Liminality describes those zones found on a threshold or boundary—realms of human life that don’t clearly belong to any defined domain. Historically, such areas marked the fading borders of great empires or civilizations. Modern systems of strict border control and internationally recognized national boundaries are a recent development; in earlier times, imperial frontiers often blurred into minor principalities and ambiguous transition zones. In more extreme historical cases, a civilization would directly border a hostile and culturally alien regime. In such scenarios, we find what the historian Peter Turchin calls a meta-ethnic frontier: a broad, friction-filled zone between radically different ethnicities. The more pronounced these differences, the more intense the conflict, instability, and transformation that follows. Turchin argues this turbulence has historically been fertile ground for the emergence of new empires—ones forged by the resilience learned through living on the edge. If we view this pattern through both a meta-ethnic and demographic lens, it helps explain the deeper forces behind civilizational change. Could a similar dynamic be playing out today between technological spheres of influence?

No study of historical dynamics is complete without mentioning Ibn Khaldun, arguably the first true scientific historian. He introduced the concept of Asabiya—a shared group feeling, forged by collective struggle and identity. Historically, Asabiya has defined ethnic cohesion and civilizational strength. It emerges through a complex interplay of genetics, environment, culture, and geography. Even today, modern nation-states invoke founding struggles—such as the U.S. War of Independence or the Holocaust and Exodus for the Jewish people—to solidify their group identity. But what is it about liminal, unstable border zones that make them such powerful incubators for Asabiya? Perhaps it's because crisis accelerates cohesion. And in a global world split between tech giants and digital empires, the question of Europe’s Asabiya becomes more than academic—it becomes existential.

Perhaps we should begin with the most primal frontier: that between humanity and the natural world. In the Neolithic and ancient periods, collective struggle was often directed against the chaos of nature and its divine caprice. In the early high civilizations of Egypt and Mesopotamia, survival depended on understanding and harnessing river systems like the Nile and Euphrates. From these fertile banks came food, tools, and clay—the raw materials of civilization. Disruptions in seasonal flooding posed existential threats. Yet, the collective strategies these societies developed gave them an unprecedented edge: their cooperation allowed for greater productivity and population growth than any other culture of their time. Likewise, today’s digital infrastructures—cloud platforms, data pipelines, AI models—are our modern rivers. Their control determines whether we flourish or stagnate.

Every group strategy comes with a tradeoff. The nomadic steppe warriors, though fewer in number and often illiterate, required only minimal resources to plunder the settled river peoples. Those living at the frontier bore the brunt of these raids and often perished. However, unless a culture is entirely wiped out, repeated invasions only select for stronger, more resilient forms of social organization. The invaders sought plunder, not extinction; thus, the settled societies had time to adapt. Each regeneration created more sophisticated, hardened communities. There comes a moment when continuous pressure gives rise to a strategy that no longer flees—but strikes back. The analogy applies today as well: in the face of technological dependence on foreign infrastructures, European actors are gradually adapting. Resilience is being selected for.

The invention of writing transformed these defensive strategies into expansive ones. Writing enabled the division of labor, complex administration, and the birth of standing armies and priesthoods. What began as irrigation management evolved into full-scale civilization. This dynamic—where external threat catalyzes internal complexity—explains why certain societies expand rapidly at certain historical moments. But with new strategies come new vulnerabilities. Mesopotamia's evolution into Akkad marked a turning point, just as Europe may now be approaching one in the digital age. Pressure from global competitors like the U.S. and China may yet forge a distinctively European technological strategy—if the internal cohesion can match the external pressure.

Today, our Asabiya has changed, as have the threats we face. No longer are we besieged by anonymous raiders; instead, we contend with cultural fragmentation, cyberwarfare, and global dependencies. Even in antiquity, frontiers evolved: the Roman–Persian border was different from the early Sumero-Akkadian divide. Both Rome and Persia had writing, bureaucracies, and priesthoods worshiping abstract deities. Yet even these complex societies could not withstand the unified strategy of early Islam. The Rashidun Caliphate’s expansionist identity began with tribal ties, but the Quran’s universalism allowed it to unify diverse peoples under a single Asabiya. The lessons are clear: cultural universality combined with internal discipline can outperform bloated, aging systems. One wonders what a European Asabiya might look like, forged not in the deserts but in digital frontiers.

The rise of the early Caliphate is instructive. The Arabs began as tribal, kin-based societies, but Islam’s universalist message transcended racial and ethnic barriers. A common faith, script, and legal system gave coherence to a vast empire. Today, Europe is often accused of lacking a unifying narrative—especially in the tech domain. But the rise of digital sovereignty as a concern might be the beginning of such a narrative. Europe need not mimic the Chinese surveillance state or the venture-capital-fueled hypergrowth of Silicon Valley. What it needs is its own coherent model: a shared sense of technological purpose.

A frontier like that between Christianity and Islam was, in one sense, less radical: both arose from shared Abrahamic roots. Yet in another way, the conflict became more intense precisely because of this closeness. Theological justifications turned a political rivalry into a multi-generational crusade. Spain, situated at this liminal crossroads, became the launchpad for global expansion. Its reconquista formed the cultural Asabiya necessary for empire-building. Perhaps a similar pattern awaits those regions in Europe most exposed to external pressures—those acting as the fault lines between digital empires. The next expansion may be technological, not territorial.

The most vivid recent meta-ethnic frontier was the Iron Curtain. It divided the liberal capitalist West from the socialist East—two systems that, while ideologically distinct, shared many Enlightenment assumptions: progress, equality, rationalism. Both were empire-like in their methods, funding scientific research and intelligence operations to gain strategic dominance. Their differences were subtle, yet they nearly led to planetary annihilation. Today’s tech rivalry—between the open but increasingly monopolistic West and the centrally planned but innovative East—feels similarly charged. The battle is quieter, waged over standards, chips, and platforms, but the stakes are just as high.

The central question then becomes: what form of Asabiya emerges when such a meta-ethnic frontier dissolves? The Iron Curtain ran straight through Europe, cleaving Germany in two. Today’s Federal Republic is unlikely to become an imperial model—but the question of European unity persists. Can a new Asabiya emerge not from shared ancestry or theology, but from a collective vision of technological independence? Bureaucracies can’t manufacture this spirit. The European Union, for all its achievements, lacks the mythic force of America or China. Europe’s past is marred by internecine warfare; its empires have risen and fallen, exhausted. Yet from this exhaustion might arise a new frontier—not geographical, but digital. A new identity forged in the liminal space between U.S. hegemony and a resurgent Eurasian axis. The question is no longer whether Europe has what it takes—but whether it can afford not to find out.