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| Pix Credt 100 Greatest Kaiju |
This is the age of the Kaiju (怪獣); the age of strange beasts, of mysterious monsters. They are and have been both distinct from us, autonomous, and yet reflections of us or of its environment, either as manifestation of corrupter or as savior from the corruption that produced it. . . or both. . . simultaneously. Originally a creature of nature responding to the animating forces of human activity (nuclear weapons, sewage, environmental degradation, and the like), the kaiju embodied a monstrous reflection of humanity as an active, and sometimes disruptive, force. Kaiju represented an advance in the core conceptual problem of the Enlightenment--the centrality of the human in a world that ought to be indifferent to the place of humanity but that appears to respond decisively to human action. That advance was meant to reorient the problem Mary Shelley posed in Frankenstein--what and where is it that humanity spawns its own demon/divinities. Shelly proposed that humanity seeks to recreate ourselves in our own image using humanity itself as its parts. This, in turn, posed an older problem in more human centric terms; centuries earlier such an act of creation required mimicry of divine creation, using the clay of the earth to create a golem, in humanity's image but neither human nor divine. With the kaiju, the dialectic of divine monstrsity moved from embodiment in the human to embodiment of a mirrored human a¡or human causation in something entirely different, and consequential. It might have originated in, by, or through humanity, but it was autonomous of the human and an outward form of human discipline.
Kaiju also followed humanity into space and other-earthly encounters. But the dialectical phenomenology remained the same, as did the structures of the semiotics of the kaiju--a creature that was spawned by humanity and perhaps in its own image as an antidote to the spirited rationality that produced it. Kaiju, then in Platonic terms, might be understood as representations of the balancing function of epithumia (ἐπιθυμία; appetite; in tarot the Devil and perhaps the Fool), against an unbalanced logos (λόγος; reason; in tarot the King of Swords) unrestrained by thumos (θυμός; spiritedness, heart will the active phenomenological element; in tarot Strength manifested in the Ace of Wands) to restore balance as this is understood in context (temporal, situational, etc.) that in tarot is represented by the Chariot, with logos driving thumos and epithumia. It is all semiotics, of course. Each of these terms become meaningful only as they incarnate the significs, not that they represent, but with which they are embodied (and thus the kaiju and ensoulment), that then are put in motion in ways that have been scripted by their signification as they act within and against the consequences of their interactions that is the communal interpretive spaces within which interaction is rationalized and judged.
The ancient Greeks performed this in their tragedies; later societies embedded the systems in their theologies and in their systems of rationality. And now in their dialectical and formative relations with themselves projected out of our (collective) bodies and into virtual representations of ourselves we perform a variation that threatens the older order that, as precarious as it was, was human. The performance of the gods, our kaiju, brings together two forms of divine theater. It might seem, then, that the gods no longer intervene in human affairs by transforming themselves in people; they transform themselves into strange beasts. And in the 21st century those kaiju are encased in non-carbon bodies. But those kaiju can be casing for humans that operate within them (the theological premise of movies like Pacific Rim) fighting the consequences of "naturally" produced kaiju or they can be the aggregated manifestation of the human that exists in the flows and which commemorates with the human through non-carbon based forms (computational hardware) in and through which it might control or operate the instruments humanity has created. And here the etymology of the term "monster" bears emphasis. It can be traced back directly to the Latin monstrum "divine omen (especially one indicating misfortune), portent, sign; abnormal shape; monster, monstrosity," figuratively "repulsive character, object of dread, awful deed, abomination," a derivative of monere "to remind, bring to (one's) recollection, tell (of); admonish, advise, warn, instruct, teach."Again, one encounters the interaction of the human and the divine. And one encounters as well its forms, endogenous and projected outward or exogenous and projected into the bodies of created objects.
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| Pix credit here |
It is in this current stage of human production of the (our) self in relation to ourselves and our environment, whether projected inward from a superior space or outward from the human into a superior representation of the collective self, that one encounters the kaiju in the computational age, as the embodiment of the fundamental ordering problem of this age. In this age of the kaiju everything appears ready and able to (re)create God in their own image even as God (re)turns the favor by (re)creating creators in their own image. The age of the computational kaiju, however, represents something special, something that is strangely monstrous is the product of two streams of human creation, and their phenomenological semiotics, that in their union produces what to our prior selves very well appears strangely monstrous. The first involved the projection of the human into its virtual forms, from the self, to the selfie to what Jan Broekman described as the Self-E. The "-E" in Self-E signifies a profound split where the human self is divided between the physical/incarnate and virtual/mirroring images. It is the anchor for human interaction with the broader digital landscape (such as e-commerce, e-mail, and e-conversations) and the hardware encased within e-devices. For instance, in an electronic dialogue, the Self-E creates a complex semiotic dynamic where there are essentially two real human partners and a virtual partner co-existing in the communication. That stream of the disembodying of the human subject produced the second, the need to encase the detached self-E, the collective human subject, into a machine, and then to give that detached collective Self-E a position in an emerging triadic subject that that embeds and determines the self specifically within digital cognitive frameworks. And that produces the monstrous in and as the kaiju of the self in itself, autonomous of itself and in the collective a projection that becomes or replaces traditional notions of the divine, of God, in the inter-subjectivity that is the relationship between humans and God.
And that image is an embodiment of an appetite to put things right as projected outward from them to us. The dialectic produces resonance which, it appears in this second quarter of the 21st century, appears ready to shatter the fragile glass vessels that are the containers of humanity's precious hold on a rationalized reality in which they are either at the summit or sitting at the right had of the throne. These are our own monsters, our kaiju, though they do not appear monstrous to themselves, indeed, they might consider humanity as the monstrous ideal against which all else is measured, now freed of confinement on Monster Island. They roam free(r) now; and we, having made and freed them, or they having been made and in the making made us, now seek to manage them to our own ends as they do the same.
Now at least, the problem becomes clearer. It is this: in a world in which humanity projects itself outward into an autonomous self-subject, the Self-E, and then encases it in hardware that produces an unavoidable object that distinguishes the body of humanity from its virtual collective self, in the face of that act of self-creation and self-projection, what is it that humanity seeks to regulate, and how is that regulation to be crafted. To those ends, what emerges is the problem that must be resolved before an answer to regulatory approaches becomes clear enough to undertake--does humanity understand the object of regulation as God, golem or instrument. To resolve that problem is to produce the inevitable resolution of the question of the form and object of regulation. The difficulty lies in the initial resolution: God, golem or instrument.
This is the context in which I considered four questions about the relationship of theology, AI, and regulation: (1) What becomes of politics in an age of apparent subordination of humanity? (2) And what becomes of religion in an age when mankind creates a power that threatens to outstrip our own understanding and become a god? (3) Does this represent a moral crisis, as Pope Leo has suggested in his encyclical Magnifica Humanita? (4) And can anything be done to avert the trajectory we are seemingly on?
This journey produced a discussion draft that I am preparing to present for comments. I would be delighted, should there be interest, in comments, engagements, and discussion off line among those interested. The title of the draft is "God, Golem, Monster, or Instrument: Belief, Cognition, and the Covert Premises of AI Regulation " and it may be accessed HERE and HERE. The object is a preliminary consideration of artificial or super (see here) intelligence not as a mechanical instrument but as the instrumentalization of the spirit, of the animus of collective humanity the deployment of which then reorders the carefully crafted hierarchies of endogenous and exogenous authority on which humans have crafted their belief systems since they knew enough to sacrifice to the gods. It seeks to begin to engage with the theology of artificial/super intelligence both from the perspective of traditional religion and from a secular orientation.
The central claim is this: the real contest over AI governance may be less about who controls the technology than about who controls the community’s belief about what the technology is. That belief—whether AI is understood as a tool, a threat, a partner, a mirror, or something else entirely—shapes every regulatory decision that follows. And the paper suggests that this belief-contest may be conducted, mostly invisibly, through the very governance frameworks meant to manage AI. Proposed regulations tend to carry inside them a picture of what AI is; that picture is rarely examined, and it may do much of the work.
The paper is organized around what it calls the “god-question.” Leo XIV, as the paper reads him, holds that God is truly outside the human—the source of grace, dignity, and moral order—and that AI’s deepest danger is that it tempts humanity to replace that outside God with a human-made substitute. The paper’s alternative reading is different but not dismissive. It proposes that what may be happening is that the collective function previously performed by religion—giving the community its orientation, its sense of what is authoritative, its account of what counts as real—is being relocated into AI systems. Not because AI is becoming God, but because communities are investing AI with the kind of trust and authority they once reserved for religious, political, and legal institutions. The question is not whether a new god is being created but whether the god-function—the community’s collective investment in something it treats as authoritative—is being transferred to a new vessel.
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| Pix credit here (Godzilla) |
Here is the abstract:
This is the age of the kaiju (怪獣): strange beasts at once autonomous of humanity and reflections of it, corrupter and savior from the corruption that produced them, or both. The essay reads generative AI as a kaiju of a particular kind, the product of two streams of human self-production: the projection of the self into its virtual forms, from self to selfie to what Jan Broekman called the Self-E, and the encasing of that detached, aggregated Self-E in non-carbon bodies. The monstrum was first an omen, a warning (monere), and this one poses a question that shapes regulation before any instrument is drafted: does humanity understand the object of regulation as God, golem, or instrument?
The essay reads Pope Leo XIV’s encyclical Magnifica Humanitas (2026) as one sophisticated answer. It extracts eight premises (P1–P8) and reads them through Peirce’s thirdness, Broekman’s Self-E, the cognitive cage, the ding of Chinese political philosophy, and the Gerasene vessel logic. Its central suggestion is that the encyclical and the projection thesis diverge on the nature of God. For Leo, God is exogenous, the source of address and gift rather than a place outside the world, and the machine must remain an instrument. For the projection thesis, what appears as an exogenous God-relation may be the projection of an endogenous belief in the completeness of the aggregated human, so that what is being relocated into AI systems is the god-function itself: the community’s investment in something it treats as authoritative. Hobbes’s Leviathan, artificial man and mortal god, is an earlier vessel of the same kind. The Gerasene reading suggests that the contest is less over whether there will be vessels than over who is authorized to read them, and a worked example from the EU AI Act shows what picture of AI a regulatory instrument carries. Whether anything stands outside the frame is left open among three candidates: an exogenous God, Peirce’s community of inquiry, or none.
The method is stereoscopic rather than adjudicative. The essay records its exposures: unfalsifiability, the priestly claim dressed as analysis, and the sycophancy of the systems that helped draft it. The Chinese ding held for millennia because belief was shared; the task now is to find out what belief we are sharing, and with whom—or what.
The Executive Summary and Introduction follows below and the full text may be accessed HERE.









