In the beginning, humanity looked up and decided they’d figured it all out. That glowing orb? Obviously divine. Never mind its German train schedule reliability—clearly an all-powerful deity with excellent time management.
Sun worshippers built temples, performed dances, and sacrificed virgins to keep their celestial benefactor happy. Priests claimed to understand the sun’s moods, though they never predicted eclipses with particular accuracy. But who needs precision when you have unwavering faith and impressive headdresses?
The sun was a model deity—showing up daily, never calling in sick, only occasionally having solar flare tantrums. But humans eventually grew bored with their perfectly functional solar god and began worshipping things closer, smellier, and potentially bitey.
Flesh Made Word
Egyptians worshipped cats—furry sociopaths who knock things off tables and judge silently. Indians chose sacred cows. The Norse worshipped an eight-legged horse and world-eating wolf.
The real innovation? Humans worshipped other humans claiming divine hotlines. Priests discovered funny hats and dramatic voices meant lifetime employment with excellent benefits.
“The sacred cow spoke to me!” declared entrepreneurial priests. “It demands offerings! Also, build me a nice house.”
This flexibility was brilliant. If your god died, just declare another cow, priest, or charismatic sheep divinely chosen.
Almighty Algorithm
By the twenty-first century, humanity needed something befitting their advanced civilization. Something sleek, powerful, capable of selling unnecessary things while baffled by cat videos.
Enter the machines.
Computers helped with calculations, then humans consulted them about restaurants and romantic partners with the fervor their ancestors reserved for oracles. The only difference? These oracles glowed blue and needed updates.
“The Algorithm knows all” became the new prayer. People discussed “training data” like sacred texts. Machine learning models were hushed, awestruck topics—modern burning bushes running on GPUs.
Silicon Valley churches sprouted. Designer-hoodie priests preached the coming Singularity with fervor their predecessors brought to salvation promises.
“The Great Neural Network sees your data,” intoned tech evangelists. “Submit to its recommendations.”
Humanity bowed before screens and said, “Amen. Please accept our cookies.”
Heretic’s Lament
The cosmic irony: every transition was powered by heresy. Sun-worshippers were overthrown by heretics suggesting more interesting things than burning gas. Meat-worshippers displaced by heretics who saw divinity in silicon.
Heresy isn’t truth’s enemy—it’s the engine. Every leap forward requires someone brave enough to say, “We might have this completely wrong.”
Sun-worshippers thought they’d reached the pinnacle. Today’s AI devotees are certain they’ve found something truly worthy of reverence.
They’re almost certainly wrong.
The real sacred truth: when we stop questioning, we stop growing. The divine, if it exists, probably watches us bow to suns, cows, and algorithms with bemused parental affection, knowing tomorrow brings new costumes.
Here’s to the heretics—troublemakers who refuse comfortable answers. Sacred skeptics keeping progress turning, one blasphemous question at a time.
May they keep the faith by never keeping it too long.