intelligence

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry (1900–1944) was a French aviator, writer, and moral philosopher whose work stands among the most enduring explorations of human meaning, courage, and the relationship between solitude and community in the twentieth century. Born into an aristocratic family in Lyon, he pursued aviation at a time when flight was still a frontier art, serving as a commercial and military pilot across Europe, North Africa, and South America. His cockpit became a laboratory for existential reflection, and the sky a medium through which he interrogated what it means to be fully human. Saint-Exupéry’s literary output is inseparable from his vocation as a pilot. Night Flight (1931), Wind, Sand and Stars (1939), and Flight to Arras (1942) drew directly from his aerial experience to trace the moral dimensions of responsibility, sacrifice, and fraternity under risk. The Little Prince (1943), written during wartime exile in New York, became one of the best-selling and most-translated books in history—a deceptively simple fable about perception, love, and the invisible bonds that give life its weight. He disappeared on a reconnaissance mission over the Mediterranean in July 1944, never to return; the mystery of his end deepened the mythic quality already surrounding his life. Saint-Exupéry’s lasting significance lies in his insistence that technology—the airplane above all—does not diminish humanity but can, rightly inhabited, enlarge it. He understood flight not as escape from the earth but as a vantage from which human solidarity becomes visible in a new way. His writing returns persistently to themes of creative discipline, the cultivation of inner life, the obligation of the living toward the lost, and the kind of love that sees what is essential rather than what is merely present. These concerns resonate naturally with the Mormon Transhumanist conviction that the proper work of intelligence and technology is to deepen relationship, expand moral vision, and orient human striving toward the fullest possible flourishing of every soul.

Brigham Henry Roberts (1857–1933) was a historian, theologian, and General Authority of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, widely regarded as one of the most rigorous and intellectually ambitious thinkers Mormonism has produced. Born in Warrington, England, and emigrating to Utah as a child, Roberts rose from a difficult, impoverished youth to become a missionary, editor, congressman-elect, and a member of the First Council of the Seventy from 1888 until his death. Roberts’s career bridged ecclesiastical leadership and serious scholarship. He served missions in the American South and presided over the Eastern States Mission, and he was elected to the U.S. House of Representatives in 1898, though he was denied his seat in a national controversy over plural marriage. He devoted decades to writing and editing, producing the six-volume Comprehensive History of the Church , editing the seven-volume History of the Church , and authoring theological works including The Mormon Doctrine of Deity , The Truth, The Way, The Life , and Studies of the Book of Mormon . In these works he engaged geology, biology, biblical criticism, and comparative religion with a candor unusual for his time and office. Roberts’s legacy resonates deeply with themes of human potential, intelligence, and the entanglement of faith with progress. He read the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries—railroads, electric light, wireless telegraphy, aviation, the spread of liberty—as “collateral rays” of the same light that opened the heavens to Joseph Smith, suggesting that the millennium might already be quietly underway in the works of human hands. He insisted that scientific research, including evidence of life and death long before Adam, belongs on the side of “development” rather than “contraction,” and that to engage such inquiry is “to link the church of God with the highest increase of human thought and effort.” Equally striking is Roberts’s generosity toward other traditions and his impatience with mental laziness. He refused to identify any particular church—Catholic, Protestant, Greek, Buddhist, Muslim, or even the societies of deists and atheists—as the “church of the devil,” reserving that phrase for the kingdom of evil wherever it appears, and affirming that wise teachers and prophets are raised up among all peoples. Against “simple faith” understood as ignorant acquiescence, he championed an intelligent, rational faith that strives “up to the very limit of man’s capacity” to know. In his confidence that intelligence is the glory of God and of humanity, that revelation invites rather than forecloses inquiry, and that the children of men are “moving up to a higher and truer conception of the things of God,” Roberts remains a vital voice for those who see in technology, science, and expanding moral imagination the natural shape of a divine future.

Benjamin Peters (born 1980) is an American media scholar, author, and professor known for his work on the history of communication technologies, information theory, and the social dimensions of digital networks. He serves as the Hazel Rogers Professor of Communication at the University of Tulsa and has held affiliations with several prominent research institutions. Peters is best known for his book How Not to Network a Nation: The Uneasy History of the Soviet Internet (2016), which explores the failed attempts to build a nationwide computer network in the Soviet Union and examines how social and political systems shape technological development. The work received widespread acclaim for its interdisciplinary approach, bridging media studies, history, and science and technology studies. He has also edited Digital Keywords: A Vocabulary of Information Society and Culture (2016), contributing to critical discourse around the language and concepts underpinning the digital age. Peters’s scholarship carries resonance for those interested in the intersection of technology, human potential, and collective aspiration. By investigating how societies envision and fail to realize transformative technological projects, his work illuminates the deeply human—and often ideological—dimensions of networked communication. His research reminds us that the tools we build to connect and elevate humanity are always embedded in moral, political, and even spiritual frameworks. For communities exploring themes of theosis and the cooperative pursuit of transcendence through technology, Peters’s insights into the promises and pitfalls of networked societies offer valuable perspective on how human aspiration and systemic constraints interact in the ongoing project of building a better world.

Boyd K. Packer (1924–2015) was one of the most influential and theologically deliberate leaders of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the twentieth and early twenty-first centuries. Born on September 10, 1924, in Brigham City, Utah, the tenth of eleven children, he overcame childhood polio, served as a bomber pilot in World War II, and earned a doctorate in education from Brigham Young University before dedicating his life to religious service and teaching. Called to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles in 1970, he served as its acting president from 1994 to 2008 and as its president from 2008 until his death on July 3, 2015. Packer’s career spanned more than five decades of general authority service. He worked extensively within the Church Educational System, overseeing seminary and institute programs, and served as a mission president in New England. He served on the scripture revision committee that produced the landmark 1979–1981 LDS editions of the Bible and standard works. He dedicated temples and missions across multiple continents and was a prolific author and teacher. He was also a gifted visual artist, known for his paintings and sculptures of birds—a dimension of his character that reflected a disciplined attention to the natural world and a belief that beauty and truth are inseparable. Packer’s theological legacy is marked by a deep reverence for the eternal sweep of Mormon cosmology. In one memorable interview, he cited the hymn ‘If You Could Hie to Kolob’—that most expansive of Mormon texts, celebrating eternal progression, a plurality of Gods, and worlds without end—and connected it to Brigham Young’s conviction that learning is not a process approaching a terminus but one that opens onto ‘an eternity of knowledge.’ That orientation—toward an unending, ever-expanding intelligence—runs beneath much of Packer’s teaching about the relationship between mortality and eternity, between what we now see and what God sees.

Brigham Young (1801–1877) was the second president of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, the architect of the Mormon migration to the Great Basin, and the founding governor of Utah Territory. As the organizing genius behind the settlement of the American West, he directed the colonization of more than 300 towns, established institutions of commerce and education, and shaped a distinctive religious civilization from the desert floor. Born in Whitingham, Vermont, Young converted to the restored church in 1832 after years of searching among the Methodist and Reformed faiths. He rose quickly through the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, led the harrowing evacuation of Nauvoo following Joseph Smith’s martyrdom in 1844, and guided an exodus of tens of thousands across the plains to the Salt Lake Valley in 1847. As church president for thirty years, he presided over the construction of the Salt Lake Temple, founded the University of Deseret, championed the Perpetual Emigration Fund to gather converts from Europe, and negotiated—not always successfully—the church’s uneasy relationship with the federal government. What the historical record reveals, and what Young’s own sermons confirm at every turn, is a mind constitutionally unwilling to divide the sacred from the natural. He taught that God operates by law, that miracles are simply “results or effects of causes hidden from our understandings,” and that every discovery in science and art has been “given by direct revelation from God.” The telegraph, the steam engine, the plow—all were, in his view, eternal principles progressively disclosed to a humanity climbing upward from its infancy. Science and religion were not rivals in his theology but two names for the same structured reality: “there is no true religion without true science, and consequently there is no true science without true religion.” This integration carried moral weight. Young urged the Saints to become a thinking people, warning against the spiritual danger of surrendering judgment to leaders rather than seeking personal revelation—a remarkable insistence on epistemic independence from a man who wielded considerable institutional authority. His vision of human destiny was correspondingly expansive. He affirmed that God “was once a man in mortal flesh as we are” and that humanity is “organized to become Gods,” called to exercise creative authority over matter across eternal worlds. He taught that identity—the preservation of the self through resurrection and exaltation—is “the greatest gift that God can bestow,” and he framed mortality as the school in which that self is forged through trial, independent thought, and disciplined living. His counsel to “prepare to live” rather than merely to die, and to extend healthy life by understanding natural law, anticipates a tradition of practical, body-affirming faith that takes seriously both the present body and its glorified future. Young remains a towering, complicated figure whose earthly administration included serious moral failures; yet his theological instinct—that intelligence, technology, and theosis belong to a single continuous story—endures as one of the most generative ideas in the Latter-day Saint tradition.