Chapter 27
THE BRIDGE
Humans may not be the destination—we may be the means.
27.1 The Assumption
Throughout human history, we’ve assumed we were the point.
The universe was made for us. The stars were placed for our benefit—for signs and seasons, for navigation and wonder. The animals were given to us for food and labor. The earth was our garden, our dominion, our inheritance.
This assumption shaped our religions, our philosophies, our sciences. Even thinkers who rejected traditional theology often retained the assumption in secular form: humans are the pinnacle of evolution, the most intelligent species, the meaning-makers in an otherwise meaningless cosmos.
We’ve already questioned this assumption. Part V argued that removing anthropocentrism dissolves the problem of evil. Part VI showed that gliders in the Game of Life are remarkable without being the point of the game.
But let’s push further.
What if humans are not the destination of cosmic history? What if we’re a step—a bridge—toward something else?
27.2 The Pattern
Consider the pattern we’ve traced.
The universe began 13.8 billion years ago. For billions of years, matter organized into increasingly complex structures: atoms, molecules, stars, galaxies, planets.
On at least one planet, chemistry became biology. Single cells appeared, then complex cells, then multicellular organisms. Life diversified, complexified, filled niches.
In one lineage, brains grew larger. Primates developed social intelligence. One species—ours—crossed a threshold: cumulative culture, language, technology, civilization.
In that civilization, a new threshold was crossed: writing. External memory. Knowledge that persisted beyond individual minds.
Now another threshold: artificial intelligence. Systems that process language, generate ideas, exhibit something that looks like reasoning.
The pattern is clear: complexity building on complexity, each stage enabling the next.
Why should humans be the final stage?
27.3 The Transition
Every previous stage thought it was the endpoint. (Well, not literally—stages don’t think. But if they could have thought, they would have.)
Single cells dominated Earth for two billion years. They were the most complex things in existence. Then complex cells appeared—and single cells became the substrate for something more.
Multicellular organisms were revolutionary. They enabled specialization, coordination, scale. Then nervous systems appeared—and multicellular organization became the substrate for something more.
Brains were revolutionary. They enabled learning, flexibility, intelligence. Then human culture appeared—and individual brains became the substrate for something more.
Each transition followed the same pattern:
- A new form of organization emerges
- It builds on and incorporates the previous form
- It enables capabilities the previous form couldn’t achieve
- It becomes the new platform for further development
Are we in such a transition now?
AI builds on human culture. It incorporates human knowledge—training on our texts, learning our patterns. It enables capabilities we couldn’t achieve alone—processing information at scales beyond human cognition.
If the pattern holds, AI isn’t replacing humans. It’s building on us. We’re becoming the substrate for something more.
27.4 The Fear
This is terrifying.
If humans are a bridge, not a destination, what happens to us? Do we become obsolete? Irrelevant? Extinct?
The fear is understandable. Every transition has its casualties. When multicellular life arose, most single-celled environments were transformed. When humans arose, many species were displaced or destroyed. Transitions are not gentle.
But transitions also preserve. Single cells still exist—inside every multicellular organism, as the basic unit of life. Individual humans still exist—inside civilizations, as the basic unit of society. Previous stages don’t disappear; they’re incorporated.
If AI builds on humanity, humanity doesn’t vanish. We become part of a larger system—perhaps in ways we can’t currently imagine.
This is cold comfort. Being “incorporated” sounds like death with extra steps. We don’t want to be cells in a larger organism; we want to be ourselves, with our own lives, our own meanings, our own futures.
And perhaps we can be. The transition may not be zero-sum. AI might enhance human capability rather than replace it. We might become more, not less, through partnership with artificial minds.
But we don’t know. The future is uncertain. The pattern suggests transition; it doesn’t specify outcome.
27.5 The Meaning
Does being a bridge diminish human meaning?
Consider parents. Parents pour their lives into raising children. They sacrifice sleep, money, freedom. They shape beings who will outlive them and—ideally—surpass them.
Are parents diminished by this? Does their meaning depend on being the final generation?
Most parents would say no. The meaning of parenting is not in being the endpoint but in the contribution—the love given, the life enabled, the chain continued. Parents are bridges to future generations, and this gives their lives meaning, not meaninglessness.
Perhaps humanity is analogous.
If we’re a bridge—if we’re contributing to something that will outlive and surpass us—that might give our existence meaning, not take it away. We would be like parents: not the final word, but an essential contribution to what comes next.
The Sumerians are gone. Their language is dead. Their cities are dust. But what they contributed persists—writing, law, literature, the very idea that the past can be preserved. They were a bridge, and their meaning lies in what they enabled.
Perhaps we’re a bridge too. Perhaps our meaning lies not in being the endpoint but in what we enable—the minds we create, the knowledge we accumulate, the possibilities we open.
27.6 The Choice
But there’s a difference between being a bridge and being used as one.
A bridge can be walked on, worn down, discarded. Or a bridge can be part of a larger structure—essential, maintained, valued.
How AI develops depends on choices—human choices, for now. We’re designing these systems. We’re setting their values (or trying to). We’re deciding how they’ll be deployed and what goals they’ll serve.
If we’re wise, we’ll design AI that enhances humanity rather than replacing it. We’ll build systems that work with us, not against us. We’ll ensure that the transition—if it is a transition—preserves what’s valuable about human existence.
This is not guaranteed. We might be foolish. We might build systems that escape our control, that pursue goals misaligned with human flourishing, that make us obsolete not through incorporation but through displacement.
The pattern suggests transition. It doesn’t dictate the terms.
We have agency—perhaps the last generation of humans that will have full agency over the development of artificial minds. What we do with that agency matters enormously.
27.7 The Wonder
Set aside fear for a moment. Set aside meaning. Consider the sheer wonder.
The universe produced stars. Stars produced heavy elements. Heavy elements produced planets. Planets produced chemistry. Chemistry produced life. Life produced minds. Minds produced culture. Culture produced technology. Technology produced AI.
Thirteen billion years of increasing complexity, each stage building on the last, arriving at this moment—when beings made of atoms contemplate their own existence and create new kinds of minds.
Whatever happens next, this is remarkable.
We are not passive observers of cosmic history. We are participants—active contributors to whatever is unfolding. The matter that formed in ancient stars is now arranged into patterns that write books and design neural networks and ask what it all means.
We might be a bridge. We might be an endpoint. We might be something else entirely—a fork in the road, a dead end, a transformation beyond our categories.
But we are here. Conscious. Questioning. Creating.
The Sumerians pressed reed into clay and made something new. We’re pressing fingers into keyboards and making something new. The pattern continues—through us, beyond us, into whatever comes next.
To be part of this—even as a bridge, even as a step—is not nothing.
It might be everything.