From Biblical Prophets to Steve Jobs: Who Fills the Modern Vacuum of Meaning?
Veni, vidi… and understood!?
Every year, thousands of graduates listen to commencement speeches that quickly spread across the world. Steve Jobs speaking about “connecting the dots.” Shonda Rhimes warning that dreaming without acting is meaningless. Donovan Livingston denouncing the limitations of the educational system through spoken-word poetry. Social media transforms these speeches into viral fragments. The media presents them as existential guideposts. Millions consume them not merely as entertainment, but as orientation for life itself.
The interesting question is not why some speeches are inspiring.
The real question is different:
why do entire societies still need figures who explain how to navigate existence?
Because behind these modern speeches lies something far older than Harvard, Apple, or Netflix. There is a deep human structure at work. An anthropological need that did not disappear with secularization. The settings changed, the language changed, the clothing changed. But the function remains remarkably similar to the one once occupied by the biblical prophets.
The biblical prophet was not simply someone who “predicted the future.” That is a modern simplification. The prophet’s true function was to interpret the present, denounce moral deviations, organize symbolic chaos, and offer a narrative about the future. Prophets emerged especially in moments of collective uncertainty: wars, political decay, spiritual crises, corruption of power, or the loss of social direction.
Today, Western societies no longer gather around Isaiah or Jeremiah. But they still gather around figures who perform a surprisingly similar symbolic role. Technology CEOs, artists, writers, activists, and cultural celebrities often occupy that space. They stand before massive audiences and explain how to live, how to fail, how to find purpose, how to endure suffering, and how to interpret the future.
It is no coincidence that commencement ceremonies possess an almost liturgical aesthetic:
- robes,
- ritual gathering,
- ceremonial authority,
- symbolic transmission,
- and a moral message directed at those about to enter adult life.
They are modern rites of passage.
Classical anthropology always understood that societies need symbolic markers for transitions between stages of life. In the past, these could take the form of tribal initiations, religious ceremonies, or communal rituals. Today, they appear as university graduations broadcast through streaming platforms. The form changes. The human need remains.
And that explains why these speeches carry such emotional power.
They do not merely transmit information.
They transmit meaning.
When Steve Jobs delivered his famous “connecting the dots” speech, he was not really talking about computer engineering. What he offered was a reassuring narrative in the face of existential uncertainty: even if your life seems fragmented today, one day it may reveal coherence in retrospect. That is not simply management advice. It is a secular reinterpretation of an ancient human promise: the idea that life possesses meaning even when it appears chaotic.
Shonda Rhimes operates similarly from another angle. When she criticizes the fantasy of remaining trapped in dreams without action, she assumes an almost moralizing role. She is not giving technical instructions. She is preaching an ethic of action. Donovan Livingston, denouncing the failures of the educational system through spoken-word performance, adopts an even more overtly prophetic tone: he condemns structures, confronts the community, and calls for transformation.
The crucial difference is that the biblical prophet spoke in the name of transcendent truth. His authority came from God. The modern speaker derives authority from somewhere else:
- experience,
- success,
- authenticity,
- trauma,
- or cultural prestige.
Yet the social mechanism is remarkably similar:
communities continue searching for interpreters of the present.
Because human beings tolerate meaninglessness very poorly.
Modernity often assumed that as religion weakened, grand moral narratives would disappear as well. The opposite happened. Symbolic vacuums never remain empty for long. Someone always emerges to fill them. If they are no longer priests, they become influencers. If they are no longer prophets, they become technology visionaries. If sacred texts lose authority, viral TED Talks take their place.
And here lies one of the great paradoxes of our age.
Many of these new “prophets” no longer confront power the way biblical prophets often did. On the contrary, they are frequently produced by the dominant cultural system itself. Steve Jobs could present himself as a rebellious outsider while simultaneously becoming one of the most powerful symbols of global capitalism. The language of authenticity and disruption coexists perfectly with immense structures of consumption and market power.
That does not necessarily invalidate their messages. But it does force us to recognize something important: modern narratives about purpose, resilience, and authenticity are not neutral. They also legitimize particular social values. They define what counts today as “a meaningful life.” And in doing so, they fulfill a profoundly anthropological function.
Every society needs to tell its members:
- what deserves admiration,
- what success means,
- how suffering should be confronted,
- which virtues deserve prestige,
- and what kind of person one ought to become.
In the past, religion largely provided those answers.
Today, they emerge in fragmented form through universities, media platforms, social networks, streaming culture, and global public figures.
But the underlying human need remains unchanged.
Because even in hyper-rationalized, technological, and secular societies, human beings continue searching for exactly what they searched for thousands of years ago:
- orientation,
- community,
- hope,
- meaning,
- and narratives capable of organizing the chaos of existence.
The names have changed.
The function has not.