Peterson on Eros

You see, the Eros Incident is not merely a historical event; it is a biblical event in its essence. It is an unveiling of the fallen nature of man—the hubris, the sin, and the inevitable suffering that follows when we abandon the Logos, the divine order, in favour of our own twisted ambitions. This is Cain slaying Abel on a planetary scale. This is the Tower of Babel, not just reaching to the heavens, but penetrating into the unknown depths of creation where man was never meant to tread.

What happened on Eros was sacrificial—but not in the way that Christ was sacrificed for the redemption of mankind. This was the inversion of sacrifice. Instead of offering oneself in obedience to truth, the powerful offered the weak in obedience to ambition. This is the core of tyranny, the corruption that seeps into human institutions when they believe they can create meaning and define morality, rather than submit to the moral structure already present in the fabric of the universe.

And we must ask: why did this happen? Why did Protogen, a corporation run by men and women like you and me—educated, strategic, ambitious—why did they choose to commit such a crime? It wasn’t mere greed. No, no, it was something much deeper.

It was the same temptation that lurked in the Garden. It was the Serpent’s whisper: You shall be as gods.

That’s the lie that has seduced humanity since the beginning. The idea that we can redefine the cosmos on our terms, that we can transcend our limitations, that we can master forces beyond our understanding. And what did it lead to? The creation of a new god—a terrible, mindless god, consuming and reshaping everything in its image. This is the birth of an abomination, a golden calf made not of metal, but of suffering, flesh, and alien horror.

And this is what people don’t understand about the moral structure of reality. We like to think we can dabble in the unknown, that we can grasp knowledge and own it, like it’s a commodity. But the Bible tells us something very different. It tells us that knowledge is dangerous. That without wisdom, without morality, knowledge doesn’t free you—it enslaves you. That’s what the Fall was about! Adam and Eve took the fruit, not because they were starving, not because they were in need, but because they wanted to know, they wanted to decide for themselves what was right and wrong.

Protogen did the exact same thing. They found something beyond human comprehension, and instead of approaching it with humility, instead of treating it as sacred, they decided to use it. To own it. To control it.

And look what happened.

A plague upon a people who had no say in their own fate. The Belters were sacrificed to this new god of science without morality. But that’s always how these things go. The powerful never offer themselves. They don’t take up the Cross. They make others carry it for them. And that, my friends, is not just evil—it is satanic.

Now, consider what followed. Eros moved. Eros thought. It was no longer just a station; it became something else. And this is where we enter truly biblical territory. Because Eros, as it fell into the grip of the protomolecule, became a city of the damned.

Think of the story of Sodom and Gomorrah. A city so steeped in sin, in corruption, that it had to be destroyed—not just because the people were wicked, but because the city itself had become an abomination. The Eros Incident is the same story, told again, in the language of science fiction. The entire station became possessed, if you will, by an alien force that twisted everything it touched. And once it started moving toward Earth, it was no longer just a tragedy—it was an apocalypse.

And that’s the warning here. That’s the moral of this catastrophe.

We think we are the masters of creation. We think we are the builders of Babel, the rulers of our own destiny. But the moment we sever our knowledge from divine wisdom, the moment we try to wrestle control of the universe away from God, we don’t gain power. We unleash it. And once it is unleashed, it does not serve us—it devours us.

Eros was a lesson. It was a demonstration of what happens when humanity plays at divinity. And what was the result? The whole world stood at the edge of annihilation, because a handful of people thought they could reach beyond what was rightfully theirs.

So what do we learn from this?

First, that suffering is the inevitable result of knowledge without wisdom. That is why scripture constantly warns us about arrogance. ‘Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.’ And what is Eros but the fall? A world plunged into chaos because of the pride of a few.

Second, we learn that power is never neutral. You cannot separate knowledge from morality. The idea that science is ‘just science,’ that progress is always good—this is an illusion. The world doesn’t work that way. The only thing that prevents every scientific breakthrough from turning into another Eros is moral restraint.

And third, and perhaps most importantly, we learn that there are forces in this universe beyond our comprehension, and we would be wise to fear them. Whether you call it the protomolecule, the abyss, or something else, the lesson is the same: Some doors are not meant to be opened.

So what do we do?

We repent. We recognize our limitations. We do not abandon knowledge, but we subordinate it to something higher. The way forward is not the reckless pursuit of power. The way forward is the Logos, the divine order, the wisdom that comes from humility before God.

Because if we don’t learn this lesson—if we keep pretending that we are gods—then we will see another Eros.

And next time, we might not survive it."

"Sort yourselves out, before it’s too late."