In the very first lecture of the Artificial Intelligence for Business program, I learned that the word “robot”—a word we use almost every day—was first introduced by Karel Čapek in a 1920 play titled R.U.R., or Rossum’s Universal Robots. Coincidentally, it was a book I had bought this summer but hadn’t yet had the chance to read at the time.

It felt almost poetic that at a moment when I was surrounded by conversations about artificial intelligence, automation, and the future of work, I was suddenly pulled back more than a century to meet the writer who set the foundation for all of it.

But Čapek is far more than the father of “robots.” He is a writer whose entire life was devoted to asking uncomfortable questions about technology, humanity, and responsibility—questions that feel uncannily fresh today.

Note: This article includes references to key quotes and plot points from the book. If you haven’t read it yet, you may want to do so before reading further.

A Life Rooted in Curiosity and Conscience

Karel Čapek was a Czech novelist, short-story writer, playwright, and essayist. Born in 1890, he suffered from a lifelong spinal disease. He studied philosophy in Prague, Berlin, and Paris, eventually returning to Prague as a writer and journalist. As one of the most influential Czech intellectuals of his time, Čapek’s literary works are inquiries into philosophical ideas, guided by a moral compass dedicated to protecting humanity from systems that reduce people to objects—whether ideological, political, or technological.

R.U.R.: A Play That Became a Prophecy

R.U.R. is often summarized as “the play that invented robots,” but the real story is richer.

The word robot itself comes from the Czech robota, meaning “forced labor.” Yet the beings in Čapek’s play aren’t mechanical machines. They are artificial humans—biological constructs designed to be efficient, obedient workers. Their purpose is to relieve human beings of tedious physical labor. But as mass production expands and ethical lines blur, these robots eventually revolt—raising existential questions about what we create, why we create it, and what responsibilities we bear when our inventions gain autonomy.

What struck me in reading the play is that Čapek wasn’t afraid of technology. He was afraid of dehumanization.

For him, the danger wasn’t the robot itself, but the human tendency to treat life—whether human or artificial—as disposable in pursuit of efficiency or power.

Why Čapek Matters Right Now

What makes Čapek’s work feel so relevant today is that he didn’t see technology as inherently good or evil. Instead, he saw it as a mirror reflecting our choices.

In R.U.R., this tension is captured vividly when Harry Domin, the General Manager of Rossum’s Universal Robots, argues that humanity’s safety might depend on manufacturing division itself:

“We’ll establish a factory in every country… each producing Robots of a different color, a different language. They’ll never be able to understand each other… and every Robot will hate every other Robot of a different factory mark. So humanity will be safe.”

It’s a chilling idea—using engineered mistrust as a safeguard. And it reminds us that technology inherits not only our brilliance but also our fears, hierarchies, and power structures.

Later, in Act 3, Domin lays out an even grander—almost overambitious—vision for the future:

DOMIN: “I wanted to turn the whole of mankind into an aristocracy of the world… nourished by millions of mechanical slaves… unrestricted, free… And maybe more than man.”

ALQUIST: “Superman?”

And Fabry, the Technical Controller and Engineer General, adds yet another layer of ambition:

“…Why, in a few hundred years we could conquer the world again.”

Here, Čapek reveals a mindset we still recognize today: the impulse to use technology not simply to improve life, but to transcend human limits—to dominate, to optimize, to scale.

The Builder Who Survives: Čapek’s Second Warning

There’s another layer of relevance in R.U.R. that feels striking today. In the play, the only human who survives the robot uprising—and who becomes the central figure of Act III—is Alquist, the architect. Ironically, he is the one person who still works with his hands. While others direct, optimize, and command, Alquist is the one who physically engages in building, repairing, and creating.

This resonates strongly with a modern idea we hear often: if AI takes our knowledge work, the plumber might be safer than the programmer. Čapek anticipated this a century ago. In the end, it is the builder—not the executive—who survives. The one who knows how to work with materials and whose value cannot be uploaded, scaled, or mechanized. Alquist survives precisely because his work remains grounded in human value.

Robots can replicate processes, but they cannot replace the meaning we find in making. And that’s why Čapek’s work feels so urgent now.

In our world—where AI agents, automation, efficiency metrics, and algorithms shape our daily routines—the questions Čapek asked a century ago are, if anything, sharper than ever:

• What happens when work becomes detached from human dignity?
• How do we ensure that technology serves people rather than replaces them?
• Can progress exist without compassion and responsibility?

Čapek never offered simple answers. But he gave us a vocabulary—and a great narrative—to keep asking the right questions.

And perhaps that’s the real reason his work still resonates. He understood that the future is not something we wait for. It’s something we shape, ethically and consciously, every single day.

Published on Linkedin.