From Oracles to Algorithms: Predicting the Future in the Age of AI

written by art historian & curator

Mihaela Manolche

What do an ancient priestess and a modern algorithm have in common? More than we might think. The Oracle of Delphi, surrounded by incense and sacred ritual, offered divine guidance to those seeking answers. Thousands of years later, a glowing screen and complex lines of code attempt to do the same. Though separated by time and technology, both oracles and algorithms arise from a shared human desire: to peer beyond the present and uncover what lies ahead.

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Both speak in languages that require interpretation—one in riddles, the other in probabilities. And both reflect not only possibilities for the future, but deep truths about the present: our anxieties, ambitions, and the cultural frameworks that shape them. These systems of foresight—ancient and digital—are more than predictive mechanisms. They are mirrors held up to society, revealing how we think, believe, and hope. What does it say about us that we still seek guidance—from the heavens or the cloud—when faced with uncertainty? Why are we drawn to voices—divine or digital—that claim to see beyond the veil of now? And if we trust their vision, are we shaping the future or surrendering it?

Divining Meaning: Then and Now

In ancient Greece, the Oracle of Delphi was a sacred conduit for Apollo’s wisdom. Pilgrims came seeking answers to life-altering questions: Should we go to war? Will our crops fail? Should I trust this alliance? Pythia’s utterances were famously cryptic, her phrases often requiring interpretation from priests or scholars. The ambiguity was part of the allure—answers were open-ended enough to fit various outcomes, forcing the seeker to project their own meanings. In the 21st century, we now turn to different kinds of oracles. Instead of speaking through vapours and ritual, today’s predictions emerge from lines of code, massive datasets, and machine learning algorithms. We ask AI whether a business venture will succeed, what the stock market might do, or how a neighbourhood might evolve. And much like the Oracle’s pronouncements, AI forecasts often come wrapped in uncertainty and caveats—probabilistic rather than prescriptive.

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Delphi was designed to inspire awe and legitimacy. Its temple, perched dramatically on the slopes of Mount Parnassus, combined natural majesty with human craftsmanship to shape a physical experience of authority. Today’s AI exists largely in the invisible realm of the digital, but it too is surrounded by an architecture of trust: the sterile aesthetic of data centers, the futuristic branding of tech platforms, the sleek interfaces of prediction dashboards. These spaces and designs convey a sense of control, intelligence, and inevitability—an illusion of clarity in an otherwise chaotic world. In contemporary art and architecture, this influence is palpable. Artists like Refik Anadol use AI to generate immersive, data-driven installations that feel almost mystical. His project Machine Hallucinations visualizes the dreams of AI as it processes vast datasets, offering spectators a portal into the “mind” of the machine. This work taps into vast images of cities, landscapes, even space—and feeds them into generative algorithms that produce hypnotic, ever-shifting visuals. The result is a dreamscape born not from human memory, but from the neural networks of artificial intelligence. In this way, Machine Hallucinations invites us to consider whether machines can have a subconscious, or at least a semblance of it, echoing the mysticism of ancient oracles whose visions were equally cryptic and symbolic. These AI dreams, like prophetic visions of the past, blur the lines between perception, prediction, and poetic interpretation. The result? A new kind of digital sublime, reminiscent of ancient temples: places where human and non-human intelligence merge in sensory wonder.

Cultural Scripts and Human Imagination

Culturally, oracles have never just answered questions—they’ve shaped how societies imagine the future. The Oracle of Delphi influenced literature, myth, and civic planning. Plays by Sophocles and Aeschylus revolve around oracular ambiguity and its tragic consequences. The Oracle was not merely functional—it was narrative.

Today, AI prediction models are starting to do the same—offering glimpses into possible futures based on patterns in data, much like oracles once interpreted signs from nature or divine messages. In contemporary fiction, this theme recurs with striking clarity. Shows like Westworld delve into worlds where algorithms not only predict human behavior but also manipulate it, raising questions about free will and agency. In Her, the relationship between a man and an AI operating system evolves into something deeply emotional and complex, blurring the lines between human intuition and machine learning. Ex Machina takes this even further, challenging our understanding of consciousness by presenting an AI that outsmarts its creators through emotional manipulation and strategic foresight. These narratives tap into a collective unease—and fascination—about what happens when we cede decision-making power to machines. Like the ancient oracles, AI systems seem to offer truth, but that truth is filtered through layers of interpretation, bias, and intention—often revealing more about us than the future they claim to foresee.

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In real life, city planners use AI to predict traffic patterns and climate vulnerabilities, subtly reshaping urban design based on future projections. A striking example of algorithmic influence came in 2020, when the UK government used AI to predict student grades during pandemic-related exam cancellations. The algorithm downgraded many students—especially from underprivileged schools—sparking national outrage and eventual reversal. Intended as a fair, data-driven solution, the model instead revealed deep social biases baked into its design. Like a modern oracle, it delivered a judgment cloaked in objectivity, but shaped by hidden assumptions. The incident served as a reminder: predictions are not neutral. Whether from Delphi or data, foresight always reflects the values and power structures of its time. Even museums and cultural institutions are experimenting with AI to forecast visitor flow or curate personalized art experiences. Yet this reliance on prediction models raises age-old questions. If an AI tells us which art will perform best, does it shape taste or simply follow it? Are we outsourcing cultural judgment to machines? Much like the priests at Delphi, we become interpreters of opaque wisdom—still very much entangled in its influence.

The Illusion of Objectivity

Both ancient oracles and modern algorithms wear the mask of neutrality. The Oracle claimed to speak for the gods; AI claims to speak for the data. But in both cases, human biases are embedded in the process—whether through the framing of the question, the selection of data, or the societal context in which predictions are received. Consider the use of predictive policing software, which has been criticised for reinforcing racial and economic biases. Or algorithmic music recommendations that create echo chambers of taste. These systems reflect cultural assumptions back at us, often without our noticing. Like Delphi, the AI does not offer objective truth—it offers a mirror.

The parallel between ancient oracles and modern algorithms is not about mysticism versus science. It’s about the human need for meaning. When faced with complexity and uncertainty, we seek external voices—sacred or synthetic—to help us choose. But neither the Oracle nor the AI removes responsibility. Their guidance demands interpretation. Their authority depends on belief. In the arts, this tension between fate and free will remains a fertile ground. Artists today use AI not just as a tool, but as a co-author, a provocateur, a fellow questioner. From generative music to algorithmic painting, AI becomes another voice in the creative dialogue—a new kind of oracle, not of the divine, but of the data-driven subconscious. 

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In ancient times, to visit the Oracle of Delphi was to encounter mystery, risk, and the possibility of transformation. In our age, we approach a different kind of shrine—one built not from marble but from silicon. We ask the machine to tell us what’s next. But like the pilgrims of old, we must remember: the future is not only revealed. It is imagined, interpreted, and made—by us.