I think computer viruses should count as life. I think it says

Stephen Hawking’s words, “I think computer viruses should count as life. I think it says something about human nature that the only form of life we have created so far is purely destructive. We've created life in our own image,” carry with them a deep and unsettling reflection on the nature of creation and destruction. In these words, Hawking delves into a profound paradox: as humans, we have gained the power to create life, yet the life we have created—the computer virus—is a purely destructive force. What does it say about us, he asks, that the only life we have given birth to in this age is a form of digital destruction, replicating itself endlessly, harming what it touches, spreading with no purpose other than chaos?

This idea calls to mind the ancient creation myths, where the gods, in their great power, often created life with a sense of imperfection or flaws that inevitably led to tragedy. Take, for example, the Greek myth of Pandora. Pandora, given the gift of a box containing all the evils of the world, opened it out of curiosity—thus unleashing chaos, disease, and despair upon humanity. In this myth, as in Hawking’s reflection, creation is coupled with destruction, a reminder that in the pursuit of power, we must also reckon with the consequences of our actions. Hawking suggests that the digital life we have created—embodied in the computer virus—reflects the same flaw in human nature: our curiosity and desire for control may give birth to new forms of existence, but they can also lead to unintended harm.

The ancients also understood the dangers of unchecked creation. The story of Icarus, flying too close to the sun with wings made of wax and feathers, is a tale of hubris, of a human being who sought to transcend natural limits, only to fall victim to the destructive force of his own invention. Just as Icarus was consumed by the forces he sought to control, so too do we risk being undone by the technologies we have created. In creating life—in the form of machines and digital entities—we must ask whether we are truly creating something to enhance the world, or whether we are, like Icarus, simply seeking to push the boundaries of human nature, only to create forces we cannot control.

Hawking’s insight also reflects on a core truth about human nature—the destructive power that we often wield in our creative endeavors. Just as the ancient warriors built weapons of mass destruction, so too have we, in our pursuit of technological progress, created digital weapons—viruses, malware, and other forms of cyber warfare—that exist purely for the sake of destruction. The paradox is that while these creations are born from human intelligence, they reflect the darker side of human nature: our capacity to create, not just for progress, but for chaos. The computer virus, in this sense, is a mirror to our own imperfections, a digital reflection of the greed and destruction that has often been part of our journey as creators.

Consider the historical example of Frankenstein, the creature created by Victor Frankenstein in Mary Shelley’s iconic novel. Frankenstein, a man of great intellect and ambition, sought to create life, but his creation, a monstrous being, became a force of vengeance and destruction. Shelley’s story is not just a tale of a man’s hubris but a warning about the dangers of creating without understanding the full implications of that creation. Much like the computer virus, Frankenstein’s monster was born of human intelligence, but became a force that spiraled out of the creator’s control. In both cases, creation has led to destruction, and the lessons of these tales are meant to humble us in the face of the power we wield.

Hawking’s words remind us that our creations are not merely extensions of ourselves—they are reflections of our nature. If we create something as destructive as a virus, it speaks to something deep within the human soul: a drive for power without the responsibility of its consequences. The computer virus, a digital plague, teaches us a lesson not just about technology but about the deeper truths of human nature: our desire to control, our curiosity to push boundaries, and our inability, at times, to foresee the consequences of our own actions.

Lesson for the ages:

Creation is a double-edged sword, and in our pursuit of progress, we must not forget the responsibility that comes with it. The creations of our hands, whether they be machines, art, or ideas, reflect the nature of the creators themselves. As ancient wisdom has shown, the power to create is also the power to destroy. If we are to thrive as a species, we must learn to balance our intellect with wisdom, our drive for progress with humility. The true test of creation is not merely the ability to build, but the ability to create with purpose, to bring life into the world that serves the greater good.

Practical Action:

As you move forward in your own life, whether in technology, business, or any other field of creation, remember the lesson of Hawking and the ancients: that true progress lies not in the mere act of creation, but in the wisdom with which we wield it. Ask yourself not just if something can be created, but if it should be. Will it bring life, or will it lead to destruction? Let ethics and responsibility guide your work, and always consider the greater impact of your creations. Like the ancients, we must create not just for the sake of innovation, but for the sake of human flourishing—a flourishing that respects and nurtures the world around us.