Every society, whether it worships gods or not, divides the world into the sacred and the profane. The division is not optional, not cultural decoration, not a residue of superstition. It is a structural feature of collective life itself. The sacred is not defined by its content but by how the community treats it: with prohibitions, rituals, reverence, and the shared sense that casual handling would constitute violation. The sacralization is a collective act, and the community invests objects, practices, and bodies of knowledge with significance that transcends their utilitarian function. Applied to the AI transition, this framework diagnoses what is happening to deep expertise with diagnostic precision. Expertise was sacred — set apart, earned through sacrifice, surrounded by implicit prohibitions against casual appropriation — and the AI transition is profaning it, moving it from the domain of the set-apart to the domain of the ordinary.
There is a parallel reading that begins not with the community's treatment of expertise but with the material conditions that enable any distinction between sacred and profane. The server farms consuming nations' worth of electricity, the extraction economies feeding rare earth metals into chip fabrication, the concentrated capital required to train foundation models — these are not neutral substrates but the physical architecture of profanation itself. What Durkheim could not anticipate was a form of desacralization that operates through computational brute force rather than social transformation.
The lived experience of profanation follows predictable patterns of economic violence. The radiologist whose decade of training becomes redundant does not experience a Durkheimian transition between sacred states; she experiences unemployment, mortgage default, identity collapse in a society that offers no alternative framework for worth. The sacred/profane distinction assumes a community that collectively manages meaning, but under platform capitalism, the profanation of expertise is not a communal decision but a boardroom calculation. Google, OpenAI, and Anthropic are not communities reaching new consensus about what deserves reverence — they are profit-maximizing entities whose business model requires the systematic commodification of every domain of human specialness. The interregnum Edo describes is not a transitional phase but potentially a permanent condition: a world where nothing remains sacred because the economic logic of AI requires everything to be computable, replicable, and therefore profane. The new sacred of 'judgment' he proposes may simply be the last stand before that too is algorithmically captured.
Profanation is a specific operation, not the same as destruction. The profaned object is not annihilated — it is demoted. It is made common. It is stripped of the special treatment that constituted its sacred character. Calligraphy survived the printing press; the skill persisted. What did not survive was the calligrapher's sacred status, the social position of one who had undergone an ordeal to acquire capabilities the community treated as set apart.
The grief that displaced professionals express — the grief of the elegists in The Orange Pill, the senior architect who felt like a master calligrapher watching the printing press arrive — is the grief of profanation. It is not primarily economic, though economic consequences follow. It is the specific pain of watching something sacred become ordinary, and it is difficult to articulate because the vocabulary of the marketplace does not contain a word for the sacred.
The sociological framework insists that profanation creates an interregnum — a period between the desecration of the old sacred and the consecration of the new. During this interregnum, professionals who built their identities around the old sacred are left without a framework for understanding their own value. The author of The Orange Pill proposes judgment as the candidate for new sacrality. The candidate is plausible, but sacrality is a collective achievement, not an intellectual argument. It requires sustained communal investment of significance — the kind of slow, patient, collective work that generations of ritual and mutual recognition produce.
The distinction between the sacred and the profane is the deepest analytical layer of Durkheim's sociology. Everything else — solidarity, collective conscience, ritual, moral regulation — is built on it. Its application to the AI transition reveals dimensions of the current crisis that economic analysis cannot see: the moral dimension of displacement, the loss of worlds rather than merely jobs, the interregnum between profaned expertise and not-yet-consecrated new forms of specialness.
The distinction was developed most fully in The Elementary Forms of Religious Life (1912), where Durkheim argued through ethnographic analysis of Australian aboriginal totemism that the sacred/profane division is the most universal feature of human religious and social life. Every society, however simple or complex, organizes reality through this binary.
Mircea Eliade's The Sacred and the Profane (1957) extended the framework into comparative religion. Roger Caillois's Man and the Sacred (1939) developed its implications for social theory. The framework's application to modern secular societies — including the sacralization of nation, science, and expertise — was pursued by Robert Bellah, Philip Rieff, and the sociology of civil religion.
Treatment, not content. The sacred is defined by how the community treats it, not by what it is intrinsically.
Profanation is demotion, not destruction. The skills persist; the special treatment does not. The object is not annihilated but made common.
Grief of profanation. The loss of sacred status is a specific form of loss that economic vocabulary cannot name.
Interregnum. Between the profanation of the old sacred and the consecration of the new lies a period of moral disorientation that cannot be intellectually shortcut.
Consecration is collective and slow. A candidate for new sacrality cannot be argued into existence; it requires sustained communal investment.
The framework's power depends entirely on which scale we examine. At the civilizational scale, Edo's Durkheimian reading is essentially correct (90%): societies do organize reality through sacred/profane distinctions, and AI is indeed profaning expertise in precisely the way he describes — through demotion rather than destruction. The grief of the profaned professional is real and follows the pattern of calligraphers watching printing presses arrive. This sociological lens captures something economic analysis misses: the moral dimension of technological displacement.
At the scale of political economy, however, the contrarian view dominates (75%): the material infrastructure of AI and its ownership structure are not neutral vessels for social transformation but active agents of profanation. When we ask 'who decides what becomes profane?' the answer is not 'the community' but 'whoever controls the compute.' The platform companies are not participating in collective meaning-making; they are imposing new hierarchies of value through market power. The interregnum may be less a transitional phase than a new steady state of perpetual disruption.
The synthesis emerges when we recognize that both sacred-making and sacred-breaking now operate at multiple scales simultaneously. Communities still consecrate (Edo is right about judgment as a candidate), but their consecrations compete with algorithmic profanation operating at unprecedented speed and scale. The question is not whether expertise was sacred and is becoming profane — both views agree on this — but whether any human-speed process of collective meaning-making can establish new sacred domains faster than AI can profane them. The real insight may be that we are witnessing the first desacralization in history that operates faster than communities can respond, creating not an interregnum but a condition where the very capacity for collective consecration is under threat.