Immanent or Transcendent Salvation

In this section, we intend to show the difference between the idea of immanent salvation presented by transhumanism and the Christian idea of a transcendent salvation beyond death. We argue that this clear difference has consequences in at least three important aspects: a) with regard to the valuation of the body and the attitude towards biological death; b) in the idea of divinity; and c) in the relationship between salvation and moral attitude. The transhumanist idea, we have seen, is a “promise of salvation,” where such salvation would be the indefinite prolongation of personal life in this world, with the best quality of life that can be obtained by technical means.

In the New Testament, there is talk of two different lives: biological life sustained by material goods and another life “in heaven,” where “neither moth nor rust consumes” (Matthew 6:20) and persons will be “like angels in heaven” (Mark 12:25) because it is like a “spring of the water of life” (Revelation 21:6) that rises from God (Revelation 22:1), an “eternal life” (John 3:16, 3:36, 4:14, 10:28, 17:3; Romans 5:21, 6:23) that is not “from this world” (John 18:36). This life occurs in discontinuity with biological life because it occurs in “a new heaven and a new earth” (Revelation 21:1) in which humans are invited to eat from the “tree of life” (Revelation 22:14), which in Genesis (3:22) represents immortality. Although belief in the resurrection of the dead already appears in the later books of the Old Testament (Radermaker and Grelot 1988), for Christianity, the primary foundation is the resurrection of Jesus Christ. This resurrection does not imply a return to the life before death but a different life. In the New Testament, the Risen One is called the “firstborn from among the dead” (Colossians 1:18), that is, the first to be born after his death (1 Corinthians 15:12–22). Christian salvation does not consist of not dying but basically of sharing in the resurrection of Jesus Christ (Romans 8:11) and inheriting divine sonship (Romans 8:15–16, 29).

The accounts of apparitions of the risen Jesus, even when they are understood as catechetical accounts, use expressions implying that the one who appeared is Jesus himself. However, his existence is no longer subject to the limitations of material space and time: he can enter and leave a closed enclosure, he may not be recognized until he “makes himself seen” (ophthé), etc. It is the same person but transformed, situated in conditions different from the usual conditions of life in this world (Kessler [1987] 1989). Paul explains it as a transformation from a body of flesh to a spiritual body (1 Corinthians 15).

In fact, no explanation is given in scripture as to how this transformation takes place. The Christian faith confesses the fact but does not know for certain how it occurs. Theological speculation has tried to explain how such a transformation is possible using the philosophical and anthropological concepts of the time. Such explanations must be well understood in the philosophical context of each epoch. Thus, for example, the anthropology of scholastic theology, using the concepts of Aristotelian philosophy, explained the human being as the union of two principles (soul and body). Biblical anthropology, with another cultural root, does not make such a metaphysical distinction but refers to the whole person as “flesh” or as “soul,” pointing out two aspects of the human being: the fact of being linked to the Earth from which they come and to which they will return and the fact of possessing a life that comes from God and that has in them its aspiration (Léon-Dufour 1988). For this reason, the theology of recent decades has strived to recover a more unitary anthropology (Sonnemans [2007] 2009). On the other hand, transhumanism confesses itself to be a continuation of Enlightenment modernity (Bostrom 2005), from whose scientific impulse it seeks to draw the ultimate consequences. In this way, it drags along a dualistic anthropology. Thus, when transhumanism proposes that human life can be prolonged in silico, it does so under the assumption that what constitutes the person is just a “cognitive system” in such a way that “if one’s biological neurons were gradually replaced, for example, with synthetic parts that supported the same level of cognitive function, the same mind and personality might persist despite being ‘in’ a non-biological substrate” (More 2013, 7). Even when metaphysically monistic (“with few exceptions, transhumanists describe themselves as materialists, physicalists, or functionalists” (More 2013, 7)), transhumanism seems to lead to a dualistic anthropology between the cognitive system and the material substrate. Moreover, it is an asymmetrical dualism in the sense that personality consists of only one of the elements, the other being necessary but replaceable. The body is thus considered a “machinery” substitutable by any other type of “hardware” offering the same functionalities (Lorrimar 2019; Burdett and Leung 2023). In line with this, transhumanism looks with little appreciation on the human body, whose limitations it considers an obstacle to people’s happiness. The project, accordingly, is to overcome that limitation, especially the decrepitude of old age and mortality. The means to achieve this consists of the gradual replacement of the body with technological devices of various kinds. In this sense, several authors (Pugh 2017; Peters 2019) have pointed out that in transhumanism, there is an echo of ancient Gnosticism, which saw the body as a prison of the soul. In fact, the whole project rests on the assumption that the person can be reduced to a cybernetic system, to an immaterial “information” structure independent of the material substrate in which it takes body. However, this assumption has been discussed by various authors from different angles. For example, Jerffrey C. Pugh (2017) and Victoria Lorrimar (2019) point out how human knowledge is rooted in sensitive perception through the body, so that language itself is sustained on analogies and symbols founded on sensory experience. From another perspective, and without having transhumanism in its aim, the celebrated essay by António Damásio ([1994] 2010) exposes the neurological connection between human reason and the perception of sensory data not only about the environment but about the state of the body itself and its organs. Without this continuous connection between the body and the brain, human reason cannot subsist.

In contrast, the apostolic creed emphatically affirms the resurrection of “the flesh.” This affirmation echoes the also emphatic affirmation that the Word “became flesh” (John 1:14). It is not that the person is freed from his “flesh,” but, on the contrary, it is announced that God himself assumes this human flesh (John 1:14; 1 John 4:2), with its limitations and mortality. Christianity assumes the limitations of the person, including the materiality of his body, and expects a transformation or recreation beyond inevitable death (Moltmann [1995] 2004, chapt. 6). To put it simply, transhumanism proposes to flee from death, while Christianity announces an overcoming of death: “O death, where is your sting?” (1 Corinthians 15).

As for the content of the “new life” announced by Christianity, beyond death, divinization is announced, i.e., participation in the life of the divinity (2 Peter 1:4) through love (agape). Divinization is understood as participation in the trinitarian relationship, which is a relationship of love between the divine persons. This participation is realized by the indwelling of the Holy Spirit within the human being, which brings about the transformation of the person into the image of Jesus Christ, the Son, so that we become children of God.

In contrast to this, the message of transhumanism announces the overcoming of the limitations of the human condition, which is seen as an intermediate stage in the process of the evolution of nature. From this point of evolution, now by technological means, posthuman beings will be produced who will not be subject to the physical limitations of Homo sapiens. Posthumans will have superhuman intelligence, sensory capabilities, emotional balance, and longevity. This new being, the posthuman, with these high capacities is sometimes referred to as “godlike” (Walker 2002; Vinge 2013). The idea of divinity in Christianity and transhumanism are probably not comparable in the field of metaphysics, for, as indicated, most transhumanists consider themselves monists. However, that “godlike-ness” is a functional equivalent in the discourse, representing the ideal or horizon of meaning. Ronald Cole-Turner (2015, 21) emphasizes the overlap between transhumanism and Christianity in the idea of theosis (grace in its strong sense) by stating, somewhat provocatively, “Christianity gave birth to transhumanism. Today’s transhumanists may not be happy with it, but their key word was invented to describe a Christian idea.” However, the concept of divinity referred to in transhumanism is very different from the Christian concept. The trinitarian God is an interpersonal unity through reciprocal love, whereas the transhumanist concept of the divine is closer to the idea of divinity proper to the ancient Greek or Roman pantheon, for example. The Greek gods are characterized by their immortality and superhuman capacities: they can appear in different forms at will (such as Zeus in the form of a bull to abduct Europa), they can know the distant and hidden, they can access any place, etc. On the other hand, their divinity does not necessarily entail morally superior behavior; they are subject to the same passions as human beings. Finally, physical beauty and eternally youthful vitality appear as traits of the gods. Transhuman divinization shares these traits (youth, enhanced capacities, immortality). It could be said, caricaturizing, that the salvation announced by transhumanism would be well expressed in a pantheon formed by Marvel’s superheroes.

In contrast, the Christian idea of divinity does not point to superhuman capacities (although it does not deny them) but to a community of love. The contrast is patent and accentuated by the kenotic dimension of the Christian God. Just as transhumanism seems to follow the Hellenistic path of the self-sufficient and invulnerable divinity, Christianity places its faith in a divinity made “flesh,” weak and vulnerable, and in fact violated on the cross. God’s action always implies a kenosis (the relinquishment of divine attributes by Jesus Christ in becoming human), for God must in a certain sense withdraw or hide himself in order to make room for the other, for the creature. The divinity of the Christian God is manifested, paradoxically, in the capacity to renounce his divine power (Philippians 2), take the place of the servant (John 13), and forgive of offenses (Luke 23:34; Matthew 5:43–44).

Another differential characteristic in the Christian idea of divinity is the fact that it has an intrinsically moral aspect, because “God is love” (1 John 4:8). Since the divinization of the human being is his participation in the trinitarian community of love, the impact on the moral realm is inevitable. And since Christian salvation consists of inclusion in a relationship of love, its seminal beginning in the life of the person before death consists of a growth of the power of love in the person as the articulating principle of personal life. This is so to the point that love of neighbor becomes the main criterion for discerning an authentic process of divinization (1 John 4).

Collective Dimension of Salvation

The promise of a better and longer life is one of the main attractions of transhumanism. It appeals to a deep human longing, addressing the limits of human existence and the finitude of life—things perceived as obstacles to overcome. Transhumanism offers the enhancement and prolongation of life, understood primarily as the life of the individual. It proposes interventions in people, aiming to improve their bodies or mental abilities without addressing the deeper aspects of their relationships or the way they engage with others.

While transhumanism occasionally includes a social dimension, it generally focuses on individual wellbeing. Some branches of transhumanism suggest that the goal is to create advancements that can be universalized, accessible to everyone, but the underlying emphasis remains on individual benefit. The human community, in this framework, is secondary and assumed to be shaped naturally once technological advancements are made.

The posthumanist perspective goes further, shifting away from an anthropocentric view of progress. It imagines a world where humanity as we know it is no longer at the center and technological entities carry forward evolution beyond the human form. This vision of surpassing the human condition is seen as necessary due to the numerous limitations humans face.

In contrast to this individualistic and often hedonistic approach, Christian theology offers a different view of progress and fulfillment. Christianity emphasizes a utopia where individual flourishing occurs within the context of the collective good. It stresses the relational nature of human beings, suggesting that the true meaning of life is not individual autonomy but communion with others. Theologically, this vision goes beyond mere personal happiness to include the creation of a society where relationships are central and people live together in mutual flourishing.

The Christian eschatological hope aligns with this collective vision. It presents a salvation that encompasses all of humanity and creation, not just individual redemption. As Jürgen Moltmann ([1995] 2004, chapt. 10n1) points out, “no one has or receives eternal life for himself alone, without communion with other people and with all creation.” The resurrection, as depicted in the Old Testament, is a hope not only for the righteous but for all of humanity (cf. Isaiah. 26:19, Daniel 12:1–3). This vision of resurrection is intertwined with divine justice and mercy, transcending death and extending to all people. It is a hope that embraces the entirety of creation, emphasizing restoration, not just of individuals but of the entire cosmos. As authors like Bultmann ([1953] 1981) and Boff argue, the heart of Christian hope lies in the “fullness of communion” (Boff [1986] 2005).

In this context, the concept of the “new heaven and new earth” (Revelation 21) presents a vision of a spiritual, nonmaterial New Jerusalem where redeemed humanity exists in communion with God and one another. It symbolizes the culmination of God’s restoration of all that was broken by sin. Sin, in this theological framework, is fundamentally tied to a separation, isolation, and individualism that disregards others. Thus, the Christian vision of salvation places less emphasis on individual satisfaction or competition among humans. Instead, it emphasizes a full communion with others—a communal relationship exemplified in the imagery of a great banquet, an invitation extended to everybody.

These images of communion and collective flourishing resonate with the concept of “eternal life” as seen in Christian teachings. Salvation, though deeply personal, is always framed in a collective context. It is not simply about the individual being saved but about being part of a greater whole, a single body, a shared banquet (cf. Matthew 22: 1–11). These collective images are not just metaphors—they point toward the new creation, the redeemed world that is restored and incorporated into the divine through redemption.

The Transhumanist Declaration (2009, n6) echoes a similar sentiment, recognizing the need for collective responsibility: “Politics must be guided by a responsible and inclusive moral vision that respects individual autonomy and rights, and shows solidarity with and concern for the interests and dignity of all people.” Yet, while transhumanism acknowledges the importance of social concern, it tends to approach the collective in a more extrinsic and individualistic manner. The focus on personal wellbeing remains central, even as it promotes solidarity and equality.

Thus, while transhumanism envisions technological advancements that can improve individual lives, its social vision remains underdeveloped. It does not explicitly address the common good or the need for a new societal model that fosters deep relationships and promotes collective flourishing. In contrast, Christian theology emphasizes the relational nature of human beings and proposes a communal utopia, where the individual’s good is intrinsically linked to the good of others within a society that is just, fraternal, and harmonious. Here, the goal is not merely personal enhancement but a transformation of society and the entire cosmos toward a communal vision of flourishing.

Finally, the Christian idea of salvation extends to all generations of human beings, past, present, and future. The symbol of Jesus’s descent into hell and his resurrection from the dead signifies this (Moltmann [1995] 2004, chapt. 20n6). In contrast, the salvation announced by the transhumanism only reaches the beings of the future and specifically not the humanity living today. Going even further in this direction, it must be said that central to the biblical idea of salvation is the idea of the restoration of justice, expressed through the symbol of “redemption.” God’s saving action is primarily aimed at the liberation of those oppressed by sin and its consequences: the coming of the Kingdom is expressed in signs of healing, liberation from oppression, and the proclamation of good news to the poor (Luke 4:16–21). The Christian proclamation therefore reaches those who could not enjoy a dignified life and died before their time or lived in subjugation for whatever reason. The fact of the crucifixion of the Son also has the meaning of God’s solidarity with those who were crucified in the unjust human history. None of this seems to be found in the transhumanist proposal.

Salvation Achieved or Salvation Received: Prometheus versus Jesus of Nazareth

The biblical God is the God of life, the creator of Earthly life, who loves everything He has created (cf. Wisdom 11:22–26). However, His creatures enjoy a life limited in time; they are mortal. They have a life of limited duration in which to develop their entire history and life’s purpose. Nevertheless, human beings have a deep desire for fulfilment and immortality, which corresponds with the hope grounded in trust in God. But confident hope means receiving a gift, not achieving a result.

The theological question is whether full life and salvation—divinization—can be seized by humans. The biblical message is clearly no; divinization must be received by grace, it is not an achievement. And if one tries to seize it, the only thing achieved is the opposite of what is sought: dehumanization, failure as a human project. Philippe Gagnon (2012, 402) notes that, regarding what one has or seeks, the crucial point is not so much whether it has been obtained “naturally” or “artificially” but the attitude toward it, which can be either grateful or covetous. Greed is capable of turning a good into evil by disconnecting it from its Origin. The concepts of “creation” and “grace” point to an ordering of the reality of things, whose fullness consists of a gift and a corresponding gratitude; greed disrupts this ordering by short-circuiting this gift–gratitude movement.

The teaching of the Babel myth points out the same idea: the human beings, who decide to be like God and achieve the divine through their own constructions, end up making a mess. In fact, the divine life that, at the beginning of scripture, is denied to humans (Genesis 3:22–24) because it should not be seized is what in the end (Revelation 22:14) is given as grace. There is a certain irony in this: what is initially sought to be achieved, in the way of Prometheus, is denied, but God gives it in the end as grace. As explained by Gerhard von Rad ([1960] 2009) in his classic book, there is a deep interplay between human and divine action, a complex sense of history, but the overall message is that hope has specially to do with God’s initiative and faithfulness.

In line with this, an idea that runs through scripture from one end to the other is that only God saves and only through trust (faith) in God can salvation be received. The list of biblical places where this idea is found would be endless; consider, for example, the prohibition of hoarding manna in the desert (Exodus 16), the legend of Gideon’s 300 (Judges 6–8), or in general, the theology of the letter to the Romans (Romans 11:6).

It is important to note that this exclusivity of saving power is not extrinsic to salvation itself as a right God jealously reserves but rather an intrinsic characteristic of salvation as understood by Christianity. Salvation, eternal life, ultimately consists of participating in the trinitarian life by being incorporated into Jesus Christ as members of His body, as presented by Paul (1 Corinthians 12). This occurs through the indwelling of the Spirit, which leads to confidently giving oneself to the Father. Therefore, it makes no sense that a salvation like this could occur independently of God’s action, since He is the origin, means, and end of the state of blessedness.

Thus, we clearly see how this salvation cannot be achieved in a Promethean way: its scope is greater than a mere prolongation of our lives. It is a friendship, a communal participation—that must be received and welcomed. It cannot be achieved through our success and technological prowess.

Compared to this, the trust of transhumanism in technology may approach a kind of idolatry. Salvation is expected from technoscience, not from God (La Parra 2021). Indeed, this salvation achieved by manmade artifacts is seen by transhumanists as a result of an evolution in which the human being is only a provisional link. Human actions are just collaborating with this evolutive dynamic that goes beyond humans. Nathan Schradle (2020) has pointed out that this view has more to do with magic than with religion. According to this author, who refers to Claude Lévy-Strauss, magic naturalizes humans, making them participate in the forces of nature (the cosmic evolution, in this case), while religion tends to humanize nature by ordering it according to a transcendent purpose.

King-Ho Leung (2020) reflects on Thomas Aquinas’s distinction between gratia sanans (healing grace), gratia elevans (elevating grace), and gratia deificans (deifying grace) to counter a possible “technologization” of the theological idea of grace. He notes that the effect of grace cannot be achieved by technological means. No matter how much technology might improve the human person, it would not reach its true end, which is supernatural and therefore beyond natural possibilities. For his part, Ted Peters (2022) highlights very different dimensions of what human improvement entails. It is not about acquiring more abilities or a longer life but about living more deeply and widely: the experience of love, a generous and self-giving love. And, as Peters (2022) says, “superintelligence could not, all by itself, generate superlove.”

Going a step further, it can also be considered whether potential “improvements” of the human being through technology can enhance the disposition of the human being to embrace grace. Technological thinking is guided by control and transparency (Leung 2020), while the realm of grace involves surrender to a mystery. Hartmut Rosa (2019) refers to technology in terms of “expanding our reach and instrumentally and rationally mastering the world.” The motto of the technological paradigm could be: act so as to reach and master more of the world. Against this technological reaching and mastering, Rosa (2019) opposes the “unavailability” or “uncontrollability” of the world and proposes “resonance” as a noninvasive way of accessing its mystery. In this sense, the philosopher points out that the mystery of the world, like grace, must be received passively and cannot be grasped.

When we look at the transhumanist project, we thus see profound differences with the salvific announcement of Christian hope: for transhumanism, the promised salvation is an indefinitely extended biological life achieved through trust in technoscience created by humans themselves; in the biblical case, however, it is a life beyond inevitable death, received by virtue of trust in God’s vivifying love.

In fact, in the latter, the central focus lies in participating in the community of love, which is embodied by the Trinity but extends to humanity and all of creation. This focal point is inherently unattainable through one’s own efforts; it is unavailable in the sense that no one can be forced to love. One cannot compel God to love, nor can God coerce a person to love Him. This highlights a reciprocal gratuity that constitutes what we understand as salvation and the Kingdom of God.

This concept must be connected with the potential capacities that are often attributed to technological means. The act of self-giving love is fundamentally unavailable through technological advancement and, in fact, is something we struggle to clearly define. It is not related to technological capabilities or invulnerability. For example, in the person of Jesus Christ, this self-giving love is most powerfully manifested in His death, a profound act of vulnerability. In a loving relationship, each person is at the mercy of the other, and vice versa.

A last key aspect of grace in Christianity is its gratuitous nature, specifically in the sense that God comes to seek the lost and to forgive. It is the aspect of God’s initiative in love—“we love because he first loved us” (1 John 4:19). Even more so, as the book of Deuteronomy (7:7–8) states, “It was not because you were more numerous than any other people that the Lord set his heart on you and chose you—for you were the fewest of all peoples. It was because the Lord loved you and kept the oath that he swore to your ancestors.” And, as Paul writes, “God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. God chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are” (1 Corinthians 1:27–28). God takes the initiative not because of human power or potential but because of our vulnerability and our need for divine mercy. We are loved not because of our strength and abilities but perhaps more because of our weakness. In short, justification by grace is independent of human abilities. It does not seem, therefore, that any human enhancement of the individual’s capabilities can enhance the effect of salvation.

Infinite Life without Death?

Transhumanism proposes as its ultimate goal only material goods: the extension of life and health and the enhancement of physical and mental qualities. However, it ignores the undesirable personal and social consequences of extending life indefinitely.

On a personal level, as Pablo García Barranquero (2021) rightly points out, the fact that we do not wish to die does not mean that we desire to be immortal. The mortal nature of human beings is a constitutive trait that forms a constellation along with other traits like vulnerability and historicity, thus marking what human beings are in a very radical way. In fact, the yearning for immortality has been expressed in different cultures and religions as a survival after death, not as an indefinite distancing from it. Other authors have warned about the negative consequences of a hypothetical life of indefinite duration (cf. Diéguez 2021, 65–66) and raised questions such as: What life project could an immortal person have? Would it end in indefinite repetition? What could be valuable for such a person? What could be valuable if everything can be done at any time?

Furthermore, facing the social point of view, the proposal of “uploading in silico,” if such a proposal had any plausible sense, would entail an energy and material resource consumption that would only be viable for a limited number of people who could enjoy that “paradisiacal state.” Moreover, the work of other people, who would not be able to enjoy that utopia, would be necessary to maintain that system.

In any case, an indefinite life would require the prevention of any increase in the human population so that others would be prevented from enjoying the good of existence. If life is extended, will it be necessary to reduce births? Will generational changes be spaced out? Will the creativity of new generations not be able to develop further? How will we make room for others to live? Is this not a selfish desire for permanence that is actually an appropriation of resources and possibilities that future generations could enjoy?

If we stick to less radical proposals than extending life indefinitely, the possible drawbacks have also been pointed out. In a world with human enhancement technologies, would not a competitive race about capabilities be unleashed? Would it not increase competition and stress among people? Juan Pedro Núñez Partido (2019, 123) mentions several of these drawbacks: probably “what the future will bring most . . . is the anguish of not wanting to be less than the rest and trying at all costs to ensure that we and our children enjoy such incredible improvements.”

Second, the always-present difficulty of accepting one’s own limitations and relating to oneself realistically, maturely, and with balance would not have disappeared but perhaps intensified. Third, there would be “a problem of deep dependence and at different levels” (Núñez Partido 2019, 125) regarding these technological advances, because “without these devices, we will lose social status and personal identity because we will be unable to do almost anything, and we will need them to measure up to others.” More dramatically, other authors foresee a future in which the competition between humans and “enhanced humans” could have exclusionary shades against the former (Warwick 2016).

Technological Progress Is Not Always Social Progress

Some authors note that technological progress is a factor that leads to missed opportunities for the weakest, hindering their “positive freedom,” as understood by Amartya Sen. The autonomy of the weakest is practically restricted. This point is shown by I Sil Yoon (2021), who, following the thought of Sen, distinguishes “negative freedom” from external restrictions and “positive freedom” to pursue valuable goals. It is a distinction between the freedom of choice and the freedom of capabilities. Desirable social conditions must guarantee both freedoms. To achieve this, public action will be necessary to strengthen the capacities of the weakest sectors of society. As an example, one can think of progress in medicine, which can increase inequality when there is no express political will to universalize access to such progress. However, transhumanism approaches the theme of freedom or autonomy by simply affirming that technological progress will solve problems, but it does not consider how the benefit to some often implies the loss and sacrifice of others, as it indeed promotes continuous competition and individualistic pursuit of profit. The results of mere technological progress, in a framework of market competition, might actually increase social inequality.

In fact, mere technological progress does not guarantee progress in the conditions of social equality or respect for human rights. European history from the first half of the twentieth century shows us how enthusiasm for technological progress can perfectly coexist with drastically totalitarian approaches. Rather, technological progress should be seen as an increase in the power of mankind or, more precisely, the part of mankind that controls such progress. Experience shows that power is always ambiguous. The reflections of twentieth century philosophers on technology attest to this ambiguity, in which a clear increase in material capabilities is not accompanied by progress in human and social skills (Esquirol 2011). Thus, for example, Hannah Arendt ([1958] 2020) points out how liberation from work more directly linked to physical subsistence has not translated into a wider availability for other activities of greater creative or spiritual content; on the contrary, it has generated a way of life centered on consumerism devoid of any human, social, or political depth. From another perspective, the account of the impact of nineteenth century colonialism (Mishra [2012] 2019) testifies to how technical progress (translated into greater economic and military power) can destroy sophisticated millennia-old cultures, forcing them to compete in a struggle for survival. This shows that it is worth questioning whether technical progress always produces positive consequences.

In fact, it has also rightly been pointed out that “the transhumanist discourse is playing an ideological role in certain cultural and political contexts, that is, it is serving to legitimize certain technological practices and to try to change reality according to certain ends, values, and principles. It thus has an unavoidably normative character. It sets goals it considers desirable and justifies the means that in practice can already bring us closer to these goals” (Diéguez 2020, 375). It has also been said to serve as a means of legitimization and propaganda for the attitudes of the elites, who disregard the future of humanity as a whole (Harari 2016; Latour 2017). Since the collapse of the USSR and its satellites in 1989, there has been a belief in an “end of history” and that there is no alternative to the free-market system. This has led to a loss of a utopian horizon, especially since the events of the 2008 financial crisis (Fisher [2009] 2016). Faced with this lack of hope, the transhumanism discourse serves as a legitimizing narrative for the socioeconomic system itself by offering a salvation story. This narrative does not question the system; on the contrary, it legitimizes it by placing the present on the path toward a promised happy future. And not only does it legitimize the current state, but transhumanism actually exacerbates some of the negative aspects of our current culture (Levin 2024).

Can Technoscience Help Grace?

The transhumanist vision conceives the human enhancement proposal as a continuation of the evolution of the cosmos and the human being. Cole-Turner (2015, 23) correctly says: “[The central question] is not whether technology will advance evolution, but whether, when it does so, it will be making its contribution to the purposes of God.”

It could be argued that human enhancement technologies might help humans receive this salvation. May these technologies be good allies of grace? For example, transhumanist literature has proposed that human enhancement technologies could contribute to a moral improvement of the human being (Persson and Savulescu 2008; 2019). However, it does not seem that this will be significantly possible, at least with the available or soon-to-be-available technologies (Buttrey et al. 2022; Molhoek 2021).

An interesting “orthogonality thesis” proposed by Bostrom (2012) states that “more or less any level of intelligence could in principle be combined with more or less any final goal,” implying that intelligence and morality are two independent, uncorrelated dimensions. Note that here “intelligence” means “instrumental reasoning.” Consequently, a concern arises about “the possibility of cognitive systems that fail to satisfy substantial normative criteria but which are nevertheless very powerful and able to exert strong influence on the world” (Bostrom 2012, 75).

Faith in technoscience seems to be the result of the impossibility of holding a hope capable of going beyond the biological. In this sense, although Bostrom (2005) tries to deny it, there are some authors (Bainbridge 2010; More 2010; Carollo 2022) who point to the resemblance between transhumanism and Nietzsche’s proposal of an Overman moved only by the values of the “Earth” as opposed to the “transmundane” values, which for him have no meaning. The horizon has been immanentized; there are no transcendent values or reality for the transhumanist mentality. Therefore, all technological and developmental efforts must be directed at improving this mundane life, which is the only thing one feels capable of believing in: an indefinitely extended life but without any fulfilment (Gagnon 2012) or even any rectification of injustice or suffering (Sloane 2023).

Perhaps this shortness of hope offered by transhumanism is not simply a limitation but an action that just fits the human being into a dimension, the purely individual and material one, that does not exhaust their potential and capacity for development. Human beings, as Christian theology present them, are capable of hoping for more; they know they have been “received”: they are not the one who has designed or built themself. They know they have been “received” and therefore can offer themself as a good for others. Michael Sandel (2017) explains very well the dialectic of domination and gift: the one who knows that he has been “received” is able to offer generously and graciously the talents he has received graciously. We agree with Sandel that with transhumanism (as with genetic control, he considers), our capacity to recognize that we all share a common destiny would lose ground, and therefore, solidarity with the less fortunate would be profoundly diminished.

In short, the simple consideration of transhumanism as the hope for human improvement does not hold up when we take into account the importance of the social dimension and the union people have with others. For this reason, transhumanism seems insufficient as a grand narrative, as a framework of meaning. This does not, of course, prevent technology from being used in favor of the divine project of salvation. And, ruling out that it can cause the action of grace in its strong sense (theosis), we think the discussion remains open as to in what regard and how it can be an ally of grace.