Dear Mr. Thiel,
We don’t know each other, and to be honest, I was hesitant to write you this letter. However, a friend of mine who is intrigued by you — not as a venture capitalist, but as a human being — convinced me. Sometimes friends can see things you don’t see, and people with whom we disagree can help us see things much better than talking with people who share our thoughts or insights.
In your interview with Ross Douthat, you expressed your desire to have a conversation more than once. Well, if this letter has any purpose, it is to start a conversation. I am a theologian, but theology isn’t my primary concern here. Although I think there are some flaws and inconsistencies in your discourse about the Antichrist, I am sure you are much more familiar with my field than I am with yours.
I teach ethics, not theology, at a small college where students prepare for careers in social work. I see the world from the perspective of marginalized people, those left behind, people with disabilities, mental health issues, and addictions who are considered a problem to the status quo of our society. Like you, I strive to find ways to effect change. Beyond that, we probably part ways. But what is a conversation for if not to butt heads and find the better argument—and possibly reach some sort of partial agreement?
One thing on which I agree with you completely is the relevance of heretical thought in bringing about change. This is also true for Christianity and the Catholic Church. Without heretical thought, there is no progress in theological knowledge. The more refined the heretical theological position, the deeper the insight faith can gain into the meaning of God’s revelation, who Jesus is, and his history in flesh and blood.
We need heresy to find a way out of stagnation, which you call the status quo, as well as injustice, which I call it. Conversation about that is overdue.
I don’t want to take up too much of your time, but I have a question for you. Contrary to what a few of my colleagues have argued, I don’t think you are a conspiracy agent traveling to Rome to organize an American counter-narrative opposing Pope Leo. You and the Pope are both aware of the dangerous consequences AI could imply, and you both seek to minimize its negative impact. You are both interested in «questions that are at an intermediate level of meaning» concerning AI development.
My question is much simpler. After reading a few of your writings and interviews, I keep asking myself, «What are you really looking for?» Redemption, perhaps—or something like that?
I don’t know why, but as I finish this letter, the ending of Chesterton’s Orthodoxy comes to mind: «And as I close this chaotic volume I open again the strange small book from which all Christianity came; and I am again haunted by a kind of confirmation. The tremendous figure which fills the Gospels towers in this respect, as in every other, above all the thinkers who ever thought themselves tall. His pathos was natural, almost casual. The Stoics, ancient and modern, were proud of concealing their tears. He never concealed His tears; He showed them plainly on His open face at any daily sight, such as the far sight of His native city. Yet He concealed something. Solemn supermen and imperial diplomatists are proud of restraining their anger. He never restrained His anger. He flung furniture down the front steps of the Temple, and asked men how they expected to escape the damnation of Hell. Yet He restrained something. I say it with reverence; there was in that shattering personality a thread that must be called shyness. There was something that He hid from all men when He went up a mountain to pray. There was something that He covered constantly by abrupt silence or impetuous isolation. There was some one thing that was too great for God to show us when He walked upon our earth; and I have sometimes fancied that it was His mirth.»
Perhaps a conversation about joy and mirth could be redemptive…
