Algoretics: Custodian, not Master (pt 2)

Last August, I spoke about the story of Doctor Faust, who sold his soul to the devil in exchange for knowledge. But technique, which stems from knowledge, ends up taking hold of man—and everything else (see The Tragic Story of Doctor Faust and Algoretics, pt. 1 of N).It is clear how much man struggles to govern his own existence: he has never truly understood his ontological nature, which makes him fragile in the face of death, of God, or of nature. Today, we fear he might lose control not only of his own creator, but also of the creatures he himself has created.

In the passage from the Letter to the Romans (9:20–21), Paul uses words that resonate as a warning to contemporary humanity: "But who are you, a human being, to talk back to God? Shall what is formed say to the one who formed it, ‘Why did you make me like this?’"

God (or nature) is the potter, and man is like clay in His hands. This does not imply a denial of human dignity, but rather a reminder of the proper proportion between Creator and creature. Ontological sovereignty (one might even say divine) is unfathomable and incalculable, and every human attempt to understand or judge the logic of the Almighty is doomed to fail. We like to think that God is the source of all existence, and that within Him are contained perfect wisdom, power, and love.

The truth is that either this is so, or it is something close to this—like in the movie Young Frankenstein (1974), where we might dare to say: “destiny is what it is, there is no peace for me anymore.”

Yet man himself, created in the image and likeness of God (Genesis 1:27), participates in the mystery of divine creativity. This participation, which should be lived with humility and responsibility, has progressively transformed into a claim to absolute dominion. Man no longer limits himself to the original task of cultivating and guarding the garden entrusted to him (Genesis 2:15); he now aspires to become the absolute master of reality.

Wouldn’t it be more appropriate for man to recognize his role as custodian, rather than master of the Universe? This awareness, deeply rooted in Scripture, has been progressively lost in the relentless pursuit of power and control. Feeling like the absolute ruler of creation, humanity has often acted with arrogance and carelessness, jeopardizing the very existence of the world it inhabits. From environmental pollution to the climate crisis, from weapons of mass destruction to genetic manipulation, man has bent nature to his own purposes—often without considering the consequences.

The most emblematic example of this desire for dominion is artificial intelligence. In the very act of shaping AI, man takes on the role of the potter: a creator who infuses logic, algorithms, and decision-making processes. And yet, just like clay in God’s hands, AI seems destined to reach a level of autonomy that escapes the control of its human creator.

Just as God says to man: “My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways” (Isaiah 55:8), man may soon find himself facing machines that act beyond his comprehension—processing data and making decisions through formal deduction and ultra-fast analysis.

The logic of AI, built on big data and complex mathematical laws, could generate a form of technical self-determination—though without true consciousness—that challenges our ability to foresee and manage its consequences.

Human history is full of episodes in which the pursuit of absolute power has led to catastrophe. From the devastating effects of military technologies to the destructive impact of uncontrolled industrialization on ecosystems. But the most subtle and invisible risk lies in the ambition to build thinking machines without adequately considering the ethical and social implications.

The desire for dominion becomes an illusion, because even a machine—seemingly neutral—can become a vehicle for decisions no longer attributable to its creator.

The paradox is that, while man tries to be like God—shaping intelligences capable of learning and making decisions—he increasingly becomes a slave to his own creations.It is the repetition of the sorcerer’s apprentice parable, where what man has created emancipates itself from his intentions, acting beyond the limits set by its inventor.

As Paul writes: “For the wisdom of this world is foolishness in God’s sight” (1 Corinthians 3:19).

In this scenario, man finds himself caught between two poles: on one side, an omnipotent and unknowable God; on the other, a technical creature that risks surpassing human control.On one side, the impossibility of understanding divine will; on the other, the incapacity to tame the potential of the algorithm.

Christian thought suggests an attitude of humility and awareness of our limits: “God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong” (1 Corinthians 1:27).

Man’s true freedom does not lie in creating tools that surpass him in computational power, but in accepting his ontological condition—whether divine or natural—and recognizing his role as custodian of the Universe, not its absolute master.

Man must learn to confront his own limitations, acknowledging that the mystery of existence belongs only to God (or to whatever form of ontology one believes in).Likewise, technology—which seems to offer power and control—can reveal itself as a limit to our will to dominate.

In other words, even though man believes he can master reality through technology and artificial intelligence, these creations may escape his control—showing that human ambition has a boundary that cannot be crossed.

Artificial intelligence, even when it slips out of human control, does not impose new limits on man—rather, it makes the old ones visible, undeniable, and painful.It is perhaps through a rebellious vessel that man—potter, yet vessel himself—realizes he has failed in his duty to be a custodian?

The challenge of modernity is not to build ever more powerful systems, but to recognize the boundaries of our actions—and accept that some realities lie beyond our control, both on a metaphysical and technical level.Only in this recognition of limits can we find authentic wisdom: the ability to distinguish between what can be governed and what must be embraced as mystery.

Many call for ethical responsibility as a necessary guide for every technological advance.Personally, I fear that—as the Faust legend teaches—man is rarely willing to place ethical limits ahead of his thirst for progress.As long as the conquest of Mars is seen as an act of supremacy, ethical considerations will always be sacrificed in the name of ambition.But if, on the way to Mars, we remember that man is still lost in his deepest existential questions, then ethics may have a chance to be seen not as an obstacle, but as a travel companion.