Idolatrous Algorithms

"Customers who bought the Summa Theologica also showed interest in…" — a sentence that would have astounded Thomas Aquinas. In the digital cathedral of Amazon, where the seraphim of shopping watch over the volatile product catalog, his Opus Magnum of divine inquiry is degraded to mere merchandise, placed between organic frying pans and bamboo cutlery. The loveless logic of salvation promises in the data age spares not even the heights of scholastic theology.

Yet here an unexpected kinship reveals itself: the algorithm behaves like an unwitting Thomist. Just as Thomas Aquinas, in his doctrine of analogia entis, sought to recognize the divine in all creation through comparison — in the order of nature as in the hierarchy of angels — so the algorithm searches our traces in the data stream for hidden patterns. What the medieval thinker created as a path to knowledge of God mutates into a tool for revenue maximization: the search for similarities in being becomes the search for similarities in consumption.

This new doctrine of analogy yields downright blasphemous blossoms: whoever places Plato's cave allegory in their shopping cart is promptly redirected to mindfulness apps — as if algorithms were the wisdom teachers of a digital salvation. Whoever shows interest in medieval mysticism receives suggestions for artificial candles, as if the digital devotional trade could illuminate the soul. And whoever studies Augustine's Confessions receives from the algorithm — now self-appointed spiritual guide — a recommendation for a self-improvement program, in complete misapprehension of theological depths.

Thus it is no coincidence that precisely in Silicon Valley, that stronghold of salvation technology, scholastic logic celebrates its unexpected return. There, where startup culture meets tech evangelism, where digital empires and artificial intelligence seal their unholy pact, a new form of seeking God emerges — only now revelation comes not from holy scriptures but from holier algorithms.

In its boundless combinatorial enthusiasm, this new digital clergy knows no restraint. Where Thomas Aquinas still humbly emphasized the fundamental dissimilarity between Creator and creature, the algorithm — elevated to high priest — blithely builds bridges between the most remote product categories and user groups. It is a Thomas in the rush of speed, tearing down the boundary between profane and sacred in its zeal for analogy.

I. Silicon Scholasticism

Let us open the electronic breviary and examine the rites of this new religion more closely: Consider the "Customers who also bought…" mechanism. It rests on the assumption that users with comparable taste profiles share common interests — hence a proportional participation in the community of salvation. What Aquinas knew as reflexio in rebus creatis, knowledge through contemplation of divine creation, becomes here reflexio in rebus consumptis — revelation through contemplation of profane purchasing decisions.

Instead of relying on ratio naturalis, the algorithm draws upon the new gospel of our time: Big Data, the infinite collection of our binary traces. In this all-encompassing data treasury rest the secrets of our habits, our longings and fears — in short: the soul life of the networked congregation. Like an electronic exegete, the algorithm searches these secular scriptures, interprets the signs, and proclaims its reading of our desires.

The analogy to scholastic thought becomes even clearer when one considers the divine logic of these digital prophecies: like seeks like, just as the heavenly hierarchy once found its order. In the data firmament, connections are forged according to patterns that only the algorithm, in its probabilistic wisdom, can perceive.

As Thomas structured his Summa into Quaestiones, so artificial reason organizes its insights into data hierarchies. And as in Holy Mass bread and wine become body and blood, so the algorithm — that magical celebrant — transforms our fleeting clicks and scroll movements into supposedly deep insights about our needs. A digital transubstantiation: the flood of user data transforms into the revelation of our consumer desires. This mystery unfolds ceaselessly in data centers, those hidden monasteries of our time.

From divine providence to prediction technology is but a tiny step. While the faithful Thomas pondered predestination, algorithms work on their secular version. The certainty of salvation has given way to a purchase probability of 66.6 percent. What was once divine predetermination is now the prophecy of our next order.

II. The Digital Sacraments

The path into the congregation begins with cookie acceptance as the first consecration — only through it are we admitted into the community of the Tracked and Traced. The automatic software update appears as communion, in which we receive the latest version of the binary Savior.

Again and again, every believer must prove their humanity. Every CAPTCHA becomes a confession of faith — "Here I stand, I can do no other!"

Two-factor authentication manifests as the new confirmation, through which we identify ourselves as ostensibly mature. In customer support, confession takes place, where we must admit our failings in failed transactions — naturally only after patient time on hold, that contemporary form of contemplation. And the password update becomes an inescapable act of penance, while account verification elevates us to the dignity of priesthood.

Special significance attaches to cloud backup, the last rites of our data. It promises digital immortality: even when our device gives up the ghost, our files continue to float in the cloud. But the highest consecration is setting up auto-payment: a mystical covenant uniting credit card and account — what God has joined together, let no man put asunder.

III. New Gods, New Revelations

Yet the history of salvation continues: Netflix celebrates its revelations in series form. What the Gospels once proclaimed in chapters is now revealed in seasons, each episode a sermon, each cliffhanger a test of faith. As Thomas ascended through analogy from the visible to the invisible, so the algorithm guides from the seen to the yet-unseen — enlightenment no longer awaits in divine truth but in perfectly personalized recommendations.

"Continue watching" appears like a book of hours, admonishingly accompanying our contemplative devotion. The algorithm becomes a spiritual companion, guiding us through endless plenty, ever recommending new episodes for the elevation of the soul. In the "Writers' Rooms" arise the modern apocrypha: spin-offs and prequels that expand the canon, while high above the cherubim of consumption preside, directing the catalog. They tolerate no doubt in their recommendation wisdom — the doubting Thomas, after all, is the other one.

The transformation from scripture to liturgy takes place in Spotify, where the ancient art of ritual transfigures into mechanical music theology. "Discover Weekly" reveals itself every Monday as High Mass — the playlist as order of service, curated no longer by priests but by algorithms. The Gregorian chants yield to sibylline playlists; as calculative cantor, the algorithm now sets the rhythm of the musical ritual. "Your Mix of the Week" becomes the liturgical calendar, while the Premium function separates the elect from the unredeemed. Following the motto of the technified Tetzel: "When the PayPal account rings, the ads from the stream take wings" — a reformation of music listening, where not only is everyone their own indulgence dealer, but the algorithm also brings music directly to the faithful, bypassing the playlist bulls of the outmoded radio stations.

While Spotify preserves the outer form of ritual, TikTok opens the gates to mysticism. Its "For You" feed is an infinite stream of epiphanies, each scroll a station on the path to ecstasy. Instead of ora et labora, here it is "scroll and like" — an endless meditation on the transience of the moment, sanctified by funny cats and lukewarm lifestyle hacks.

In this stream of rapture, entertainment and enlightenment merge: in place of the heavenly hierarchy stands the ranking of virality. The ascent on this mountain of purgation is purchased through views and shares — the more interactions, the closer the unio mystica with the zeitgeist. Even the most trivial moment can, through the grace of the algorithm, become an ecstatic revelation: each like a step toward viral transcendence.

IV. Epilogue

From being to seeming, from contemplation to consumption — in this new order of being, where idolatrous algorithms dissolve mysticism into viral ecstasy, liturgy flattens into entertainment, and revelation degrades into consumption, a macabre metamorphosis unfolds: the artful analogia entis has transformed into an analogia emptis, divine being has yielded to sacralized shopping. Instead of recognizing God through similarities in creation, the algorithms — elevated to prophets — recognize our next order through similarities in purchasing behavior. The great search for being shrinks to the hunt for the next blessed bargain. The promise of next-day delivery replaces the promise of salvation, one-click payment included. In this transformation from metaphysics to consecrated buying lies the true irony: the more precisely algorithms predict our desires, the further we drift from the question of being. Yet in their supposed infallibility lies also their greatest deception: "Since Peter and Paul believe in Jesus, so does Judas." Or does he?