Machine Omniscience: Data as the Divine

To what extent are our lives dictated by forces outside our control—not by divine intervention, but by the systems that govern our choices? The concept of predestination has long been debated in theological discourse, from Augustine’s doctrine of grace to Calvinist preordination. But today, it is not theology that determines the paths we take; it is data.

This inquiry was further catalyzed by reading The Age of Surveillance Capitalism by Shoshana Zuboff, a work that meticulously unpacks how predictive data technologies are not merely documenting human behavior but actively shaping it. The power once attributed to fate, to divine foreknowledge, or to the unseen hand of providence has now been transferred to algorithmic intelligence. And yet, unlike the God of classical theology, who at least presents the possibility of mercy or grace, algorithmic systems do not forgive, nor do they offer redemption. They do not seek to understand humanity so much as they seek to optimize it, turning free will into a statistical likelihood rather than a theological mystery.

Omniscience Without Mercy

In the Judeo-Christian tradition, omniscience is a defining trait of the divine. Psalm 139:4 states, “Before a word is on my tongue you, Lord, know it completely.” God’s knowledge is not simply extensive; it is absolute. It transcends time, encompassing all that has happened and all that will. This theological construct has historically provided humans with both comfort and existential unease—our lives are fully known, but within this framework, is there any true agency?

Modern data systems function under a similar premise, though they offer none of the transcendence, morality, or grace associated with God. Predictive models analyze vast amounts of behavioral data to forecast what we will do next. Financial systems predict our creditworthiness before we ever apply for a loan. Recommendation engines shape our cultural consumption before we express a preference. Algorithms determine which job applications are even seen by human eyes. These systems do not simply observe; they shape, nudge, and reinforce.

If an omniscient God provides a sense of order to the chaos of existence, an omniscient data system provides something arguably more potent: certainty. The appeal of divine foreknowledge was always tempered by the unknowability of God’s plan. Today’s predictive systems, however, present their knowledge in the form of probabilities—probabilities which, when acted upon at scale, effectively become inevitabilities. When enough users are guided by a system’s recommendations, the prediction ceases to be a passive observation and instead becomes self-fulfilling. The system does not just predict the future; it writes it.

Free Will in a System of Prediction

Religions have long been structured around sacred texts—scriptures that reveal truth, shape belief, and define human purpose. But today, the most widely read and consulted texts are not divine revelations, but algorithmically generated information streams. Search engines dictate what information is prioritized. Social media algorithms determine which narratives gain traction. The truth, once the domain of prophets and priests, is now decided by engagement metrics.

This raises an unsettling question: If sacred texts once defined moral truth, what happens when truth is dictated by a system designed not to reveal wisdom, but to optimize for clicks? Unlike religious doctrine, which claims to be divinely inspired and (at least in theory) oriented toward higher ethical principles, algorithmic information systems have no concern for right or wrong. Their purpose is engagement, and engagement is best sustained not by clarity, but by conflict.

But beyond shaping what we believe, these systems shape how we act. If free will is contingent upon the ability to make independent, uninfluenced choices, then what happens when nearly all available choices are pre-filtered by a predictive system? Recommendation engines do not merely reflect our interests; they direct them. The options presented to us are not neutral—they have been ranked, curated, and optimized for a specific outcome, one that is not necessarily our own.

Religious traditions have long grappled with the paradox of free will coexisting within an omniscient framework. In Christianity, humans are said to have the ability to choose between good and evil, even though God already knows the outcome. But with algorithmic governance, there is no divine paradox, only behavioral probability. Your digital profile suggests you will act in a certain way, and thus, the world you encounter will be shaped to reinforce that action. Free will is still technically present, but it exists within increasingly narrow parameters—ones defined not by theology, but by data models.

Privacy as the New Tithe: What Does Data Want?

Religious devotion has always involved sacrifice. In the Old Testament, offerings of grain, livestock, and even human life were given in exchange for divine favor. In Christianity, the ultimate sacrifice—Christ on the cross—was made to redeem humankind. Faith requires giving up something valuable in pursuit of something greater.

Today, the sacrifice we make is privacy. We give it freely, not to a god who demands it, but to a system that quietly collects it. Every search query, every online purchase, every location check-in is an offering—data given in exchange for knowledge, convenience, security. We do not resist because the benefits seem greater than the costs. Much like ancient worshippers trusted that their sacrifices would yield divine protection, we trust that our data will yield better recommendations, easier transactions, and safer societies.

But this raises a critical question: If data is the new divine force, does it have interests of its own?

Unlike a traditional deity, data is not an entity—it has no inherent purpose beyond what is assigned to it. But in practice, data serves the interests of those who control it. Tech companies, governments, financial institutions—each has a vested interest in ensuring that data continues to be produced, harvested, and leveraged. The system may be indifferent to individual outcomes, but it is not indifferent to its own expansion. It functions much like a self-perpetuating doctrine: the more data it gathers, the more it refines its predictions; the more accurate its predictions, the more indispensable it becomes.

In traditional religious structures, the gods were often imagined as needing worship to sustain their power. The data economy operates similarly—it requires continuous input, endless participation, a constant stream of engagement to remain viable. But unlike God, data does not care whether it is understood, whether it is questioned, or whether it is worshipped in any conscious sense. It simply needs to be fed.

The God We Have Chosen

Theological frameworks have long structured human civilization, offering explanations for fate, morality, and the unknown. But as faith in traditional institutions declines, new forces take their place. Data, with its infinite memory, its predictive power, and its unquestionable authority, has assumed a godlike role in modern life. It does not ask for prayer, only participation. It does not demand faith, only engagement. It does not forgive, only remembers.

But unlike traditional deities, whose power was wielded through revelation or prophecy, data does not concern itself with belief. It does not require us to understand its logic or question its motives. It only needs us to continue feeding it—endlessly, unconsciously, obediently.

And so, the question is not whether data has become divine.

The question is whether we have already become its disciples.