Luddite Movement in England

The Jesuit Director of the Research Center for Human Rights and Solidarity in the View from the Ark column of the Catholic Weekly gives us some historical background on the Luddite Movement in England. 

In the winter of 1813, in York, England, fourteen workers ascended the gallows on charges of rebellion. It was a time when rapid technological innovation in the textile industry was, paradoxically, instantly shattering the lives of the workers. Skilled craftsmanship went unrespected, wages plummeted, and livelihoods hung in the balance. Under such conditions, the spread of radical labor movements was inevitable.

The "Luddite movement"—known for its destructive resistance involving the smashing of machinery—was one such movement. Although often portrayed as a rebellion of ignorant mobs, historian E. P. Thompson offered a fresh interpretation in his seminal work, *The Making of the English Working Class*. It was not merely an expression of hatred toward technology. Rather, it was a "moral resistance" against an emerging order—an order that destroyed the long-established equilibrium of their lives and their power to define their own existence, thereby rendering their livelihoods and dignity utterly valueless.

Two hundred years later, the workplace has shifted from textile looms to semiconductor cleanrooms and data centers. In an era abuzz with claims that artificial intelligence (AI) and algorithms will determine the fate of the future, Korean society has placed AI and semiconductors at the very core of its national strategy, pouring vast resources into these sectors. Massive industrial complexes are springing up everywhere; ultra-high-voltage power lines crisscross the skies above rural communities; and the lights of data centers burn ceaselessly, day and night. It is a landscape where desire and tears fall side by side.

As efficiency and competitiveness have become paramount imperatives—and stocks and AI the very symbols of growth—issues of survival and protection—such as workers' safety and health, the vitality of local communities, environmental exploitation, and the excessive consumption of energy resources—have been cast aside. All manner of special laws and promotional policies have degenerated into a mechanism of a "De-risking State," wherein the public shoulders the risks of private enterprise, while the values ​​of life and ecology have vanished. (Kim Sang-hyun, "Labor and Ecology Trampled by the Semiconductor and AI Syndrome," *Changbi Weekly Commentary*)

Yet, if we are to envision a truly livable future, we cannot help but fundamentally question—from its very roots—a mode of growth in which excess and abuse are inevitable. Will a desire that seeks to devour everything truly enable us to live whole and fulfilled lives? Demanding social and ecological accountability is not a barrier that hinders progress; rather, it is the minimum prerequisite for humanizing that very progress.

In particular, labor is not merely a component of the production process. Labor is the means by which human beings leave their imprint upon the world; it is an act of collaboration in creation, and an event that builds community. A system that reduces labor solely to a cost factor is not only economically incomplete but also constitutes a theologically distorted order. As Pope Francis has stated, labor is a "pathway to dignity," an integral part of "the meaning of life on this earth," and a "pathway to growth, human development, and personal fulfillment." (*Laudato Si'*, §128) Labor is the conduit that "sets human beings in motion"—enabling them to live fully as human beings.

The gallows of the Luddites and the flickering lights of modern data centers are separated by the vast expanse of time. Yet, between them lies a shared question: For whom does labor exist? Whose lives are erased by the tides of technological change? To whom do the immense profits of capital flow? The reconstruction of social life is, at its very core, a call for "repentance." Repentance is the act of changing direction. It is a spiritual resolve to slow down, to re-establish our standards, and to reaffirm our purpose; it is the spiritual courage to restore labor and technology to their rightful place within the order of human relationships.

A transition toward an order in which human beings remain truly human, labor reveals its inherent dignity, and the created world is honored as a gift—such a transition is not achieved merely by placing one’s faith in grandiose strategic declarations. Rather, it begins in a quiet yet resolute place: in a mindset that accords greater respect to the space of the "Other" and curbs its own greed; and in that pivotal moment when our conscience refuses to remain silent any longer. Our choice is not the dawn of the machine, but the dawn of humanity. That dawn rises, at last, amidst a resolve for justice, steps taken in solidarity, and the courage to embrace transformation and repentance.