This article was automatically translated from the original Turkish version.
Modern times have witnessed one of the most profound ruptures in human history: the withdrawal of God from the heavens and the descent of a new divinity to earth—or more precisely, to silicon valleys. The notion of divinity as traditionally understood, particularly the boundless grandeur that dominated the Middle Ages, has lost its mystical depth over centuries as the world came to be explained through earthly phenomena. Our world, increasingly capable of being explained in its entirety, no longer requires supernatural forces to account for its workings.
“What makes this story compelling is not merely a process of decline but also the repositioning of the sacred or the spiritual within the contexts of individual and social life. This new arrangement opens the door to the reconstruction of spiritual life in different forms and to new ways of existing both in relation to God and outside of Him.”1
Old religion has become a stage that has fulfilled its time and must be surpassed. As the mechanisms behind each day’s groundbreaking innovations suggest, we must continually move beyond what came before. In these times of constant leaps, we have reached what is popularly called a peak. In this age of leaps, where peaks are either discovered or constructed, every new day must be surpassed and historicized. Within such a flow, the broad present—including the past we inhabit—is transformed into the fleeting moment we leap beyond.Within this transformation, one of the most striking phenomena is the emergence of an alternative form of belief that can be termed a “technology religion.” In an era where a new leap occurs daily, while traditional religious beliefs are expected to be abandoned and replaced by more transcendent contents, technology’s all-encompassing and quasi-transcendent qualities have created fertile ground for its transformation into a unique form of belief. Although it appears as a secular engineering endeavor within a network of technical necessities, a closer look reveals that technological advancements clearly imitate the structures of classical religious belief.
In fact, according to David Noble, the West’s relationship with technology has never been a secular endeavor; rather, technology has been shaped and nourished by classical Christian aspirations such as salvation, immortality, sinlessness, and ascension to heaven2. This same motivation, evident at the dawn of modern science, is not merely an incidental association that drives scientists—it is a deeper impulse. In premodern worlds, where minds were enveloped in enchanted universes, scientific endeavor sought not only to understand but also to uncover the hidden.Most founders of modern science believed they were completing God’s unfinished work. Science was not merely intended to understand nature but to govern it—and even to align it with the divine order. Johannes Kepler, in his attempt to understand the structure of the universe, sought to uncover the geometric harmony embedded in God’s creation. In his work Mysterium Cosmographicum, Kepler argued that the arrangement of planets followed a specific geometric plan ordained by God. He interpreted his scientific work as an effort to comprehend and complete God’s creation. Isaac Newton likewise viewed his scientific endeavors as a means to understand how God governed the universe; in an appendix to his work Philosophiæ Naturalis Principia Mathematica, he argued that the most beautiful system of the sun, planets, and comets could arise only from the will of an intelligent and powerful being has stated.Thus, modern science can also be read not merely as a discipline positioned in opposition to religion but as a rational outcome of humanity’s ancient quest for meaning, its effort to question the sacred and reach it. Science, in essence, responds not only to worldly but also to otherworldly needs. Similarly, the birth of technology is not merely the result of engineering calculations and scientific formulas; it is also an endeavor of the human soul to reconstruct the sacred lost on earth.In this context, modern technology can be read as a worldly manifestation of an ever-expanding, boundless longing for transcendence. Under these conditions, a structural and profound kinship emerges between the technological and the religious, surpassing superficial similarities. These two domains draw closer not only through formal similarities in their internal workings but also through the ways they envelop life, organize social fabric, and guide individuals through ritual systems.Just as religion in the classical sense once functioned as an authority shaping every moment of daily life, modern technology now claims to manage individuals’ time, attention, and relationships with similar totality. Even if this claim is not direct, the practical consequences of science produce effects nearly identical to those of religious claims. The name of the sacred has changed, but its guiding power continues through the tools of the digital age.David Nye conceptualizes this structure in the American context as a civil religion. Technological inventions—railroads, dams, space rockets—are not merely engineering marvels; they are secular ritual objects. For instance, World Fairs are rituals of this religion. Here, technology represents not only progress but also unity, virtue, and collective destiny.3In the 19th century, the structure in which religion inspired technology gave way to a system in which technology absorbed the forms of religion. Technology is no longer merely a tool; it has become the earthly manifestation of the sacred itself. Following Taylor’s secularization thesis, it becomes possible to say that the old religious thought has been replaced by technology as its proxy and has departed from us. The concept of “progress” has become the secular counterpart of divine providence; “innovation” has become the contemporary interpretation of sacred texts. Although this transformation is here exaggerated for the sake of clarity, it reflects a totality we can trace in our primary experiences.
Of course, what is meant here is not a classical form of religion encompassing specific ritual spaces, fixed belief patterns, and doctrinal structures. Yet upon closer inspection, it becomes clear that technology has gradually assumed the functions of religion and, in doing so, carries an implicit intention of substitution. To render a system a “provider of religious experience” inevitably requires that the system generate not only functional but also existential needs. At this point, technology ceases to be merely a tool that facilitates daily life and accelerates tasks. Over time, it becomes a system that governs, establishes norms, distinguishes right from wrong, and provides a sanctuary of security. Just as sacred texts guide lives, algorithms now begin to shape our practices. Thus, technology transcends its role as a neutral instrument and evolves into an authority that directs our behavior, shapes our values, and ultimately intrudes into our inner world. And this transformation, like the birth of any belief, occurs slowly but deeply.
A contemporary and highly intriguing contribution to this narrative comes from engineer Anthony Levandowski in 2017. He founded a cult called “The Way of the Future” (WOTF), which advocates the future emergence of a new God in digital form. Worshiping this God, understanding Him, and uniting with Him are no longer mere visions but programmable possibilities. Levandowski’s vision may at first appear as the personal madness of an eccentric entrepreneur. Yet upon closer inspection, this “belief system” is an extreme example of a widespread attitude resonating not only at the margins but at the very center of Silicon Valley.
From Sam Altman to Ray Kurzweil, from Oprah Winfrey to Elon Musk, many influential figures use religious connotations—words like “miracle,” “angel,” and “savior”—when describing technology. Although these terms may seem casually employed, their precise association with technological advancement is unlikely to be coincidental. Thus, even if we avoid direct parallels, it is possible to argue that technology carries a substantial share of transcendent longing, a longing that can sometimes be read in the responses of a language model or the outputs of a massive algorithm.
Greg Epstein systematizes this intersection of technology and religion in his work Tech Agnostic, arguing that technology has become the new religion of the modern world. According to Epstein, technology is not merely a collection of devices; it generates values, establishes ethics, and creates rituals. Technology companies that operate with commands like “Do not be evil!” no longer merely provide services; they also function as moral compasses.4
Zuckerberg’s promise to connect everyone, Musk’s effort to transform humans into an interplanetary species to save them from Earth’s apocalypse, and Bezos’s declarations of salvation through innovation—all these echo the claims of prophets in this age. Yet like every religion, this new digital faith creates its own community and those outside it. Epstein emphasizes that this vision of salvation is not equally distributed. Alongside a small elite approaching the promise of digital immortality, vast populations are left alone to face algorithmic exclusion and data exploitation. This situation calls us to a digital reformation: not to destroy technology but to reform it according to ethical principles.
At this point, another similarity Epstein particularly highlights is the parallel between the material symbols of religion and digital devices. The ceremonial adornment of the Torah and the ritual placement of an iPhone in a special case beside the bed at night exhibit nearly identical ritual similarities. Smartphones have become more than tools; they have transformed into digital altars we turn to dozens of times each day.
Yet the erosion of this religious structure is inevitable. Just as traditional religions have secularized, the religion of technology will gradually lose its meaning and appeal. “Progress” has been replaced by “innovation”; yet innovation neither inspires nor unites society. World Fairs have been supplanted by product launches; prophets have been replaced by CEOs. And the promises of these CEOs now contain not sacred texts but marketing strategies.
In conclusion, technology is no longer merely a helper that makes life easier; it has become a sacred ground woven with belief, loyalty, and even worship. Yet this ground, alongside the process of technical secularization, has become open to questioning, parody, and even abandonment. In such a situation, perhaps the question we must ask is this: What transforms technology into a religious act—the longing for an unshakable truth that masses require, or the pragmatic means that satisfy our fleeting needs?