“Perception” and the Technological Sublime: Warwick Allen’s Dialectic of Light and Darkness
Warwick Allen’s “Perception” is a poem of notable economy and considerable theological
aspiration. In six compact stanzas of five lines each, Allen stages a confrontation between two
competing visions of the human future: the vertiginous darkness of the artificial intelligence
age, and the luminous certainty of biblical eschatology. That the poem attempts this with so few
words — many of its lines contain no more than two — is itself a formal statement of intent.
Whether the poem’s compression always expresses precision, or whether it sometimes conceals
ideas that would have benefited from further development, is a question that a candid reading
cannot entirely avoid.
Structure and Form
The poem’s architecture is deceptively simple. Each of the six stanzas consists of five short,
often enjambed, lines, a constraint that gives the whole an aphoristic quality at least
superficially reminiscent of the wisdom literature of the Hebrew Bible — of Proverbs, of
Ecclesiastes, and of the tersely numbered apophthegms of the Psalter. The comparison, however,
can only be pressed so far. The great aphoristic texts of the Hebrew tradition are such because
each line carries dense, specific content; every clause earns its place. Allen’s stanzas vary
considerably in this regard. The opening and closing stanzas, and the diptych of stanzas two and
three, achieve genuine compression. Stanzas four and five, by contrast, contain lines such as “We
must ask,” “We must know,” and “Is urgent” — lines that assert significance rather than embodying
it, and that gesture towards urgency without quite generating it. The formal restraint that serves
the poem’s strongest passages is, in these central stanzas, difficult to distinguish from thinness
of realisation.
The poem’s most important and most achieved structural feature is the symmetrical relationship
between its first and final stanzas. The first opens with the singular “I see” and closes with
“Future / Imperceptible.” The last opens with the communal “We see” and closes with
“Future / Incorruptible.” This chiastic movement — from the individual to the collective, from
the unseeable to the indestructible — is the spine of the entire poem, and everything between
these two poles exists to account for the transformation. Whether the intervening stanzas fully
justify that distance is a question to which the answer is only partially affirmative.
The Agentic Darkness
The opening stanza introduces what might be called the poem’s thesis image:
I see
A black hole
The agentic
Future
Imperceptible
The word “agentic” is the poem’s most conspicuous contemporary intervention. In the discourse of
artificial intelligence, “agentic” describes AI systems capable of autonomous action — of pursuing
goals, making decisions, and operating without continuous human direction. The “agentic future”
is thus the near-term horizon of 2026: a world increasingly populated by AI agents acting in ways
that are, precisely, imperceptible to ordinary human understanding.
Allen’s choice of “black hole” as the governing metaphor is apposite. A black hole is a region
from which nothing, not even light, can escape; it is, by its very nature, the negation of sight
— the condition in which perception becomes physically impossible. The metaphor thus locks
directly onto the stanza’s closing irony: to “see” a black hole is to see the very thing that
destroys seeing. There is a further resonance worth noting. In both physics and the discourse of
artificial intelligence, a “singularity” denotes the point at which existing frameworks of
description and prediction break down entirely. The physical singularity of Allen’s black hole is
a figure for the technological singularity: the image of the collapse of space and time speaks of
the potential collapse of human agency and understanding.
The word “Imperceptible” closes the stanza with an irony that is deliberate and theologically
pointed. The poem is titled “Perception,” and its first stanza ends by asserting the failure of
perception — but the irony cuts deeper than mere paradox. The speaker opens with the confident
declaration “I see,” and yet the thing he claims to see is, by the stanza’s final word, precisely
unseeable. Sight and the impossibility of perception are held in the same breath.
The tension invites a comparison with Isaiah 6:9, in which God commissions the prophet with the
arresting instruction: “Be ever seeing, but never perceiving.” It is a verse with an
extraordinarily long biblical afterlife. Jesus cites it in all three Synoptic Gospels to account
for the failure of his hearers to understand his parables, and John deploys it in the twelfth
chapter of his Gospel to explain why the crowd cannot recognise the incarnate Word standing before
them. In every instance the structure of the irony is identical: the faculty of sight is present
and active, yet genuine perception is withheld. To look is not, of itself, to understand. A reader
who does not bring this scriptural background to the poem will nonetheless register the surface
paradox; but the full theological charge of the irony — its indictment not merely of technological
bewilderment but of a condition the biblical texts identify as universal and spiritually
significant — depends upon that familiarity.
Read against this background, Allen’s opening stanza acquires a precise theological charge. The
speaker who “sees” the agentic future yet finds it “Imperceptible” is the Isaianic figure recast
in a contemporary setting — confronted by a phenomenon of enormous consequence, yet unable to
penetrate its meaning. This reading also deepens the argument of stanzas two and three, in which
a thousand immediate answers serve only to intensify the mystery. The poem quietly proposes that
the AI age may be producing a civilisation-wide instance of the Isaianic condition: a humanity
that has never seen more, and never perceived less.
The Paradox of Enlightenment
Stanzas two and three form a diptych of compressed wit:
Each day
Thousand questions
The replies
Immediate
Enlightenment
Each day
Thousand answers
The mystery
Intensifies
Is urgent
The parallelism is precise and deliberate. The same temporal frame — “Each day” — governs both
stanzas; the same vast quantity — “Thousand” — applies first to questions and then to answers.
But the outcomes are radically divergent. In stanza two, the “Immediate” replies of AI systems
produce “Enlightenment.” In stanza three, those same thousand answers cause the mystery not to
diminish but to “Intensify.” The poet is making an epistemological claim of some depth: that the
frictionless delivery of information does not constitute genuine understanding, and that the
multiplication of answers may paradoxically deepen rather than dispel mystery.
This is a claim with deep biblical roots. Qoheleth, the preacher of Ecclesiastes, observes in the
first chapter that “in much wisdom is much grief, and he who increases knowledge increases sorrow”
(1:18). The Socratic tradition, which intersects with Hellenistic Judaism in the figure of Philo
of Alexandria, arrives at a similar conclusion: wisdom begins in the recognition of ignorance.
Allen’s poem does not simply lament the limits of AI; it diagnoses the hubris of treating
immediate information retrieval as a substitute for the slow, often painful acquisition of
understanding. The connection to Qoheleth’s scepticism about accumulated knowledge is apt, and
this diptych is among the poem’s more genuinely accomplished passages.
The stanza’s conclusion — “Is urgent” — introduces a tone of existential pressure that carries
into the following verses. The mystery is not merely interesting; it demands a response. Yet the
phrase itself asserts urgency rather than generating it, a tendency that becomes more pronounced
in the stanzas that follow.
Is old
Old as man
The question
We must ask
We must know
Is old
Is not old
The mystery
Of ages
Is revealed
The grammatical subject has now changed entirely. The pronoun “I” of stanza one has become “We”
— the speaker is no longer an isolated individual confronting the AI horizon but a member of the
human community confronting the perennial question of existence.
These two stanzas represent the poem’s most exposed passage, and they repay scrutiny that is not
purely sympathetic. “The question / We must ask / We must know” does not specify its content, and
the reticence may be purposeful — the foundational question of human existence need not be named.
But the lines “We must ask,” “We must know,” and the earlier “Is urgent” are assertions rather
than enactments. They tell the reader that a profound question is at stake without finding the
concentrated language that would make the reader feel its weight. The tradition being invoked
here — the question of the exiled Adam, of Job on the ash-heap, of the Psalmist crying out in
dereliction, of every person who has confronted the limits of their own understanding — is
undeniably large. But a poem earns its allusions; it does not merely borrow them. A fair
assessment must note that in these stanzas, the grandeur of the tradition is doing more of the
work than the words on the page.
Stanza five introduces the poem’s most startling logical move. “Is old / Is not old” — the
paradox appears at first to be mere contradiction, but it resolves into the category of the
biblical “mystery” (Greek: mystÄ“rion), which in Pauline usage denotes not a puzzle awaiting
solution but a truth that has been hidden and is now being disclosed. “The mystery / Of ages /
Is revealed” echoes Romans 16:25–26, where Paul writes of “the revelation of the mystery hidden
for long ages past, but now revealed and made known.” The mystery is old in that it has always
been present; it is not old in that its revelation is, in a crucial sense, always contemporary,
always “now.” The allusion is apt; whether the five spare lines of the stanza fully bear the
weight placed upon them by this reading is, again, a matter the candid critic cannot simply
resolve in the poem’s favour.
The Morning Star
The poem’s final stanza accomplishes its transformation with Biblical precision:
We see
Morning Star
The perfected
Future
Incorruptible
“Morning Star” is one of the most theologically complex images in the biblical canon. In Isaiah
14:12, the phrase “son of the morning” (Hebrew: Helel ben Shachar; rendered as “Lucifer” in the
Vulgate tradition) describes the king of Babylon in his hubris, a figure who aspires to ascend
above the stars of God and who falls catastrophically. This passage has, throughout the history
of Christian exegesis, been read as an account of the fall of Satan — of the creature who sought
to supplant the Creator. In this reading, the “agentic future” of stanza one acquires a Miltonic
resonance: the AI that acts autonomously, that seeks to exceed and perhaps to replace human
agency, is Luciferian in its ambition.
But Allen’s “Morning Star” is the counter-figure to this fallen light-bearer. In Revelation
22:16, the risen Christ announces: “I am the Root and the Offspring of David, and the bright and
morning Star.” The same title that marked the fall of the rebel angel is reclaimed by the
incarnate God — and it is in this reclamation that the poem’s deepest meaning resides. The
“Morning Star” is the true light, the one who was before the darkness, the one whom the darkness
has never overcome (John 1:5). The light of stanza six’s Morning Star overwhelms and transcends
the darkness of stanza one’s black hole.
The poem’s architecture is, at this level, frankly binary: a black hole answered by a Morning
Star. That is a bold antithesis rather than a subtle one, and there is no shame in it; decisive
theological contrasts are among the most ancient resources of biblical poetry. What prevents the
poem from resting entirely on this binary is the layering of its imagery: the “Morning Star” is
simultaneously the counter-figure to Lucifer, the title claimed by the risen Christ, and the
light of the Johannine prologue. These resonances are genuinely achieved in the final stanza, and
they distinguish it from the more gestural language of stanzas four and five.
The word “Incorruptible” completes the theological argument. In 1 Corinthians 15, Paul’s great
chapter on the resurrection, he writes of the transformation of the mortal body: “the dead will
be raised incorruptible” (v.52, KJV). The “agentic / Future / Imperceptible” of stanza one —
a future that cannot be seen and that has the character of a consuming void — is replaced by
“the perfected / Future / Incorruptible.” The perfected future is not the AI singularity but the
resurrection. It is not imperceptible but fully, finally visible: “We see.” The phonetic and
theological distance between “Imperceptible” and “Incorruptible” — so close in sound, so
irreconcilable in meaning — is among the most carefully managed effects in the poem.
Perception as Theological Category
The poem’s title, returned to now with the full weight of its six stanzas, reveals itself to be
doing something more than descriptive work. “Perception” in the poem names the faculty by which
we apprehend reality — and the poem’s argument is that this faculty is transformed by what we
look at. The “I” who looks at the black hole sees an imperceptible future; the “We” who look at
the Morning Star see an incorruptible one. The shift from “I” to “We” is also significant: the
Christian tradition consistently insists that genuine perception of divine truth is not a solitary
achievement but an ecclesial one — it is the community of faith, the “we,” that sees most
clearly.
Allen’s poem does not offer a naïve rejection of artificial intelligence, nor does it rest
comfortably on a simple antithesis between technology and faith — though its binary structure
makes plain that it is not afraid of decisive contrast. What it proposes, at its best, is
something more considered: that the questions intensified by the AI age are not new questions
awaiting new answers, but ancient questions that have already received an answer — an answer that
the poem names, in its final breath, as the Morning Star.
“Perception” is a small poem with large ambitions, and it meets them unevenly. Its most genuinely
achieved moments — the chiastic symmetry of the opening and closing stanzas, the epistemological
diptych of stanzas two and three, and the theologically dense compression of the final stanza —
demonstrate a real command of form and biblical allusion. In these passages, the poem’s brevity
is expressive rather than evasive. The central stanzas, by contrast, remain the poem’s weakest
passage: their language is declarative where it should be evocative, and the weight of the
traditions they invoke is not fully answered by the thinness of the lines themselves. “Perception”
is a promising and occasionally striking short poem, one whose best moments are genuinely
achieved; it is not, as a whole, a fully realised one. A reader who brings the relevant biblical
frame of reference will find much to admire; a reader who does not may find that the poem’s
ambitions, at certain points, exceed its execution.
Who Am I That I Should Go? Warwick Allen Tuesday, 21 April 2026
[Refrain] Set my people free.
[Verse 1] I cannot go, I am despised. My lips are uncircumcised. And my tongue, it's so clumsy. They won't listen, don't You see?
[Refrain] I will be with you. Set my people free.
[Verse 2] Surely not me, small and weak? Show it's You, by fleece of sheep. Wet the fleece and show it's true. I would go, just if I knew.
[Refrain] I will be with you. Set my people free.
[Verse 3] But, don't You know, I'm too young, A child with untried tongue. I do not know how to speak, My wisdom's poor, words are weak.
[Refrain] I will be with you. Set my people free.
[Verse 4] I'm no son of a prophet, A herdsman is all you've got, A fig dresser, nothing more. What could You use this man for?
[Refrain] I will be with you. Set my people free.
[Verse 5] Depart from me, I'm unclean, The most sinful man You've seen. Just an unschooled fisherman— How can I fulfil Your plan?
[Refrain] I will be with you. Set my people free.
[Coda] He said: go, make disciples From all lands, from all peoples. Baptize them, the name is one, Name of Father, Spirit, Son. Teach them to know and follow In the way He said to go. And behold, He is with us To the end of the ages.
[Verse 1] I rest in the arms of my Soul Lover. He holds me safe, like no other. The world would crush and smother, But His promises are my sure cover.
[Chorus 1] For I am sure There's naught more sure Than the sure Word of my Lord
[Refrain] “His mercy endures forever.”
[Verse 2] I rest in the grace of the Law Maker, For He's also the Law Keeper. He's the perfect Burden Bearer, My true and sure Deliverer.
[Chorus 2] Yes, I am sure There's naught more sure Than the sure Word of my Lord
[Refrain] “His mercy endures forever.”
[Refrain] “His mercy endures forever.”
[Verse 3] I rest in the song of His sweet voice: In my head and heart, and in starry skies. His sure and perfect word, my true prize. In His every word, I rejoice.
[Chorus 3] For I am sure There's naught more sure Than the sure Word of my Lord
[Refrain] “His mercy endures forever.”
[Coda] His word is forever; it is firmly fixed in heaven. His faithfulness is for all generations; He established the earth, and it stands firm.
Bruised Reed Warwick Allen Wednesday, 22 October 2025
[Verse 1] A hard word to hear. A hard cross to bear. A temptation to despair, And give in to fear.
But, also, A call to persevere, And incline your ear, To rest in His care, And to fall where
You deeply know His tender care.
[Chorus 1] A bruised reed, He will not break. A small flame, He will not quench. A son freed, He will not make Miss the game, Sit on the bench.
[Verse 2] A hard road to start on. A hard slog to carry on. A temptation: not fight on, And just to sit down.
But, also, The fire in you burns on, Compels you to go on, To share His passion, To proclaim His renown.
You do know, Will make Him known.
[Chorus 2] Those in need, He won't forsake. Who call His name, He will reply, “Rivers freed”! He'll recreate, Will bring again, Life to the dry.
[Bridge] His garden, your catharsis, In this healing process. His garden, your catharsis, In this new-found weakness. His Spirit, your witness That, truly, He's got this.
[Verse 3] Did you not hear, Yahweh, God forever, Creator of far and near? His knowledge, beyond compare.
And, we know, He gives power where Young men tire and wear. But those who wait here, They'll soar above despair.
So then go, Rest in His care.
[Chorus 3] A bruised reed, He will not break. A small flame, He will not quench. A son freed, He will not make Miss the game, Sit on the bench.
[Coda] For He, the Lord, your God, Holds your right hand.
He says, to you, “Fear not”; He makes you to stand.
He says, to you, “I've got, For you, a wondrous plan.”
Quiet Song Warwick Allen Saturday, 20 September 2025
[Verse 1] My love, o, see my love. It's feeble, not enough, Strong in thought, weak in deed, It is not all you need. It's all I have. It's true. My love, it's all for you.
[Chorus] Through the grief and the pain, Through loss in place of gain, Through the valley, dark and long, My love is my quiet song.
[Verse 2] My love, my true desire, You, dear, raise me higher Than what I could've known Doing life on my own. You're who I need, it's true, I'm better because of you.
[Chorus] Through the grief and the pain, Through loss in place of gain, Through the valley, dark and long, My love is my quiet song.
[Verse 3] Sometimes hidden and silent, My love's never absent, My love, weak and wanting, Your needs not meeting. In my weakness, it's true, I strive to serve you.
[Chorus] Through the grief and the pain, Through loss in place of gain, Through the valley, dark and long, My love is my quiet song.
[Verse 4] One thing you know, my dear, I'm not going anywhere. Blessed through all life's strife By my beautiful wife. My eyes, they're always true, My heart, it's just for you.
[Chorus] Through the grief and the pain, Through loss in place of gain, Through the valley, dark and long, My love is my quiet song.
[Coda] We, together, two lie; We, together, have heat. We on the Lord rely; Three, then, won't be beat. We, a cord of three strands; We, in Him, can stand.
