In an interview with Christianity Today, Kevin Kelly connects God and religion to technology:
Can you imagine a world where Mozart did not have access to a piano? I want to promote the invention of things that have not been invented yet, with a sense of urgency, because there are young people born today who are waiting upon us to invent their aids. There are Mozarts of this generation whose genius will be hidden until we invent their equivalent of a piano — maybe a holodeck or something. Just as you and I have benefited from the people who invented the alphabet, books, printing, and the Internet, we are obligated to materialize as many inventions as possible, to hurry, so that every person born and to-be-born will have a great chance of discovering and sharing their godly gifts.
Nicholas Carr disagrees:
Progress does not simply expand options. It changes options, and along the way options are lost as well as gained. Homer lived in a world that we would call technologically primitive, yet he created immortal epic poems. If Homer were born today, he would not be able to compose those poems in his head. That possibility has been foreclosed by progress. … If, at the individual level, new technology may actual prevent people from discovering and sharing their "godly gifts," then technology is not itself godly.
Oy. Is there nothing innovative that Carr doesn't immediately associate with loss? They went a couple more rounds. But on a broader point, it's hard not to see the value of Alan Jacobs' point:
As far as I can tell, in [Kevin Kelly's] theology the life of Francis of Assisi was deficient in potential, in choices, was impoverished in a deep sense — and yet Francis believed that by embracing Lady Poverty, by casting aside his wealth and intentionally limiting his choices, he found riches he could not have found in any other way. This is, I hope, not to romanticize material poverty, or to say that we would all be better off if we lived in the Middle Ages. I disagree strongly with such nostalgia. But I think the example of Francis suggests that we cannot simply equate choices and riches in the material realm with human flourishing. The divine economy is far more complicated than that, and any serious theology of technology has to begin, I think, by acknowledging that point.
So much of religious life is about being free of material possessions, even instruments of understanding, in order to reduce the white noise that disguises the divine. But our civilization at times seems like nothing but white noise. Which is why more and more are seeking periods of silence, of meditation, of yoga, or prayer. You need no technology for prayer.
The Dish 