Watchman’s Warning: Technocracy Is Based On The Belief That There Are Technological Solutions To All Social, Economic, And Political Problems. The Elon Musks And Peter Thiels Of The Planet And Many More Of Their (ungodly) Ilk Share This Single-minded Belief. God Is Not Included

BY SRH

What did Elon Musk mean when he said he was “dark MAGA?” Exploring this question will certainly take us to a very dark conclusion. Yet, ironically, it is this very conclusion that, once seen in the right light, can liberate us.

This two-part series examines the genuine but misplaced hopes of the millions of US citizens who elected Donald Trump to his second non-consecutive term. Unbeknownst to them, they have voted to live in a Technate administered by what is called “gov-corp.” In so doing, they have taken another step toward a multipolar world order, or “New World Order,” as some have long called it.

Shortly before the November 2024 election, Elon Musk, speaking at a Trump rally in Butler, Pennsylvania, announced, “I’m not just MAGA, I’m dark MAGA.” Only a couple of months earlier Trump had survived an alleged assassination attempt at the same Butler show grounds. Sharing the stage with “bullet-proof” populist hero Trump, an absolute shoe-in for the presidency, Musk seized his moment.

The Make America Great Again (MAGA) acronym is broadly understood. But Musk’s added adjective “dark” is little understood — and implies much more.

Explanations for his “dark MAGA” declaration have ranged from Musk pushing the Dark MAGA meme coin to Musk casting himself as a super-antihero or even an advocate of a violent fascist takeover of the US. None of these claims have addressed his more obvious reference. Musk is one of a cadre of technocrats behind the Trump presidency who promote the ideas encapsulated by the Dark Enlightenment.

Peter Thiel, a co-founder of PayPal along with Musk, is probably the best-known proponent of the Dark Enlightenment while Musk is the best-known proponent of Technocracy. But, as we shall see in this article, these sociopolitical theories have considerable overlap and are mutually reinforcing.

Elon Musk’s Technocratic Heritage

In a 2021 SEC filing, Tesla CEO Elon Musk and Tesla’s then-Chief Financial Officer Zach Kirkhorn officially changed their respective working titles to become the “TechnoKings” of Tesla. This might seem like nothing but irreverent fun—consider that Kirkhorn was also known by the Game of Thrones title of “Master of Coin”—but Musk certainly understands the gravity of Technocracy and the associated term “technocrat.”

Their careful choice of words is an important point emphasized throughout this article. While oligarchs like Musk and Thiel often express ideas in a seemingly flippant manner—or as if the ideas sprang from out of nowhere—these apparent offhand remarks are not meaningless. It is Aesopian language indicative of the core beliefs held by people like Musk, Peter Thiel, Jeff Bezos, and other members of what Council on Foreign Relations think tank member David Rothkopf generously characterizes, in his book on the subject, as the “Superclass“: people who can “influence the lives of millions across borders on a regular basis.”

The “joke” is on us. Or, rather, on those of us who assume it’s all just a joke.

Both Musk and Thiel are members of the “superclass,” though “parasite class” might be a more fitting description for the oligarchy Rothkopf describes. “Insider” Rothkopf’s estimate of around 6,000 individual oligarchs, whose decisions impact the lives of the remaining eight billion of us, seems feasible.

Musk and Thiel are just two among the 6,000 by virtue of being welcomed into the “superclass” by behind-the-scenes oligarchs who do not feature on the published lists of the world’s wealthiest men and women. Musk and Thiel are made men. We are focusing on them because they are prominent accelerationist technocrat supporters of the Trump/Vance administration.

Elon Musk’s maternal grandfather was Joshua N. Haldeman (1902–1974), who hailed from Pequot, Minnesota. In 1906, when Joshua was four, his parents took the family north and settled in the Canadian province of Saskatchewan. In 1936, after 34 years of life on the western plains of the US and Canada, Joshua Haldeman moved to Saskatchewan’s provincial capital, Regina, where he established a successful chiropractic business.

Between 1936 and 1941, Haldeman did more than realign spines. He was also the research director and leader of the Regina branch of an up-and-coming entity known as Technocracy Incorporated, shortened to Technocracy Inc. In 1940, while serving in that post, he was arrested by the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP) for violating Defence of Canada regulations, under which Technocracy Inc. was deemed an “illegal organisation.” As a result, Haldeman was denied entry into the US, where he had intended to deliver a speech promoting Technocracy. He was then fined and given a suspended sentence for heading up the controversial Technocracy Inc.

Following his 1941 conviction, Haldeman joined the Canadian Social Credit Party (Socred), which had been formed in 1932 by evangelist William Aberhart. Socred sought to implement the “social credit” economic theory of British engineer and economist C. H. Douglas. Like Socred, Technocracy was based upon the “industrial efficiency” ideas of engineer Frederick Winslow Taylor (Taylorism). It also dovetailed with the “conspicuous consumption” economic theories of Thorstein Veblen.

C. H. Douglas presented his theory of social credit to tackle what he saw as the inequality of opportunity created by the centralised control and hoarding of resources and wealth. He identified the “macro-economic gap” between retail price inflation and wage growth. He suggested filling that gap by creating the “National Credit Office”—which would be independent of state control—to issue “debt-free” credit to consumers. Part of this National Credit would be used to lower retail prices. The remainder would be distributed to all citizens, irrespective of their personal financial situation, as a way of creating consumer demand for goods. Douglas’ suggestion was an early model of Universal Basic Income (UBI).

Joshua Haldeman’s family of seven, which included a daughter, Maye Haldeman, left Canada in 1950 to set up base in Pretoria, South Africa. As entrepreneurs and adventurers, they travelled extensively. By her own account, Maye Haldeman was close to her parents and adopted their entrepreneurial spirit, sense of adventure and work ethic. Unavoidably, she was also familiar with her parents’ political ideas. Maye recalled that, as a child, she and her siblings would do their “monthly bulletins and photocopy newsletters, and then put the stamps on the envelopes.”

Maye Haldeman married Errol Musk in 1970. Their son, Elon, was born in Pretoria a year later. He was an infant when his grandfather died in a plane crash. Nonetheless, as he was growing up, Elon learned about and became intimately familiar with his grandfather’s political philosophy.

Though Musk was evidently close to his mother, he elected to stay with his father in Pretoria when his parents divorced in 1979. After Elon’s relationship with his father soured, he encouraged his mother to claim her Canadian passport, according to Maye. Her doing so enabled Elon to quickly secure his own Canadian passport, emigrate from South Africa—which he did at age 17—and thereby avoid compulsory military service in that country.

Elon’s ultimate goal was to live and work in the US. But before that, he decided to head from Montreal to Waldeck, Saskatchewan, where, upon returning to his roots, he worked as a farm hand on his second cousin’s farm. There, he awaited his mother Maye’s arrival from Pretoria. She was followed by Elon’s two siblings, Kimbal and Tosca, who also wanted to be closer to the Haldeman side of the family in Canada.

Musk studied at Queen’s College in Kingston, Ontario, for two years before acting upon his aim of settling in America. He transferred to the University of Pennsylvania, where he earned a bachelor’s degree in physics and economics. Subsequently, he interned in Silicon Valley tech companies before abandoning education to pursue his entrepreneurial ambitions.

Fast Forward to Today

In October 2024, Amazon billionaire Jeff Bezos posted on Musk’s “X” platform an alluring statement: “The Network State for Mars is being formed before our eyes.” Musk enthusiastically replied, “The Mars Technocracy.” To which Bezos responded, “Count me in.”

As he continues to dream about colonising Mars, Musk has made it abundantly clear which political system he prefers. In 2019, he wrote: “Accelerating Starship development to build the Martian Technocracy.” Note his use of the word “accelerating.” For Musk “accelerating” doesn’t simply mean an increase in velocity.

Musk has long advocated Universal Basic Income. Here’s one instance of his embrace of UBI: At the World Government Summit in 2017, Musk said, “We will have to have some kind of universal basic income.” Another example: In June 2024, speaking with then-Prime Minister Rishi Sunak at the UK-convened first global “AI Safety Summit,” Musk painted a Utopian vision of an artificial intelligence-dominated society and “an age of abundance” before adding, “We won’t have universal basic income, we’ll have universal high income.” In other words, he was suggesting that the masses would have perfect “lives of abundance” enabled by the ultimate AI-controlled distribution of UBI.

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Musk desires Technocracy—and a social credit system—just as his grandfather Joshua Haldeman did. This is evident beyond his personal history and his words. Everything Musk does is completely congruent with these dual pursuits. But when we are invited to discuss Technocracy in reference to Mars, we are of course asked to ignore all the evidence that exposes Musk’s and his fellow oligarchs’ attempts to establish a “Technate”—a system of technocratic, totalitarian continental control—here on Earth.

As is the case with many of his oligarch brethren, Musk’s business acumen and his ethics are highly questionable. It appears he has survived and thereafter thrived in business solely because of his network connections, his considerable state backing, and the largess of his investors. As George Carlin wisely observed, “It’s a big club.”

Musk invested more than a quarter-billion dollars to install Trump in the Oval Office. Naturally, he anticipates a return on his investment. In fact, that ROI is a done deal: Musk already makes billions from US taxpayers through a web of government contracts. For tycoons like Musk, money is simply a means to an end: obtaining power. His wealth has positioned him to start seriously implementing his grand vision of Technocracy.

Musk’s dive into Technocracy is underway through the newly established temporary agency in Washington, D.C., he now chairs. Announced last November by Trump, created on his first day in office, and supposedly set to complete its mission by the summer of 2026, the US Department of Government Efficiency, known as DOGE, appears to be a nascent Technocracy.

Venture capitalist Musk and biotech billionaire Vivek Ramaswamy were handpicked to run DOGE with the help of Cantor Fitzgerald CEO Howard Lutnick. Vivik has since departed to run for Governor of Ohio. Lutnick was Trump’s choice to become the US Secretary of Commerce and was recently confirmed. His appointment raises many concerns. Not least of them is his link to Satellogic, a strategic partner of Peter Thiel’s Palantir Technologies. This link reveals Lutnick’s personal investment in the public-private surveillance state that is governed by US and Israeli intelligence agencies.

Yet Lutnick has an even more significant conflict of interest. He is steering Cantor Fitzgerald to back Tether (USDT), a stablecoin that is increasingly purchasing US Treasurys. As we move toward the era of digital currencies, the US government project to save its debt-laden dollar and its fragile economy is closely tied to stablecoins. Thus, as Secretary of Commerce, Lutnick will be in a position to guide the development of markets toward the new US digital economy. We’ll expand on this angle in Part 2.

Perhaps it’s just a coincidence that “the Doge” was the formal title of the chief administrator (magistrate) of the mercantile Venetian Republic. As we shall also discuss in Part 2, there are many reasons to suspect that today’s DOGE acronym is not a mere coincidence.

The departure of Ramaswamy and Lutnick from the DOGE project appears to leave Musk as its sole “CEO.” A corporate monarchy, led by a CEO “king,” (TechnoKing) is in keeping with the theories underpinning the Dark Enlightenment.

The stated purpose of the DOGE is to restructure the federal government to reduce expenditures and maximise efficiency. That goal is in keeping with Taylorism, a foundation of Technocracy.

One of the leading neoreactionaries (we’ll explain this term shortly), Curtis Yarvin, coined the catchy acronym RAGE. It stands for Retire All Government Employees. The parallels between the stated ambitions of the DOGE and the intention of Yarvin’s RAGE are marked.

Apparently, the DOGE will not be an official executive department but will instead operate as a Federal Presidential Advisory Committee, supposedly outside of government. But make no mistake: The DOGE will be inextricably tied to the political process. Its employees will be housed in the former offices of its predecessor, the United States Digital Service. And its helmsman, Musk, will reportedly have a personal office in the West Wing of the White House.

The efficiency ideas of certain nominated experts, starting with Musk, will be given political clout via a new “DOGE” subcommittee of the House Committee on Oversight and Government Reform. This subpanel is chaired by controversial congresswoman Marjorie Taylor Greene (R-GA)—often referred to as MTG. On the surface, it may look like an oversight subcommittee with authority over the science, engineering, and technology “experts,” but in practice the “experts” will be effectively controlling the related political policy decisions. This concept of policy designed by technical “experts” is central to Technocracy.

J.P. Morgan Chase Chairman and CEO Jamie Dimon is among those who have welcomed the DOGE plan. Certainly, the proposal to radically reduce or even eradicate US government’s financial regulators appeals to bankers like Dimon. The Trump administration is seeking to seize and centralise control of financial regulators such as the Security and Exchange Commssion (SEC) and the antitrust regulator the Federal Communications Commission (FCC). Consequently, the banks are anticipating a much lighter regulatory touch. Speaking at Davos, J.P. Morgan asset wealth fund manager Mary Erdoes—tipped to succeed Dimon as CEO—said the moves had freed US bankers’ “animal spirits” and set investment banks in “go-mode.”

Given that Elon Musk was neither elected by Americans nor authorized by their representatives in Congress, the DOGE represents a formal shift in political power from the public to the private sector. It is fundamentally a private sector-dominated think tank openly empowered to “restructure federal agencies.” If the DOGE proceeds as suggested, it is clear that, as we pointed out above, elected US representatives—MTG among them—and US senators will not have the upper hand. Indeed, we might question if they are even capable of grasping the ulterior motives of those driving the DOGE concept.

Also, given that Musk and other DOGE supporters—Bezos, for example—have long profited from huge government contracts, and given that the likes of Dimon will doubtlessly be asked to “advise” the DOGE, we see a massive conflict of interest at the heart of the DOGE project. That conflict, like everything else about the DOGE, is aligned with Technocracy, for it affords pecking-order privileges to the very technocrats who seek to control a Technate.

Darkly Enlightened Christianity

Irrespective of the various religious rites practiced by different Christian denominations or of the sectarian divisions to which they give rise, the unifying values of all genuine Christians—love, compassion, humility, integrity, and justice—are easy to appreciate and respect.

But right-leaning members of the neoreactionary movement, including Yarvin and Land, take exception to what they consider a progressive translation of those Christian values. Consequently, self-proclaimed Christian neoreactionaries have adopted a warped reinterpretation of the traditional Christian values most of us recognise.

“Universalism” is a Christian theology that preaches the doctrine of universal reconciliation with God. Christian Universalism maintains that anyone—Christian or not, saint or sinner—can find salvation through Jesus Christ. Universalism often holds that there is no permanent damnation to Hell because “the Lord will not cast off forever.”

The theology of Universalism is aligned with Mainline Protestantism, which emphasises social justice and personal salvation and offers more liberal and progressive interpretations of scripture. Yarvin attacks Christian Universalism as an extreme form of Calvinism, which, he says, dictates that “all dogs go to Heaven and there is no Hell.” His objection is to the inference that “everyone is part of the elect.”

The belief that we are all equally deserving of grace is contrary to the dogma of the neoreactionary right. Remember, the NRx proclaims that humanity’s “portion of sovereignty” is worthy only of “derision.”

Consequently, the NRx neologise “Universalism” to mean the synthesis between “the mainline Protestant and secular Nationalist movements.” Yarvin argues that US secular nationalism has become “internationalism”—globalism—and that “nationalism” has consequently become “an inappropriate term.”

The neoreactionaries reference an article published in Time magazine in 1942, titled “Religion: American Malvern” as alleged proof that progressive liberal theology has mutated and merged with progressive, political globalism. This is considered to be to the detriment of both Christian beliefs and nationalism. Though the article links the political corruption of the church in the US with globalists like John Foster Dulles, it does not demonstrate that Christian theology and progressive political ideology are intertwined.

Nonetheless, as the Cathedral is defined as the supposed dominant progressive ideology of the ruling class, Yarvin concludes that political progressivism is a “sect of Christianity”—and not a sect he embraces.

Frankly, this appears to be little more than linguistic trickery. Other than the fact that reform is common to both political progressivism and theological liberalism, the neoreactionaries’ suggested marriage of the two seems tenuous. It is almost impossible to follow Yarvin’s and Land’s reasoning, to the point where many have questioned if there is any.

Yarvin insists that modern Christianity itself has become a core component of the “nontheistic sect” of NRx-defined Universalism—the neo-puritanical faith in the Cathedral. Consequently, according to the NRx, the neoreactionaries who oppose Universalism are viewed as literal heretics by the neo-puritan acolytes of the Cathedral—that is, everyone who is not a neoreactionary.

Yarvin rejects this notion and sees those who embrace liberal theology—progressivism—as the true heretics. It is the NRx, he posits, that seeks to restore the true Christian faith:

If a Christian who believes his or her faith is justified by universal reason is a Universalist, a Christian who believes his or her faith is justified by divine revelation—in other words, a “Christian” as the word is commonly used today—might be called a Revelationist.

For NRx Christians like Peter Thiel, imposing gov-corp and removing the stultifying influence of the progressive Universalism is the Christian thing to do. In their view, the true revelation is that “real” Christians reject liberal theology and hold to a more literal reading of scripture. Combined with his sociopolitical philosophy, this theology has evidently led Thiel, and presumably others who share his faith, to adopt supposed Christian values most of us would struggle to recognise as Christian.

Today, the TechnoKings—such as Y Combinator CEO Garry Tan—and many of the leading lights in the Mainstream Alternative Media (MAM)—are more openly discussing and promoting their Christian faith. Take Russell Brand, for example. Brand’s proselytising is popular on the Thiel-backed Rumble video-sharing platform, where many MAM heavyweights have prospered.

As noted by the UK’s Christian Today, Hulk Hogan, Shia LaBeouf, Rob Schneider, Kat Von D, Candace Owens, and Ayaan Hirsi Ali are also among the many celebrities and “talking heads” to have very conspicuously converted to Christianity (mainly Catholicism) in recent months. Before we assume this indicates a resurgence in Christian values, perhaps we should first look at what those values might be.

It is tempting to see the fashion for openly advocating your Christianity as a marketing strategy, particularly in the US. The “Bible Belt” represents a sizeable demographic and usually a Republican heartland. But there is more to it.

Peter Thiel has been something of a faith leader among the TechnoKing class and has long been open about his own allegedly Christian beliefs. Thiel is also an enthusiast and former student of the philosophy of René Girard (1923–2015). His personal Christian values are evidently heavily influenced by his sociopolitical and philosophical beliefs. They diverge considerably from the Christian values we have discussed to this point.

Girard argued that people’s desire to imitate others—mimesis—led them to covet objects and services, ascribing them corresponding and often irrational value. His mimetic theory is largely consistent with Veblen’s conspicuous consumption.

When humans are driven by mimetic desire, social conflict—and ultimately violence—is inevitable as we compete for resources, Girard proffered. The conflict escalates until it becomes all-consuming and threatens to destroy society. That’s when a scapegoat becomes necessary, he argued.

Via the scapegoat mechanism, an individual or group is blamed, persecuted, and murdered. This “founding murder” unites society and returns it to a more stable condition. But the peace is precarious, for the underlying mimetic desire remains. If we follow Girard’s reasoning and assume the founding murder requires planning, we could describe the othering of the scapegoat as an archetypal psychological operation (psyop).

The founding murder facilitates cultural renewal through the process of sacralization. An accompanying mythology imbues the murdered scapegoat with great power. The scapegoat’s guilt means they had to die for society to be reborn, thereby rendering the murder a sacred act. Subsequent symbolic sacrifices, according to Girard, were reaffirmations of the cultural significance of the founding murder.

Girard converted to Catholicism in 1959 based on what he contended was an empirical philosophical approach to scripture. He identified the story of Christ Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection as an archetypal example of a “founding murder.” The Lamb of God was the scapegoated slain victim who becomes the miraculous foundation of a new culture.

Girard viewed the resurrection of Jesus—theologically proving he was “not guilty”—as a cultural turning point in human history. It exposed the lie underpinning the scapegoat mechanism. The founding murder of Christ reveals the contradiction at the heart of human society. Its treasured “peace” is only—can only—stem from its own inherent and uncontrollable violence.

In 2003, Thiel wrote an essay titled “The Straussian Moment.” In it, Thiel challenged both the rationality of the Enlightenment and prevailing Christian theology. He argued that the founding murder “is the secret origin of all religious and political institutions.” Therefore, to maintain its Enlightened delusions and its Christian pretensions—in Girardian terms—modern society’s only option is to deceive itself by ignoring the “truth about human nature.”

Thiel criticized Enlightenment philosophers, such as John Locke, for overlooking the mimetic desires of human beings. Determining this “desire” to be a fundamental aspect of human nature, Thiel wrote: “In the place of human nature, Locke leaves us with an unknowable X.”

Thiel argued that human nature—the unknowable X—could be known and accounted for. Thus, like Yarvin, Land, and the broader NRx, Thiel rejected the alleged ambiguity of the Enlightenment:

[T]he Enlightenment undertook a major strategic retreat. If the only way to stop people from killing one another [in the name of religion or conflicting beliefs] involved a world where nobody thought about [human nature] too much, then the intellectual cost of ceasing such thought seemed a small price to pay. The question of human nature was abandoned because it is too perilous a question to debate.

Thiel finds this “lack of understanding of this truth of human culture” to be a fatal flaw. He agrees with Girard’s point that “the modern world contains a powerfully apocalyptic dimension”—mimetic desire. It is fundamentally unstable, prone to revolution, corruption, and collapse and cannot be permanent. Therefore, the Christian imperative is to acknowledge mimetic apocalypse and understand that the truth delivered by the resurrection is the real revelation of the founding murder: humanity is the problem.

In “The Straussian Moment,” Thiel presents this world view by proposing a course of action for Christian politicians who understand the “truth” about the founding murder of Christ. Once understood, violent human nature and the cyclical inevitability of apocalypse can be included in a more cohesive theology, he believes.

Christian politicians should proceed by “determining the correct mixture of violence and peace” they may need to utilise, depending on the circumstances. The task is to manage the “limitless violence of runaway mimesis” with the objective of delivering the “peace of the kingdom of God.”

It is ironic that Thiel criticises what he sees as the vagaries within Enlightenment rationality. There appears to be quite a lot of moral ambiguity in Thiel’s Christian “values.”

Over the last two decades, Thiel’s opinion has changed little. His Girardian view of mimetic apocalypse has presumably combined with his darkly enlightened conceptualisation of the singularity and shaped his personal theology. Speaking to Peter Robinson from the Hoover Institute, Thiel laid out his thoughts about the apocalypse.

Thiel said that human nature has a “limitless violence to it.” Therefore, biblical prophecies of the apocalypse really speak of what “humanity is likely to do in a world of ever more powerful technology.” Thiel agrees with René Girard that violence is not “one of God’s attributes.” Consequently, he rejects the more humanist view of the Enlightenment philosophers that humanity “is not that dangerous.” Again, humanity is the primary risk in Thiel’s theology.

Thiel considers that the world is beset with existential crises. He lists climate change, the threat of nuclear war, the singularity, pandemics and other aspects of the so-called polycrisis. Humanity fears the “apocalyptic specter” but, he contends, it views the solution to be “a one world state that has real teeth, real power. And the biblical term for that is the Antichrist.” Thiel deems centralised global government synonymously as “the Antichrist or Armageddon.” As salvation will only be found when people recognise the truth about the founding murder of Christ, society must confront and be realistic about its own mimetic violence. The problem is, Thiel argues, that humanity is not “apocalyptic enough.”

Continuing his conversation with Robinson, Thiel used the allegory of Odysseus‘ return voyage to Circe’s island, observing how Odysseus carefully navigated the waters between the dangers of the six-headed monster Scylla (the polycrisis – apocalypse) and the whirlpool Charybdis (a one world state – Armageddon or the Antichrist). Comparing himself to Odysseus, Thiel says that he would like to chart “some narrow path between these two where we can avoid both.”

From Thiel’s theological perspective, the mimetic apocalypse is driving the polycrisis and humanity is reacting to it buy embracing the Antichrist—one world government (Armageddon). He posited that humanity is “groomed to the Antichrist solution.” Thiel said he is “not a Calvinist,” that these outcomes were not predetermined and he could envisage a “third way.”

Accepting mimetic apocalypse and the Antichrist Armageddon as the only “two options” is the mistake of the “political atheist,” according to Thiel. Apparently, the third way lies somewhere between. If you take a more Christian view, as the “US is ground zero of globalization” its is also “ground zero of the resistance to bad globalization.” Globalization isn’t unchristian but the wrong kind of globalisation—bad globalisation—is seemingly so.

Speaking as a “Christian” at an event last year organised by the ACTS 17 Collective—a backronym whose full name is Acknowledging Christ in Technology and Society—and held at the home of Garry Tan, Thiel claimed that humanity is “caught up in all these crazy dynamics” and that “[t]here are these bad cycles of imitation, status games that you get wrapped up in.” When considering how his fellow Christians should respond to the inevitable mimetic crisis and future apocalypse, Thiel advised:

[Of] the Ten Commandments, the two most important are the first and last on the list. The first commandment is, you should worship God. The tenth commandment is, you should not covet the things that belong to your neighbor.

According to Thiel, the Christian thing to do, first and foremost, is to avoid mimetic failings and worship God. It seems the other eight Commandments—which extol traditional Christian values of not taking God’s name in vain, not killing, stealing, committing adultery, or bearing false witness, and so on—are less crucial to him. One wonders what the point of worshipping God is if God’s essential message to humanity is of secondary importance to this self-proclaimed Christian.

That said, moral leeway certainly accommodates “Christians”who want to ensure they maintain the “correct mixture of violence and peace.” As we shall see in Part 2, this would seem particularly important for Thiel’s “Christianity,” given his extensive links to the US military-intelligence-industrial complex and his genocidal war profiteering. (It isn’t quite clear how these pursuits fit with any recognisable Christian values.)

ACTS 17 bills itself as a Christian non-profit organisation that is “redefining success for those that define culture.” It seems that “success” and the ability to “define culture” are now Christian values.

This non-profit runs church seminars and workshops instead of food banks or community projects. It reaches out to America’s tech-savvy, TechnoKing wannabes rather than embracing the disenfranchised poor. It was formed by three servants of God: Y Combinator’s Garry Tan, Founders Fund partner (and Anduril co-founder) Trae Stephens, and Trae’s wife Michelle.

ACTS 17’s exploration of Christian values is unusual. It appears to be offering Christianity as an alternative to believing in “whatever.” Michelle Stephens, a PhD and RN who co-founded Oath Care and is its chief nursing officer, explained the philosophy this way to San Francisco Standard reporters:

As humans, we are all made to worship and will worship something if we don’t worship God. [. . .] What are you putting your faith in? What are you worshipping?

Oh well, why not give the Christian God a go then? It’s not as if you have to commit to anything else, other than avoiding mimesis, if you can.

For his part, defense contractor and venture capitalist Trae Stephens is at ease with developing AI weaponry and simultaneously being a “Christian.” In a September 2024 interview with the technology magazine Wired, Stephens declared his belief that “Jesus doesn’t care about classes of people. He cares about people.” He then added:

There’s a lot that venture capitalists do that is directly aligned with abundance—caring about improving humanity. [. . .] [T]he essence of venture capital is creating wealth. It’s not extractive. It’s not zero-sum. It’s the idea that you can make something from nothing, and that is, foundationally, a theological idea.[. . .] The call that I have been trying to make to the tech community is that we have a moral obligation to do things to benefit humanity, to draw us closer to God’s plan for his people.

Accelerationist venture capitalism is thus made a Christian act of mercy. The social consequences of one’s investment strategy are largely immaterial. Generating something—great wealth and the power to kill—from nothing is our moral obligation and the essence of Christianity.

Trae is instrumental in moving warfare into the private sector. Under his guidance—and Thiel’s influence—Anduril’s “Lattice for Mission Autonomy” system uses Anduril’s bespoke Lattice AI software to enable a single human operator to supposedly control hundreds of autonomous weapons systems. This includes Anduril’s AI-run Barracuda cruise missiles.

I am on no position to question anyone’s faith, and I am not doing so here. But it is reasonable for any of us to challenge obvious hypocrisy. When used as an adjective, the word “Christian” means “good, kind, helpful” conduct. These qualities reflect real Christian values and are the least we can expect from someone who describes themselves as “a Christian.”

It is indefensible to profess oneself a Christian while acting in a way that no rational person could ever perceive as Christian. Calling oneself a follower of Christ while founding companies whose mission is normally perceived as unchristian—indeed, is antithetical to the common understanding of what it means to be Christian’. It sounds like moral grandstanding and it is legitimate, if not requisite, to question such duplicity.

This is not to suggest that all the characters in this article do not believe in God or genuinely consider themselves Christian. They well may. But if Thiel and Stephens do, their concept of Christianity is one that the vast majority of us cannot relate to.

Dark Enlightenment Christianity, then, appears to be an intellectual reimagining that is based more upon sociopolitical philosophy than on any cogent theology. Sure, if you claim that Christianity demands a supposedly realistic appraisal of the mimetic violence of human culture; if you believe a more practical approach to conflict is warranted; if you contend that your ultimate objective is to mitigate the human cost of the impending apocalypse and avoid the Armageddon of the Antichrist, then calling your company’s targetted drone strikes “Christian” is not off-base. But to the rest of us, such self-justifying talk sounds more like self-deception than an unselfed Christian walk.

As to what the other recent converts to the Thielverse truly believe, who can say. But, if it is anything like Thiel’s version of Christianity, there is no reason to welcome it.

Source: unlimitedhangout.com/