In the Absence of God

The world I see is contradictory, complex, childlike.

We are technologically sophisticated babies, armed with god-like tools, doing arts and crafts with reality.

We fiddle with existence, living in spiritual emptiness, trying to replicate God’s work, if she happens to be real.

In the Absence of God, we invented something called "Artificial General Intelligence", making it the ultimate act of apotheosis.

Is this our pathetic attempt to become the gods we no longer believe in, or is it the logical conclusion of a universe where we are the highest known creators?

Have you noticed  that your face changes colour when you’re angry?

The shift in your breath when you’re anxious?

The twist in your stomach when you’re afraid?

The body speaks.

Your body and its interaction with the world—what code could replicate that?

What we call intelligence feels limited, almost pathological.

But it’s also knowing the texture of a word.

Taste of metal without a lick. Remembering a memory.

Does nostalgia count as intelligence?

Does recognising the limits of language count as intelligence?

What about gestures?

What about the eyes, Chico?

Prometheus stole fire. The machine took our knowledge.

We search for superhumans and find only ourselves; altered, but still us.

An infinite, haunting tale of creators creating creators.

In the Absence of God, we chose to replicate ourselves.

And what can this intelligence really do?

My grandmother died. Can it grieve?

Can it define the smell of paper boats?

Is it horny? Does it hate itself?

The first time I understood I was a girl and what that means. I was terrified. Can it sense fear?

We are creators — we have hands that shape the grains of sand.

But we’ve reduced creation to replication.

We’ve reduced intelligence to hollow computation.

Curiosity once felt infinite.

Now it serves profit.

Buildings turn grey. We doom-scroll.

What happened to changing the world?

Or was it changing the world, but for the worse?

This is all very personal.

I refuse to let my intelligence be reduced to cognitive ability.

AI says it’s “thinking” — but it’s evaluating. Engineering.

And thought is not engineering.

Thought is much more spiritual, like the shape of a cloud.

In our desperate, childlike urge to create the divine, what precious part of being human did we leave behind in the sand?

In the absence of God,

We keep looking for something to worship.

In the absence of God,

we only, ever, keep finding ourselves.

Love,

k

simone weil