In my previous blog, I discussed the totalitarianism and determinism already created by today’s AI, concluding my argument with a distinction between a positive and a negative theology of AI. I also made, without any elaboration, an appeal for the latter. The terminology of this distinction may lead to some confusion. The name “artificial intelligence” is usually applied to computer-based, state-of-the-art algorithms that display behavior or skills of which it has formerly been thought only human beings are capable. Notwithstanding, an AI algorithm, and especially the whole array of AI algorithms that are active online, may exhibit behavior or create an environment whose qualities go beyond the level or capacity of the human mind and, even more than that, appear to be “God-like” or are treated so.
Here enters theological reflection with two of its forms: positive and negative theology, of which the second is less common and more sophisticated than the first. Positive theology describes and discusses God by means of names and positive statements like – to give a few simple examples – “God is spirit”, “God is Lord”, “God is love”, and so on. But, according to negative theology, it is equally true that, by reason of God’s radical otherness and difference from anything in the created world, God can only be spoken of through negative statements: “God is not” or “is unlike” a “spirit” or a “lord” or “love”. Accordingly, these two distinct ways of approaching God can translate into the two following statements: “God is AI” or “God is not AI.”
Defining a Positive Theology of AI
Scandalous as it may seem, a positive theology of AI is hardly avoidable, and its subject should be less the miraculous accomplishments of future AI and all the hopes attached to it than the everyday online spectacles of the present. True, the worship of today’s AI scarcely pours out into a profession of its divinity in the manner of the Apostle Thomas when confronted with the risen Christ (“My Lord and my God!” John 20:28), but spending with it the most beatific hours of the day including the first and last waking moments (before going to pee in the morning and after doing so in the evening) certainly qualifies as a life of prayer.
In a sense, the worship of AI does more than prayer to the Christian God could ever do in this life as AI provides light and nurture in seamless services tailored to every user’s interests, quirks, and wishes. Indeed, it casts a spell of bedazzlement on you in powerful alliance with the glamour, sleekness, and even sexiness of design. So it comes to pass that you end up in a city whose sky is created by AI, or, rather, whose sky is AI itself – a sky where your highest aspirations turn to. Could this city and sky possibly be those prophesied by John the Seer in the Apocalypse? “And the city had no need of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine in it: for the glory of God did lighten it…” (Revelations 21:23).
Valiant Resistance or Fruitless Nostalgia?
But, let’s suppose, there arises an urge in you to resist the city and sky of AI, recognizing that they are not God’s city and God’s sky, that AI is not God, and God is unlike AI – in other words, you negate AI as God. Of course, this is more than an act of logic and goes beyond the scope of a theoretical decision. The moment you realize you have treated AI as God, and you have been wrong, you change your attitude and orientation, and start searching for God elsewhere, outside the realm of AI.
You repent.
This metanoia of sorts leads you to trade your smartphone for nature, opting to live under the real sky. There, you experience real love and friendship outside social media platforms. You may even discard Google Maps and seek to get lost in real cities and find your bearings with the help of old paper maps.
Such actions, however, are not the best negative theology of AI. Do they not exhibit a nostalgia for the past, growing wistful about the sky, the love, the city, and the God of old? Is God nostalgic? Would God set up God’s tent outside the city of AI into which the whole of creation is moving? Have you, searching for God outside the realm of AI, not engaged in an unserious, even dull form of negation?
There must be another way.
In fact, the divine realm empowered by AI carries in itself its own theological negation, moments when its bedazzlement loosens its grip and its divine face undergoes an eclipse – moments that are empty, dull, boring, meaningless, or even full of frustration or anxiety. Such moments are specific to this realm and not just the usual downside of human life. It was, if you are willing to realize, the proliferation of such moments that have made you repudiate the divinity of AI and go searching outside its realm, and not just a sudden thought that occurred to you.
A Balanced Negative Theology of AI
As a matter of fact, it was not only you; such moments in the midst of all the bedazzlement, now and then, happen to all devotees. Does the ubiquitousness of such moments mean that all citizens of the city of AI participate in its theological self-negation, and, therefore, living in it necessarily includes the act of negating it? In a sense, yes but this is just a ubiquitous and unintended, almost automatic negation, and not the right one. As a rule, the citizens of the city live in the moment and for the moment; they naively live its bedazzlement to the full and suffer its moments of meaninglessness to the full. In doing so, however, they are unfree.
Instead, you are better off living in the city of AI accompanied by a moderate and reserved, yet constant negation. In this balanced and overall experience, you always keep the harrowing moments of emptiness and meaninglessness in mind with a view to them no longer quite coming to harrow you and, above all, with a view to AI’s bedazzlement no longer gaining the upper hand.
As a consequence of your moderate and sustained negation of AI as God (a negative theology of AI), you create a certain distance between you and AI which is nevertheless also a space of curiosity and playfulness. Precisely because you negate it in a theological sense, you can curiously turn towards AI, witness the details of its behavior and also enjoy its responsiveness to your actions. And it is precisely in this dynamic and undecided area of free play with AI, opened up by your negation, that God, defined as to what God is not (not AI) and undefined as to what God is, can be offered a space to enter.
Gábor L. Ambrus holds a post-doctoral research position in the Theology and Contemporary Culture Research Group at The Charles University, Prague. He is also a part-time research fellow at the Pontifical University of St. Thomas Aquinas, Rome. He is currently working on a book on theology, social media, and information technology. His research primarily aims at a dialogue between the Judaeo-Christian tradition and contemporary techno-scientific civilization.
