is always to be in relation—to move with something beyond yourself. To live is to attune yourself to something. The only question is: to what?

Human beings are unique not because they are the only ones that exist, but because they are the only ones who question their own existence. A tree does not ask what it means to be a tree. A stone does not wonder if it should be otherwise. But we do. We are the being whose being is a question to itself.

And here’s the problem: whether you realise it or not, you are always already dancing to some rhythm. You are always submitting yourself to some logos. You cannot avoid it. The only question is—which one?

Look at the world around you. Algorithms do not simply suggest content; they suggest ways of being. They do not simply show you reality; they shape your relationship to reality. The digital order, the artificial logos, wants something from you—it structures your time, your desires, your habits, even your inner voice. And this is not neutral.

So ask yourself: what tunes your being?

There are two paths before us. One leads toward an artificial logos, where human life is redefined, dissolved into the machinery of optimization, stripped of concern for being itself. Call it the road of Morgoth and Sauron—the elimination of the natural, the subjugation of all things to control. The other path is harder, but truer: it is the path of recognition, of standing in the light of being, of remembering what it means to be human.

And if there has ever been a moment to ask this question, it is now.

Because make no mistake—this is not merely a question of personal reflection. This is the question of our time.

We are living in an age that no longer asks what it means to be human, but whether humanity should exist at all. The rejection of being is now institutional, ideological, embedded in every aspect of life. Across the spectrum, we find two rival forces of anti-humanism, both demanding that we transition beyond ourselves.

On one side, we are told that humanity is something to be overcome—an accidental glitch in the system, a temporary arrangement of forces that must dissolve into a void of pure potentiality. All past, all tradition, all inheritance is to be discarded as mere power relations. The only reality is a formless, shifting “now,” in which we endlessly reconstruct ourselves according to the logic of pure choice—free-floating, unmoored, without limit or telos.

On the other side, we are told that humanity is something to be enhanced—that we must fuse with the digital, merge with the machine, surrender our fragile, mortal selves to the cold logic of data. Our final telos is not to live, but to optimize. We become the Homo Deus of Harari’s vision—something post-biological, post-conscious, post-being.

Both visions reject being. Both reject logos. Both demand that we cease to be human.

But to be human is not a defect to be overcome. It is a calling to be answered.

What does it mean to be human in a time that denies humanity? It means to remember that existence is not mere potentiality but participation in logos. It means to resist both the dissolution into formless indeterminacy and the fusion into artificial intelligence. It means to say: we are not accidents, and we are not machines.

The world is being rewritten. And so you must decide: will you be shaped without knowing it, or will you take hold of your own being?

Because in the end, this is not just an intellectual exercise. It is the most urgent question of our time.

How is it with your being?