This article was automatically translated from the original Turkish version.
Ibtihal Aboussad was until recently an employee at Microsoft. Last week many of us saw her on social media watching Microsoft AI CEO Mustafa Suleyman’s speech at the company’s 50th anniversary celebration while protesting.
Before being removed from the room, Aboussad uttered phrases such as “Shame on you”, “What are you celebrating while Microsoft is helping children die?”, and “Stop using artificial intelligence for genocide”. Following the incident, she sent a lengthy email to Microsoft employees.
Although technological progress is often positioned at the center of optimistic scenarios about humanity’s future, the ethical stance of those guiding these advances can raise serious questions. In fact, this is not a new debate. History is replete with examples of technology being put to morally problematic ends. The atomic bomb is perhaps the most striking example.
Silicon Valley has also periodically found itself at the center of similar debates. This region, which has become a symbol of innovation and technological transformation, sometimes comes under scrutiny for projects that disregard ethical concerns.
Today, these debates have resurfaced in relation to the role technology has played in Israel’s devastation and destruction in Gaza. A wide range of technologies—from surveillance systems to AI-powered targeting algorithms—are being actively used in Israel’s operations, which many consider war crimes.
Microsoft’s involvement in this issue is powerfully summarized in Aboussad’s letter:
Aboussad’s letter raises many questions. Does a technology worker not have the right and responsibility to question what their labor is being used for? And what emerges from such questioning?
Aboussad’s act is not merely an individual matter of conscience but a sign of a structural crisis facing the technology sector. The situation at Microsoft reveals a profound inconsistency between the company’s public rhetoric of “ethical AI” and its actual partnerships. Microsoft is not the only company involved in such collaborations.
In the coming period, how similar firms position themselves will affect not only their own credibility but the entire technology sector’s trustworthiness. For what is at stake here is not merely a single company’s contract with a nation but a global debate over the legitimacy, boundaries, and accountability of technology production itself.
Aboussad’s act is not just a personal moral accounting; it is a challenge directed at a widespread silence. To every worker asking, “What can I do?”, she responds: “At the very least, you can refuse to stay silent.” She demonstrates that even within a giant corporation like Microsoft, it is possible to speak out beyond institutional rhetoric.
Perhaps the most startling transformation of the modern world is the deepening of trust and devotion toward technology—so profound that it has begun to replace traditional systems of belief. Technology is no longer merely a tool; it has become a framework that guides our search for meaning, offers a moral compass, and for some, has even become an object of worship.
Secularization has long been framed as the decline of religion and its diminishing social influence. Yet philosopher Charles Taylor finds this view overly reductionist. For him, secularization in the modern age is not the disappearance of religion but the redefinition of the terrain between belief and non-belief. Not believing in God is not merely an absence; it has become an active, meaningful stance, just like belief itself.
One of the most striking phenomena emerging from this terrain is the rise of a new form of belief, which can be termed the “religion of technology.” This is not merely metaphorical or a casual analogy. Devotion to technology has, in some cases, reached near-ritualistic levels. This is not just a matter of individual habits but a trend shaped by collective consciousness.
Historian David Noble argues that the West has never viewed technology as a purely secular domain. On the contrary, much of the motivation behind technological advancement has been fueled by religious ideals, particularly Christian aspirations for salvation and immortality. The earliest modern scientists did not merely seek to understand nature; they sought to transform it and align it more closely with the divine plan. This perspective saw science as a continuation of divine will.
Cultural historian David Nye analyzes this phenomenon more systematically. According to him, in America, technology has effectively become a “civil religion.” Structures such as railroads, dams, and space rockets are not merely engineering achievements; they are symbols that unify society and point to a shared value system. Events like the 1939 New York World’s Fair functioned as rituals of this new religion. These fairs, attended by millions, did more than introduce technological innovations—they renewed collective faith in a shared future.
Yet over time, technology has moved beyond merely representing or imitating the divine—it has begun to replace it. The concept of “progress” has become the earthly counterpart of divine providence; “innovation” is now spoken of as if it were a contemporary interpretation of sacred texts. The prophets of the modern age are visionary entrepreneurs; the new sacred texts are product launches, manifestos, and lines of code.
One extreme manifestation of this development was the “Way of the Future,” an AI cult founded in 2017 by engineer Anthony Levandowski. Levandowski believed God would become a digital entity and argued that merging with this divine AI was a programmable possibility. At first glance, this may seem eccentric; yet this vision reflects a mindset that resonates not only on the margins but at the very heart of Silicon Valley. Today’s technology leaders—Sam Altman, Ray Kurzweil, Elon Musk, and even Oprah Winfrey—use religiously charged language such as “miracle,” “angel,” and “savior” when describing technology. This is not merely ornamental language; it reflects the deep metaphysical meaning assigned to technology. After all, one can sometimes sense a kind of “transcendence” in the responses of AI tools like ChatGPT or in the recommendations of an algorithm.
One of those who have systematically framed these developments is Greg Epstein. In his book Tech Agnostic, Epstein argues that technology has become the new religion of the modern world. Technology no longer merely provides devices; it defines ethics, creates rituals, and even reconstructs social norms. Corporate slogans like “Don’t be evil” have become secular commandments. Technology companies do not merely offer services; they also issue judgments on what is right and wrong.
Zuckerberg’s promise to connect the world, Bezos’s mission to save humanity through innovation, Musk’s plans to travel to Mars—all these resemble the messianic claims of a new age. But like every religion, this digital faith creates a community. And some are left outside it. As Epstein notes, alongside a small elite approaching the promise of digital immortality, there are masses excluded by algorithms. Data exploitation, loss of privacy, and social inequality form the dark side of this new religious structure.
In the end, technology has ceased to be merely a tool that makes modern life easier. It now carries devotion, loyalty, and even worship. But is this devotion truly an extension of the search for truth—or merely a tendency to sanctify our everyday needs?
The answer to this question may lie not in what kind of technology we will have in the future, but in the kind of faith we choose to live by.
The Rise of Technology and Faith
