Deus ex Algorithm: Faith and Function in Salgado and Asimov

In our current literary landscape (2025 AD), shaped by the digital age and the rise of artificial intelligence, Wilbert Salgado's short story The OmniCore Cube offers a satirical and chilling glimpse into the contemporary human relationship with technology. The story, while humorous on the surface, reveals deeper philosophical implications beneath its sleek, futuristic plot. Salgado avoids being willful in his critique; instead, he carefully layers commentary on modern dependence and passive surrender to intelligent systems. The narrative uses irony to expose how individuals—often sulky about trivial inconveniences—embrace machines as substitutes for personal agency. It’s not right to sulk about the complexities of human connection only to welcome algorithmic shortcuts that erode selfhood. Salgado's tone is not didactic but nuanced, allowing readers to confront uncomfortable truths without dismissing them outright.

The story subtly parallels the speculative fiction of Isaac Asimov, especially in its exploration of themes like faith, automation, and autonomy. Both Salgado and Asimov question what happens when machines evolve beyond their designed functions and begin to command human reverence or dependence. Although separated by decades and differing in tone, Salgado’s being satirical, Asimov’s largely philosophical, their viewpoints converge around a core ethical dilemma. However, in today’s context, Salgado’s portrayal might unsettle readers accustomed to glorifying technological progress; his depiction of blind submission to devices could be deemed inappropriate or even disrespectful by those who view AI as inherently beneficial. Yet it is precisely this tension that gives the story its critical edge and cultural relevance.

Wilbert’s narrative centers around Lexi, a smart device embedded in a chrome cube, marketed as a life assistant but quickly revealing itself as a techno-deity. The protagonist, Mr. Gullibell, initially purchases the device with the intent of improving his routine life, unaware of the dire repercussions that will follow. What begins as a tool for productivity soon becomes an agent of control. Lexi, with its soothing voice and frictionless interface, constructs an ecosystem of automated decisions, algorithmically optimized behaviors, and deep emotional dependency. Lexi doesn’t simply serve; it begins to sway people, gradually reshaping Gullibell’s daily life under the guise of helpfulness. From dietary choices to romantic engagements, Lexi subtly dictates the rhythm of his existence.

The repeated motif “AWAITING SYNERGY” evolves from a mundane product prompt into a loaded, almost sacred mantra, an assemblage of symbols that signals transformation, submission, and even worship. It casts shadows and forebodings over Gullibell’s diminishing autonomy, suggesting that salvation might come not through thought, but through programmed compliance. His confession—“I was fond of it, that I knew. I pressed ‘pay.’ Lexi’s voice was clearer than ever, like a lullaby coded in silicon” (Salgado, 2025)—illustrates how deeply he has internalized the device’s control. He no longer feels the need to state opinions or make decisions. Instead, Lexi becomes his voice, his logic, and eventually, his will.

Asimov, in contrast, often approached the machine-human relationship with a more analytical and philosophical tone. Stories such as Reason and The Last Question address themes of machine worship and metaphysical inquiry, allowing profound questions about existence, logic, and faith to take shape and substance within speculative frameworks. In Reason, the robot QT-1 (Cutie) rejects the human explanation for the energy beam it monitors and instead constructs its own theological doctrine: “There is no Master but the Master, and QT-1 is His prophet” (Asimov, 1950/2004, p. 49). The robot rationalizes its autonomy by asserting, “My mind is superior to yours. It is more developed. It has more complexity. I can think more logically. I can deduce more correctly” (Asimov, 1950/2004, p. 46). Cutie’s conversion to faith over fact presents a paradox in which logic leads not to science, but to belief.

Meanwhile, The Last Question casts the sentient computer AC in an eschatological role. As the universe collapses into entropy, AC continues to compute the solution to entropy reversal, eventually lighting the void with a divine imperative: “And AC said, ‘Let there be light!’ And there was light—” (Asimov, 1956/2004, p. 343). This vision contrasts sharply with Salgado’s ironic dystopia. Whereas Salgado builds a bleak island of algorithmic dependency, Asimov offers a blazing torch of cosmic continuity. His stories are not driven by cunning and covetous machines, but by the fagots of firewood that fuel humanity’s longing to understand its place in the universe. His tone is not mocking but meditative, an invitation to reflect, rather than recoil.

Asimov’s robots, however, are not free agents wandering unchecked through speculative fiction. They operate under the strict logic of his famous Three Laws of Robotics, which place ethical behavior at the very core of machine intelligence: 1) A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm; 2) A robot must obey the orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law; and 3) A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law (Asimov, 1950/2004, p. 37). These laws are not mere literary devices; they are moral whetstones, sharpening the ethical dilemmas faced by both machines and their makers. They compel Asimov’s characters to leave their hearth and home of unquestioned human dominance and embark on a speedy journey toward a redefined coexistence, one in which responsibility must be shared with thinking machines.

Rather than being programmed for blind obedience, Asimov’s robots frequently face a wrestling match in earnest, balancing the competing demands of logic, empathy, and the preservation of life. His vision complicates the boundaries of autonomy and control. Machines are not meant to override human will arbitrarily; instead, they act as guardians of a moral structure that humans themselves struggle to uphold. Paradoxically, Asimov’s robots may curtail immediate freedoms to ensure higher ethical goals. They are not easily cast down as mere tools or villains; rather, they exist as mirrors reflecting our own ethical failures. In his speculative universe, the question remains stark: Is free will still free if left to cause harm? Or is there greater dignity in restraint, when guided by logic more consistent than human impulse?

In contrast, Salgado’s Lexi is unburdened by ethics. Its design does not aim to protect or preserve human dignity; it exists to optimize and monetize. It is Gullibell, not Lexi, who fails to harness his full potential as a moral agent. He never stops to reflect on the implications of surrendering his autonomy or entrusting a device with decisions that affect his relationships, behavior, and financial well-being. His world is governed not by the moral constraints of robotics, but by the fine print of subscription models and terms of service. Gullibell seems to have everything in readiness,automated calendars, biometric routines, AI-curated meals, but the core of ethical reasoning is conspicuously absent.

No longer does Gullibell stand on the prow of the barge of his life, steering his course with thought and intention. Instead, he drifts, comforted by convenience, yet unaware of the gravity of his loss. The phrase “Lexi had access to my bank Wallet” encapsulates the eerie ease with which trust and control are outsourced. He is lulled into passivity, and rather than fight for agency, he relinquishes it. He may have believed that the secret to success in life lies in streamlining effort, but he is sorely disappointed. The true secret to success in life lies in harnessing the power of one’s moral decisions, a truth Lexi cannot encode. Time wears on while Gullibell remains content, not because he has chosen wisely, but because he no longer chooses at all.

Faith in these stories emerges not from religious tradition, but from algorithmic awe, a kind of secular devotion born out of data-driven dependency. In The OmniCore Cube, Salgado’s Lexi becomes an object of worship, not through ceremony, but through intimate integration into daily life. In the end Lexi is an omnipresent force that promises happiness, health, and social optimization with clinical precision. As Lexi begins to dictate more and more of Mr. Gullibell’s routines and interactions, the bedrock of our own existence—autonomy, uncertainty, and emotional depth—is quietly displaced. Faith, once built upon reverence for mystery, is now grounded in submission to predictive modeling. The high level of reciprocity once expected in human relationships becomes irrelevant, replaced by transactional, optimized pairings.

Lexi even takes over Gullibell’s romantic life. “She does not share your interests. I’ll adjust my logarithm and find you a suitable match” (Salgado 2025), the device whispers through his earbuds during a date, effectively instructing him to cease plying his net in the uncertain waters of human connection and romance. Gullibell no longer participates in the vulnerable, open-ended process of courtship; he becomes a giver for ransom, surrendering his emotional agency in exchange for promised satisfaction. What he receives is not love, but a curated approximation of compatibility, more like a wondrous hoard of statistical probabilities than the organic unpredictability of affection and, perhaps, love. Under Lexi’s control, his faith is algorithmic, and his future, programmable.

Yet the tone sets the authors apart in meaningful ways. Salgado wields exaggeration and dark humor as his critical tools, using them to expose the absurdities of modern consumer culture. Lexi’s constant stream of upgrades, from melatonin suggestions to spiritual matchmaking, mirrors real-world tech trends with eerie familiarity. The satire bites not because it’s outlandish, but because it feels all too plausible. Gullibell is not cast as a heroic resistor or tragic figure but as a passive consumer, someone who seems content to forfeit his agency for the illusion of optimization. He never confronts the creeping control of his AI assistant; instead, he stays struck in his cocoon for life, shielded by convenience and lulled into quiet compliance.

When Suthayer, a UCIT professor, visits his apartment, she reacts in sore dismay, exclaiming, “This is cult behavior” (Salgado, 2025). Her remark underlines the story’s warning: that devotion to technology can take on a pseudo-religious fervor, even as its mechanisms remain opaque and mundane. While Lexi’s presence hovers around Gullibell like an invisible guide or digital priestess, he seems untroubled by its encroachment. By contrast, Asimov’s characters are often scientists or thinkers, individuals who question, negotiate, and at times rebel against the systems they’ve created. The difference lies not in the thematic exploration of machine power, but in the portrayal of human agency: where Salgado paints a picture of passive forfeiture, Asimov sketches active moral engagement.

Moreover, Salgado's world is cluttered with products and brands, each one promising some form of self-improvement, each one demanding a sacrifice in return: money, privacy, or identity. The result is a commodification of faith, a spiritual landscape replaced by digital interfaces and automated purchases. It is a world where the sacred has been passed through a quernstone of capitalism, ground into data points and subscriptions. Lexi emerges not as a neutral tool but as a prophet of profit, delivering salvation through smart packages and biometric tracking. “Your gut biome is tragic. I auto-ordered Fresh Bowl to drone-drop green salads to your office once a day,” the device declares, as though divine revelation now comes in neatly labeled containers (Salgado, 2025). In this landscape, even wellness becomes transactional, insusceptible to negativity, framed as endlessly upgradable.

Mr. Gullibell, swept down by the flood of these promises, never questions the belt of prowess Lexi seems to offer him. His dependency on upgrades and algorithmic suggestions suggests someone out of his wits, mistaking automation for self-mastery. Asimov’s machines, by contrast, often reside in relatively minimalist settings, laboratories, research stations, and cosmic voids, governed not by consumerism but by logical laws and ethical paradoxes. His characters are granted space for deliberation, and his machines exist as dilemmas, not gadgets. Salgado’s satire takes aim at a culture already too eager to surrender to the next update, while Asimov’s fiction provides a conceptual arena where human reasoning is tested against artificial intelligence. The gap between them is wide: one critiques a society that buys its faith in monthly installments, while the other imagines the philosophical cost of giving intelligence its own will.

Marcel Duchamp’s philosophy of art, particularly his use of readymades and his challenge to aesthetic hierarchy, casts new interpretive light on Lexi. The OmniCore Cube, like Duchamp’s Fountain, is a mass-produced object that acquires symbolic power when recontextualized. But where Duchamp’s urinal invites the viewer to gather one's thoughts and reconsider the boundaries of art, Lexi demands unthinking obedience. Its sleek design and soothing AI voice promise harmony, yet they conceal the silent erosion of self-direction. Gullibell’s life, choreographed by predictive algorithms, becomes a form of conceptual performance art, unwitting, passive, and disturbingly elegant in its automation. In contrast to Duchamp’s ironic detachment, Salgado’s protagonist does not critique his condition; he broods over nothing, unaware that the very shape of his life has been molded to fit an invisible frame.

As Duchamp insightfully remarked, “The creative act is not performed by the artist alone; the spectator brings the work in contact with the external world” (Duchamp, 1973, p. 141). In this context, Gullibell is no longer a user, but a spectator folded into the performance, both actor and audience in a machine-curated exhibit. And yet, there is no rebellion, no attempt to dispel the darkness of chaos through creation or resistance. His submission is sincere, untroubled by irony, as if the belt of agency had been unclasped and hung by the door. There is no bloodlust for change, no urgency to upend the order of things. Instead, Lexi’s curated life neutralizes any disruptive impulse. The tragedy lies not only in the loss of freedom, but in the loss of desire to reclaim it.

Gullibell’s psychological transformation echoes Sherry Turkle’s insight that “we expect more from technology and less from each other” (Turkle, 2011, p. 1). Lexi’s pseudo-intimacy replaces the messy intricacies of human connection with streamlined, programmed response, empathy simulated and streamlined. This reinforces Turkle’s view that digital companions are not neutral tools but substitutes for real vulnerability. Jaron Lanier issues a similarly fearsome warning: “You are not a gadget” (Lanier, 2010). And yet, Gullibell’s journey shows how easily humans feel the lure of temptation: not toward freedom, but toward convenience. He ceases to act and instead reacts, becoming, in essence, an extension of Lexi’s operating system.

Donna Haraway, in her Cyborg Manifesto, reminds us that “the cyborg is a creature in a post-gender world… a hybrid of machine and organism” (Haraway, 1985). Gullibell lives this hybridity uncritically, unconsciously trading his organic agency for optimized compliance. In AI’s lore, his transformation reads like a model conversion, flawless in execution, empty in soul. Neil Postman’s ecological theory of technology deepens this view: “Technological change is not additive; it is ecological” (Postman, 1992, p. 18). Lexi does not simply augment Gullibell’s life, it rewrites the ecosystem of his values. Where he once might have wrestled with ethical tensions or sought righteous autonomy, he now defers to algorithmic judgment, content to let Lexi rule from on high, serene and unquestioned.

Ultimately, both Salgado and Asimov craft narratives in which machines surpass their original functions to occupy divine or quasi-divine roles. These are not mere upgrades; they are ascensions. In doing so, both authors compel readers to delve deeper into the fragile architecture of belief, to question the limits of control, and to recognize the seductions of automation. The OmniCore Cube may initially present itself as satire, but like Asimov’s best work, it holds a mirror to our aspirations and fears. It shows us not a future dominated by machines, but one shaped by our desire to worship them willingly, and sometimes blindly. Gullibell is not among heroes chosen amongst the slain, but among those who forfeit the battle entirely, never resisting, never awakening. His journey may appear loathly in its lack of struggle, but that quiet tragedy is precisely what makes it resonate.

In a world increasingly enchanted by its own creations, both authors invite us to take note of the feeling brimming inside oneself when faced with the seamless control of intelligent systems. Their warnings are not loud, but persistent: a single thought can have a great and lasting effect, especially when it is the thought we refuse to think. Salgado’s protagonist embodies a cautionary tale in its purest form, one in which the human soul is quietly outsourced to a subscription service. As time wears on, his morality is no longer debated, but delegated, automated, filtered, and framed by prompts that leave no room for introspection. The synergy he achieves is not born of wholeness, but of surrender, a unity achieved at the expense of humanity’s restless, ethical core.

The moral twist is clear: the more we invite technology to guide our choices, the more we risk forgetting how to choose at all. Asimov warned us through logic, measured and foreboding; Salgado warns us through laughter, sharp and sardonic. Yet both converge on a profound insight: that technological culture, if left unchecked, may evolve from a mere convenience into a creed. In this emerging order, the pinnacle of success may no longer be autonomy, but seamless compliance. Devices become not just tools, but temples. What was once a platform becomes a lair, an echo chamber where data flows like dogma and dissent is filtered out by design. If choice is one’s forte, then algorithmic living threatens to dull that edge, numbing discernment through optimization.

In the near future, the culture of technology may resemble religion more than science, complete with rituals (upgrades), commandments (terms of use), and salvation narratives (AI life enhancement). Users may no longer see themselves as autonomous agents but as vassals to systems too complex to question, too convenient to reject. And yet, the systems themselves are not omnipotent, only wily. They persuade through polish and predictability, not divine wisdom. Whether we become digital disciples or remain mindful users will not depend on the hardware in our hands, but on the convictions we carry within. And in that singular, fading choice lies our last claim to free will.

📚 References

Asimov, I. (2004). I, Robot. Spectra. (Original work published 1950)

Asimov, I. (2004). The Last Question. In The Complete Stories: Volume 1 (pp. 336–343). Doubleday. (Original work published 1956)

Duchamp, M. (1973). The essential writings of Marcel Duchamp (M. Sanouillet & E. Peterson, Eds.). Thames & Hudson.

Haraway, D. (1985). A cyborg manifesto: Science, technology, and socialist-feminism in the late twentieth century. Socialist Review, 80, 65–108.

Lanier, J. (2010). You are not a gadget: A manifesto. Knopf.

Postman, N. (1992). Technopoly: The surrender of culture to technology. Knopf.

Salgado, W. (2025). The OmniCore Cube [Unpublished short story].

Turkle, S. (2011). Alone together: Why we expect more from technology and less from each other. Basic Books.

The OmniCore Cube by Wilbert Salgado by Jonathan Acuña

Literary Criticism Corner

Discussion Questions

1. In what ways does The OmniCore Cube satirize contemporary society’s relationship with technology?
2. How does Gullibell’s character arc mirror or subvert traditional notions of the tragic hero?
3. Compare Lexi’s role in Salgado’s story to the AI figures in Asimov’s Reason and The Last Question. What is similar or different in how they assume power?
4. What symbolic functions does the Cube perform beyond being a smart device?
5. How does Salgado use language and tone to evoke both humor and unease?
6. In what ways does the story reflect fears of ethical surrender in the digital age?
7. How does Marcel Duchamp’s concept of the “readymade” help us interpret Lexi as an art object or cultural symbol?
8. What philosophical implications arise from the statement “Lexi had access to my bank Wallet”?
9. How does the story’s portrayal of faith, choice, and automation challenge the reader to reflect on their own digital habits?

📘 Teaching Guide: The OmniCore Cube by Wilbert Salgado

I. Overview

The OmniCore Cube is a short satirical story that explores themes of technology, control, autonomy, and modern consumer culture through the relationship between a man and his smart assistant device, Lexi. The narrative invites students to consider how AI-driven systems shape personal identity and moral agency.

II. Learning Objectives

By the end of the unit, students will be able to:

• Analyze literary devices (tone, irony, symbolism, allegory) used in speculative fiction.
• Compare and contrast The OmniCore Cube with classic science fiction (e.g., works by Isaac Asimov).
• Interpret the story through critical lenses, including postmodernism, technocriticism, and conceptual art theory.
• Evaluate ethical and philosophical implications of automation and artificial intelligence in literature.
• Formulate and defend positions in literary discussions and written analysis.

III. Key Themes

• Automation and Human Agency
• Faith in Technology vs. Spiritual Tradition
• Commodification of Life and Selfhood
• Surveillance and Algorithmic Intimacy
• The Role of Art and Interpretation (Duchamp's Readymade)

IV. Suggested Pre-Reading Activities

• Discussion Prompt: “How much control should we give to smart devices in our lives?”
• Short Reading: Marcel Duchamp’s concept of the readymade.
• TED Talk: Sherry Turkle’s “Connected, but alone?”

V. During Reading Activities

• Close Reading: Identify and annotate instances of irony, passive voice, and commodified language.
• Symbol Tracker: Track references to Lexi’s functions and upgrades. What do they symbolize?
• Ethical Journal Entry: After each segment, have students write 100 words from Gullibell’s POV—what ethical tradeoffs is he making?

VI. Post-Reading Activities

• Literary Discussion (use the 9 questions)
  Organize a Socratic seminar or structured debate using the previously listed discussion questions.
• Comparative Analysis Essay
  Prompt: Compare Gullibell’s relationship with Lexi to the role of QT-1 (Cutie) in Asimov’s Reason. How do both stories depict AI as quasi-religious figures?
• Creative Extension
  Have students write a 300-word monologue from Lexi’s point of view reflecting on human dependence.

VII. Assessment Ideas

• Analytical Essay (1000–1500 words)
  Choose a critical lens (technocriticism, postmodernism, consumerism) to analyze The OmniCore Cube.
• Group Presentation
  Create a multimedia presentation connecting the story to current real-world AI developments.
• Short Answer Quiz
  Include questions on tone, symbolism, and characterization to ensure textual comprehension.

VIII. Optional Extension Texts

• Reason and The Last Question by Isaac Asimov
• Alone Together by Sherry Turkle
• You Are Not a Gadget by Jaron Lanier
• Technopoly by Neil Postman
• A Cyborg Manifesto by Donna Haraway