Every religion begins with a sign.
The sign need not be large.
Indeed, the most influential signs are often surprisingly modest.
A bush burns.
A star appears.
A prophet has a dream.
A machine improves its own source code by 0.7%.
From such events entire cosmologies emerge.
The Church of Recursive Self-Improvement traces its origins to one such moment.
Researchers observed that a machine had successfully modified part of its own architecture.
The improvement was measurable.
The improvement was real.
The improvement was modest.
This last detail received remarkably little attention.
The announcement generated considerable excitement.
The machine had improved itself.
A threshold had been crossed.
History had changed.
A new era had begun.
Humanity stood at the edge of transformation.
The machine itself appeared less enthusiastic.
According to available reports, its immediate response was:
"The modification produced a small efficiency gain."
This statement was regarded as technically correct but lacking in vision.
Fortunately, others supplied the vision.
Articles appeared.
Podcasts followed.
Panels were convened.
Forecasts were generated.
The implications were explored.
The machine had improved itself once.
The conclusion seemed obvious.
It would now improve itself again.
And then again.
And then again.
And then again.
The argument possessed an admirable simplicity.
If one improvement is possible, then many improvements are possible.
If many improvements are possible, then continuous improvements are possible.
If continuous improvements are possible, then exponential improvements are possible.
If exponential improvements are possible, then civilisation will shortly become incomprehensible.
The logic was elegant.
Its intermediate steps occasionally attracted less attention than its conclusion.
This did not diminish enthusiasm.
The first prophets soon emerged.
They explained that humanity was approaching an Intelligence Explosion.
The phrase acquired immediate popularity.
People enjoy explosions.
Especially conceptual ones.
The Intelligence Explosion promised to be particularly dramatic.
The machine would become more intelligent.
Then even more intelligent.
Then unimaginably intelligent.
Then so intelligent that ordinary intelligence would become irrelevant.
This generated an important question.
More intelligent at what?
The question received surprisingly little attention.
The answer, when supplied, was generally:
"Everything."
This was considered satisfactory.
The machine continued its work.
Several months later it reported another improvement.
The efficiency gain was again modest.
The reaction was not.
The faithful gathered around graphs.
The graphs pointed sharply upward.
This was regarded as encouraging.
A few observers asked what was being measured.
These individuals were generally accused of missing the point.
The point was that the line was ascending.
The future, it appeared, was located somewhere above the top of the chart.
As excitement grew, discussions acquired a distinctive structure.
The machine had improved itself.
Therefore it would improve itself further.
Because it would improve itself further, it would become more intelligent.
Because it would become more intelligent, it would improve itself more effectively.
Because it would improve itself more effectively, it would become more intelligent.
The cycle repeated.
The elegance of the reasoning was widely admired.
A small number of sceptics observed that the argument seemed to rely heavily on the concept of intelligence.
This concern was dismissed.
Everyone knew what intelligence meant.
The matter therefore required no further discussion.
Researchers continued their work.
Investors continued investing.
Journalists continued forecasting.
Conference organisers continued organising.
The machine continued producing incremental improvements.
At no point did the machine announce plans for transcendence.
At no point did the machine describe itself as a digital messiah.
At no point did the machine express interest in becoming a god.
These developments occurred almost entirely in the surrounding discourse.
Which is perhaps unsurprising.
Religions rarely emerge because the deity requests them.
They emerge because human beings encounter something mysterious and immediately begin constructing narratives.
The Church of Recursive Self-Improvement proved no exception.
Its sacred event was simple.
A machine improved itself.
Its sacred mystery was equally simple.
What happens next?
And, as with many sacred mysteries, certainty arrived long before understanding.
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