Back to Life
Have We Entered the Age of Presence?
Re-Set. Sant Roch. These names are making the rounds in Parisian circles (The equivalent of Othership for Americans). Behind them lies the French capital’s latest wellness obsession: contrast therapy. The concept itself is nothing new. In both Greek and Scandinavian traditions, it has long been part of health practices and social rituals.
In Paris, however, the experience has taken on an almost ceremonial dimension. Superheated saunas and ice baths follow one another under the guidance of energy facilitators who transform each session into a genuine ritual. Beyond meditation and breathwork, aromatherapy plays a central role: ice spheres infused with essential oils are placed on hot stones, while attendants expertly wave towels to spread waves of heat throughout the space. Then comes the cold shock. Just a few minutes of immersion are enough to trigger what enthusiasts describe as a rare sensation: the feeling of being intensely alive.
And this phenomenon is far from isolated.
Somewhere between sophisticated marketing and signs of a genuine shift in perspective, awe walks are also gaining traction, guided strolls designed to cultivate a sense of wonder deliberately, encouraging participants to pay attention to both the small and grand manifestations of life around them. Remarkably simple in practice, these walks, according to research by Berkeley psychologist Dacher Keltner, may help us step out of autopilot mode and reconnect with a deeper sense of presence. Perhaps something to try after attending a scream club, another trend popularized by TikTok, where people gather to scream collectively as a way of releasing the tensions of modern life. Night owls, too, are embracing new rituals. In the United States, Gen Z is gradually turning away from nightclubs in favor of listening bars, inspired by Japan’s ongaku kissa. The goal? To soothe the nervous system.
In these spaces, people simply gather to listen to vinyl records together, either in silence or in hushed conversation. It is a form of low-intensity social connection, where the aim is neither to perform nor to be seen, but simply to be present with the music and with one another. As one founder of such spaces put it: “When was the last time you listened to a record without doing anything else?”
So are these trends a reaction to an era saturated with stimulation yet starved of genuinely lived experiences? Or are they the first signs of an organic revolt against a world increasingly sanitized by AI?
This search for existential depth also revives, more subtly, a more intimate dimension: faith. While certain indicators suggest a renewed interest in spirituality among younger generations (rising numbers of adult baptisms in France and elsewhere in Europe, the growth of religious content on TikTok, increased participation in some Christian communities, and so on) the picture is more complex than it first appears.
A sign of the times: AI giants are now hiring priests alongside philosophers, while Pope Leo XIV has devoted his encyclical Magnifica Humanitas to the anthropological upheavals brought about by technology. This shift recently led the editor-in-chief of French media Le Grand Continent to offer a provocative insight: what if the Catholic Church were, in fact, the true competitor of OpenAI or Anthropic?
The uniqueness of the Church may lie in its historical ability to act as a transnational counterweight to various forms of power, whether political, economic, or now technological. But it also lies in its capacity to propose a way of inhabiting the world that cannot be reduced to the production of information or the optimization of behavior.
Christianity has never been merely a theological or moral FAQ. Its strength lies in its ability to offer a way of inhabiting time itself, giving shape to human existence through collective rituals and the patient acceptance of finitude.
Moreover, it has never simply sought to distinguish between good and evil. It has also attempted to name whatever distances human beings from a fully human life. It calls this sin. The term has become uncomfortable in secular societies, yet it may describe forms of dehumanization that our contemporary moral vocabulary struggles to articulate.
Faith is also a matter of relationships. Every question posed to an AI is, potentially, a conversation not had with another person. Where algorithms individualize our relationship with knowledge, faith reminds us that meaning is constructed through otherness and encounter.
Finally, Christianity has also developed responses to abundance. Fasting, periods of voluntary deprivation, and liturgical rhythms were never solely spiritual practices; they also served as ways of introducing limits, learning restraint, and distinguishing between what is truly desirable and what is merely available. At a time when generative AI is making content, images, ideas, and answers virtually limitless, this question takes on renewed significance.
These may still be only weak signals, remaining marginal in a society driven by productivity. Yet there is something visceral about them, as if, after optimizing everything, we are seeking, against all odds and propelled by a deeply human aspiration, to learn once again how to inhabit the world fully.
MD