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How Tytler's cycle and other Big Cycle thinking prompts five key strategic questions that business leaders should be asking right now
Emma Walford
September 16, 2025
TL;DR
A centuries old theory of civilisational decline resurfaced when I read my stepson’s essay on whether our society is in danger. If he is right that we sit at a critical point in our history and it prompts five key questions organisational leaders should be asking themselves right now.
Tytler’s cycle is said to chart a civilisation’s rise and fall through nine repeating stages:

Although widely attributed to the Scottish historian Alexander Fraser Tytler, it remained completely unknown to me despite also being Scottish. I only came across it when reading my stepson Tom’s essay competition submission: ‘To what extent is our civilisation in danger?’.
His essay won. And, although that was over a year ago, it came back to me recently while listening to debates about AI’s growing influence on our future. The parallels were hard to ignore.
Once I dug further into Tytler, the first surprise was that it might not have been Tytler’s at all. Historians point out that it is rhetoric more than scholarship, and that many alternative models of rise and fall exist.
Different data, different angles, yet the same conclusion keeps surfacing. Civilisations, more often than not, decline. Abundance leads to complacency, complacency to disconnection and drift, drift to collapse. Whether that collapse destroys, transforms or evolves is the part that varies.
For the sake of an accessible framework, then, let’s stay with Tytler’s nine stages. The obvious question becomes where we are now.
If the model holds, today’s West appears to sit uncomfortably between apathy and dependence. Tom’s essay took exactly this view. And once you start looking for evidence, it is hard to argue otherwise.
UK voter turnout has been subdued since 2001: an average of 64 percent between 2001 and 2024 compared with 76 percent between 1922 and 1977. Only 27 percent of the UK public say they trust the government. In the US that figure sits at 22 percent. Regular volunteering stands at a record low of 16 percent. Interest in news has dropped from 63 percent in 2016 to 46 percent today.
There are the softer indicators as well. Graduates describing a sense of helplessness about jobs and home ownership. The blank indifference on a packed London street when someone’s phone is stolen. Falling birth rates. A broad, unspoken sense that many outcomes lie beyond personal influence.
Dependence gets more nuanced
In earlier periods, dependence meant reliance on rulers and the state. That dynamic still exists, and recent years have reinforced it. The pandemic showed how quickly freedoms can be suspended, and how readily populations complied. Large numbers of households across the West have come to depend on energy subsidies and cost-of-living support. With ageing populations, pressure on housing and the likelihood of more climate- and conflict-driven shocks, there is little indication that state dependence will ease.
Yet a second form of dependence has formed around digital systems. Smartphones have shifted from tools to tethers. Nomophobia is now recognised as a clinical anxiety condition. Navigation apps have begun to weaken wayfinding skills. Algorithms shape not just what we watch and read, but increasingly how we think about the world. For the moment, the Musks and Zuckerbergs sit behind the systems, though that is unlikely to remain the final layer.
A third layer is emerging rapidly. Dependence on AI is harder to measure but increasingly visible. Many people, especially those in the workforce and younger generations, rely on large language models such as ChatGPT, Claude or Gemini. Some use these tools to enhance their cognitive capabilities. Many simply outsource them. The volume of AI-generated “thought leadership” circulating on platforms like LinkedIn is testament to how quickly this habit spreads. And although humans still operate these systems, the direction of travel suggests that this dependence will not stop with them.
Taken together, these shifts suggest more than convenience. They look like early-stage symptoms of Tytler’s ninth step. Habits of reliance are forming. The open question is whether governments, the tech elite or the systems themselves will hold the reins.
If we are indeed between apathy and dependence, a look in the rear-view mirror helps explain how. Estimates about the start of our current cycle vary, but using the basis of a 200-year span places the beginning somewhere in the mid-nineteenth century. The timeline maps surprisingly well.
If the cycle continues unbent, we are heading towards bondage. The uncomfortable question is what that looks like in the twenty first century, and who or what sits at the centre of it. Bondage today may not look like ancient subjugation. It may look like a slow erosion of agency under powers we have created but do not fully control.
There is also the possibility that the cycle bends. Such bends can be positive or catastrophic. Should we aim to avoid collapse or prepare to guide it? Should we fear bondage, or only certain kinds of bondage? Are we safer under human power or machine power? Only a few years ago these questions would have seemed outlandish. Now they feel strangely practical.
If collapse is where we are headed, the challenge is to shape its direction. To turn it towards renewal rather than drift.
For leaders, this framing turns into a set of questions worth holding in view.
If Tom’s question was whether civilisation is in danger, the question for leaders is whether we recognise the moment we are in. And whether we intend to drift with the cycle or bend it.

Sources
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