After the last days of Liberus in power, a new king was crowned. His name was D. Pump.
Three wise men from Silicon Valley came to Washington asking: “Where is the man who has been born king of the Americans? We could no longer see the shining star of the liberati, so we got lost. But now we acknowledge the new light, yet to be extended to the entire planet.”
And so, the doors of the White House were unlocked to them. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of money, technology, and information.
They came to the White House with gifts but also with a warning: “The end is near.”
The youngest of the three came forward and said: “The seals have been broken. Humanity is at peril. It is too late for our scientists to save the planet. Too late for our liberal politicians to save the country. Too late for society to talk about itself. Don’t you see we are impotent sinners? Human, all too human, to believe we have any power over our destiny? Only a higher power can save us.”
A small crowd gathered around the wise men and marveled at such words. They had recognized the signs of the Apocalypse. They had seen the fundamental nature of humans: poor, finite creatures, incapable of saving themselves. They needed some power coming from beyond.
A woman raised her voice and said: “I don’t understand. Do you mean the day of Jubilee has arrived, when all debts will be forgiven? When will we be recognized as equals?”
“Oh dear!” cried another wise man, and continued: “I see your heart has been infected too by the false words of the wokehood priests. We came here to invert all values.”
“Well, most of them,” corrected the other, while continuing the discourse with the following words:
“Repeat after me: Apocalypse. Apocalypse. Apocalypse. It has been announced. But there is a last chance to stop the wo(r)kers from taking over the world and thus bringing it to an end. It is artificial intelligence. This is the real kathechon, the stopper of the Antichrist.”
The first wise man who had spoken gently raised his hand to be heard:
“Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Magi Z-berg, and I consider myself an apostle of the new faith—AI. I came to know the truth one day, while analyzing the stock values of the stars in the Meta constellation.
They were large numbers—so large that they ceased to make sense, even to me. I closed my eyes and began thinking of all the miserable people around the world. No: the real pest wasn’t poverty, nor exploitation, nor the lack of resources. It was information!
‘Information is a human right!’ I cried aloud. But not just any type of information—information about our lives. I looked in the mirror and saw the awful truth: people hate themselves.
What if they could start all over again in a new world? What if they could design themselves as little gods, just as they like? Let’s roll back the history of humanity to the Garden of Eden and open a new path.
I am wise because of my business acumen—the great knowledge of our times. I know how to make money. People don’t. But that should not make them miserable. They are products of a market we call society.
I say: let’s create a virtual world where everybody can make a brand of themselves—openly self-advertising their lives. And so, it starts: with identity issues. But over time, the virtual will inevitably replace what we once called the world.
People will work, have fun, and even date in this new Metaland—a world that Lewis Carroll could not have dreamed of! I will be the landlord, the master of the virtual lands, granting everyone the right to live in my realm.”
As the wise man finished his words, another one clapped with a sarcastic smile, saying:
“These are wonderful words indeed. A new Garden of Eden. Everybody a god for herself. A new history of creation. Yes, it sounds nice. But I promise even more.
Not only the illusion of wealth, but real wealth.
My name is Sam Oldman. The end of the world is near—that is true. Yet technology not only can, but will actually save us. AI will revolutionize everything, above all, production. It will bring forth enormous amounts of wealth. And this wealth should, in the long run, reach everybody.
For I will not lie to you: hard times will come before we can all enjoy the Kingdom of God on Earth. In the short run, we can do nothing but hold tight to AI.
Don’t forget the teaching behind the story of the Fall: we were not expelled from paradise. We were sent into the world with a mission—to conquer it through knowledge, through mathematics. This was the gift of the forbidden fruit.
Only now, with AI, can we fulfill God’s will. God coded nature with numbers. As we read in John: ‘In the beginning was the Logos,’ and Logos is coding. God Himself is a coder—and now, so are we.”
The first day outside Paradise (Gen 3:19), we were told: “By the sweat of your face you will eat bread.” But now, we can vanquish toil—and thus erase the original sin.
Some false prophets told you this was called communism: the end of hard, meaningless labor, so that we could all live in Paradise again—but here, on this Earth; just as God created the world, without restriction.
AI was promised to our ancestors to remove sin from the world.
But how, dear brothers and sisters, shall we grant wealth to everybody? By being nice? By asking the powerful people of the Earth to give up some of their wealth? It shouldn’t be much, for we don’t want to upset them.
Some have said that the problems of humanity are not technical, but political—that abundance is already here, but poorly distributed; that there is enough food, enough energy for everybody, but never good will from actual governments.
But you should not allow yourselves to be led astray.
Technology was the beginning.
Technology is the end.
The Alpha and the Omega.
It has been said: “For information thou art, and into information thou shalt return.”
The third man didn’t bother to clap. There was silence for a while.
Know that the wise men came from the same place—they shared a faith, but also competed for the young king’s favor and prepared the sweetest words for the people around him.
He gazed with contempt, took the floor, and began his speech:
“My name is Freelon Mask. I know about your future deeds, young King Trump. You will have to work hard and show perseverance.
Woke people have ravaged our customs. Our species is in danger. The Earth cannot hold much longer. But we are only suffering the consequences of the wokees in power. No more! They are cowards in bureaucratic suits, consuming the budget.
My two friends have spoken of a new world in the clouds. Of future wealth.
On the contrary, I speak of the present—in the present. I am myself a billionaire. And I know the right people.
If you appoint me to the reign, I promise you all a brave new world. Not on Earth. Not in the clouds… but on Mars.
Just realize: we are running out of resources—water, energy, livable space. The possibility of a meteorite hitting the Earth exists at every moment. Wouldn’t it be a shame to erase consciousness from the universe?
We must save humanity. There is no cost that matters.
There is a paradise to come. It has red soil.
We will be saved—but not all. Don’t forget Noah. Who are the chosen ones to come into my rocket? Those who have the mark of money—the unmistakable sign of providence.
Repent from wokism and you might be saved. Might, I say, since we know that God’s ways are inextricable.
Technology is moved by the hand of God so that the prophecy is fulfilled:
There will be a new promised land for the chosen ones.”
People were amazed. Some followed Z-berg; others, Oldman.
But the majority went with Mask.
Pomp clapped, delighted. He invited all of them to his house, but reserved a beautiful golden chair for the last speaker, saying:
“Indeed, the Reign of God is near.”