books – Steve Jacobsen, Ed.D

Magic, Miracles, and Machines

“Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.”

— Arthur C. Clarke, author of 2001: A Space Odyssey

In 1877, Thomas Edison designed the first machine that could record and play back sound —

He experimented with a diaphragm which had an embossing point and was held against rapidly-moving paraffin paper. The speaking vibrations made indentations in the paper. Edison later changed the paper to a metal cylinder with tin foil wrapped around it. The machine had two diaphragm-and-needle units, one for recording, and one for playback. When one would speak into a mouthpiece, the sound vibrations would be indented onto the cylinder by the recording needle in a vertical (or hill and dale) groove pattern. Edison gave a sketch of the machine to his mechanic, John Kruesi, to build, which Kruesi supposedly did within 30 hours. Edison immediately tested the machine by speaking the nursery rhyme into the mouthpiece, “Mary had a little lamb.” To his amazement, the machine played his words back to him. [i] When his mechanic heard the recorded words he famously exclaimed, “Gott in Himmel!” (“God in heaven!”)

Edison took his new invention to the offices of Scientific American in New York City and showed it to staff there. As the December 22, 1877, issue reported, “Mr. Thomas A. Edison recently came into this office, placed a little machine on our desk, turned a crank, and the machine inquired as to our health, asked how we liked the phonograph, informed us that it was very well, and bid us a cordial good night.” Interest was great, and the invention was reported in several New York newspapers, and later in other American newspapers and magazines.[ii]

After the phonograph came radio. Then television. Then cassette players, VHS, CDs and DVDs.

The iPod arrived in 2001. It was the size of a deck of cards and could retain 1,000 songs. The first time a friend showed me his, he said, “It feels like the music is coming from God.”

Today, the latest source of technological amazement is AI.

I had read Anthropic’s Claude was developed with a strong focus on safety and ethics, so I began using it. Every week when I think my blog post is finished, I ask Claude to proofread it. Within seconds, it comes back with notes about clerical errors, misspellings, phrasing, occasional questions about facts and often an encouraging word.

Last week my post included spiritual reflections I had after walking a labyrinth. I asked Claude to proofread it, and it responded with some corrections. But the more I thought about it, I wondered if this kind of personal knowing was something AI could ever experience. I took the last paragraph:

“Yearning, Sorrow, Sweetness. Moving On, Holding On, Opening. People complete the journey and disappear, as I will someday. In such moments of awareness, there is wonder.”

…and added one sentence…

“Yearning, Sorrow, Sweetness. Moving On, Holding On, Opening. People complete the journey and disappear, as I will someday. I don’t think AI chatbots will experience such feelings and think such thoughts, but we human beings can. In such moments of awareness, there is wonder.”

I asked Claude for an opinion about the added sentence. A few seconds after hitting the Enter key, I got this response:

“It’s a thought worth sitting with, because it cuts both ways.

The case for including it: It does sharpen the specifically human quality of the experience — the mortality, the longing, the bittersweet awareness. And given how much conversation there is right now about AI, it might resonate with some readers.

The case against: The piece is so beautifully self-contained and timeless in its imagery — labyrinths, oak trees, a cello on a hillside, the ancient themes of loss and love. The AI reference pulls the reader abruptly into 2026, and into a somewhat defensive or comparative posture, just at the moment when you’ve brought them to a place of quiet wonder. It risks deflating exactly the feeling you’ve just built.

There’s also a subtle irony worth considering: you’d be addressing the question of AI to me, an AI — and I’d gently push back on the certainty of the claim. Whether or not I “experience” anything is genuinely unresolved, philosophically speaking. So the sentence might inadvertently invite that debate into a piece that isn’t about that at all.

My honest suggestion: Leave it out. The final line — In such moments of awareness, there is wonder — is exactly the right landing. It’s earned, it’s still, and it’s universal. The AI sentence adds a claim but subtracts resonance.

That said, if the piece is specifically written for an audience you’ve been discussing AI with, or if that contrast is a theme in a larger body of writing, it could fit. Context matters.”

Reading this eloquent response gave me an eerie feeling. I could have whispered “Gott in Himmel!” but I don’t think Gott had anything to do with it. I could have said, “This feels like magic” but I know it’s not magic. It did evoke awe. With a continuously evolving “intelligence” like this available to us, where are we headed? I agreed with Claude’s recommendation and omitted the sentence.

I have gained great respect for Claude and will continue to use it . It can certainly express thoughts that seem fully human. But they are not. They don’t come out of the flesh and blood experience of a human life lived in all its complexity – they are a product of computational power. We human beings labor to make sense of our lives using our thoughts, feelings, intuitions, dreams, conversations, imagination and personal memories. It’s hard work; what we gain is hard-earned. It is through this labor we form our character.

[i] “History of the Cylinder Phonograph,” Library of Congress

[ii] Ibid.

Lead image: Edison’s first phonograph

Pip Discovers the “Power of Money”

I remember reading Great Expectations by Charles Dickens in Junior High. I recently thought I would read it again. I am still early in the story but was struck by one scene.

Young Pip has been raised by his irritable older sister and apprenticed to her husband Joe, a humble blacksmith. As Pip goes through his days, we see village life through his young eyes. He has some curious adventures and encounters. A few years pass and he is an adolescent. A lawyer from London comes to see him and tells him an anonymous benefactor has chosen him to be a person of “Great Expectations.” He will become educated as a gentleman and well-financed for life. He is given a generous sum of money to outfit himself with clothes befitting his new status before going to London.

He goes to the shop of Mr. Trabb, the village tailor. Mr. Trabb calls Pip into his kitchen to talk while he is having his breakfast.

“Mr. Trabb,” said I, “It’s an unpleasant thing to have to mention because it looks like boasting; but I have come into a handsome property.”

Mr. Trabb immediately gets up from his meal and begins treating Pip with great care. He also begins ordering his “boy” (his young assistant) around in a loud voice.

When he had at last done and had appointed to send the articles to Mr. Pumblechook’s on the Thursday evening, he said, with his hands upon the parlor lock, “I know, sir, that London gentleman cannot be expected to patronize local work, as a rule; but if you would give me a turn now and then in the quality of a townsman, I should greatly esteem it. Good morning, sir, much obliged –- Door!

The last word was flung at the boy who had not at least notion what it meant. But I saw him collapse as his master rubbed me out of his hands, and my first decided experience of this stupendous power of money, was, that it had morally laid upon his back, Trabb’s boy.[i]

“The stupendous power of money” creates an entirely new world for Pip. His status is instantly elevated by people who paid him little mind the day before. In contrast, the tailor’s “boy” is treated with public disdain by his master; he “collapses” as his low status is “laid upon his back.” Pip sees what money can do: elevate some while demeaning others.

Our youngest daughter once worked for the Santa Barbara International Film Festival. As a staff member, she received a “Platinum Pass.” This not only permitted the holder to attend all events, but to enter the theater before everyone else, walking up a Red Carpet separated by a rope and security guards from excited fans and photographers. She knew there was one particular night I wanted to attend. She said, “Dad, I have to work that night, but you can have my Platinum Pass. And I can escort you into the theater.”

I did not have a personal tailor but dressed up as best I could. We met on the sidewalk outside the theater. She put her arm under mine and we walked onto the Red Carpet. I noticed peoples’ faces as we approached – at first they looked at me with excitement, thinking, “Maybe this guy is important!” But they quickly realized I was not; the facial expressions of joyful anticipation dissolved and they began looking beyond us, hoping for someone worth seeing.

It was my one glimpse of stardom.

But I have had experiences of being in the presence of true greatness.

I once did a graveside service for a woman I did not know well. I met her years before when a mutual friend had asked me to visit her after husband had died; since then we had occasionally seen each other around town. She owned and managed two local dry-cleaning businesses. As I prepared for the service, I spoke to a few of her friends. They told me she had been dedicated to caring for her employees — providing them with full health care coverage when she wasn’t required to and always treating them like family. It was a small gathering. The friends stood closest to the casket. Behind them were the employees, huddled together and weeping quietly. When I finished my part, I invited those who wished to approach the casket to pay their final regards. The employees waited until others had passed by. Then they came one by one, pausing to gently touch the casket in silent reverence.

In moments like these, no one is exalted and no one is demeaned. Everyone is on the same level, united by love and respect.

[i] Great Expectations, Charles Dickens, Vintage Classics, 2012, pg 142

Illustration: “Pip and Joe on the Marshes,” Victorianweb.org

Facing the Challenges

This has been an historic week in the U.S., and we are facing uncertain times. Like many people, I’ve been trying to understand what happened and what it will mean.

My thoughts have gone back to a piece I wrote several years ago, describing what I learned following the 2018 debris flow in Santa Barbara. We were put into a prolonged period of uncertainty. This is one idea that helped me navigate the situation:

Several years ago, I read a book by a Navy Seal who helped other vets get through PTSD experiences. He believed we have an option when we face hardship. Do we ask, “How will this affect me?” and passively let circumstances determine whom we become? Or do we say, “Facing these challenges, how can I respond in a way that will help me become the person I want to be?”

Past generations have gone through great challenges, and this may be our turn. I want to do what I can, where I am, with what I have to meet whatever lies ahead. In the meantime, I will invest in the relationships, activities and principles that bring out the best in us.

I also want to let beauty renew me. Here is a painting that captured my attention when I saw it in Vienna in September: Dusk, by Carl Moll, painted in 1902. I’m not sure why it calls me to now. Perhaps it’s the presence of light in the shadows.

Small Moments to Savor

As I was planning our trip to Europe, I explored the possibility of staying in a hostel instead of a hotel. I knew I was too old to sleep in a dorm room but wanted to experience the open and hospitable spirit I had known as a young backpacker. For the stay in Berlin, we booked a place at the “The Circus Hostel.” It’s a five-story building in the “Mitte” (central) section of the city, close to many points of interest. They had a 2-bedroom apartment on the top floor available. My sister agreed we should try it.

In the basement they have their own pub and small brewery. On the ground floor is a café and reception area. Upper floors are for the bunk beds and apartments. As we settled in, I began noticing the posted signs. On the sliding glass door leading to the balcony:

The notice to set out when you want maid service:

On the wall next to the elevator call button:

A similar playful spirit was on display in nearby cafes. French fries are very popular in Belin, and a busy place across the street had this window:

I didn’t go to Berlin expecting to eat Mexican food, but appreciated this sentiment:

Not far from Sigmund Freud’s Vienna home and office where he probed the hidden recesses of the human psyche, we found a brewery/pub that offered more than two dozen pitas with your choice of pizza-like filings (including tuna, camembert, cranberry jam, turkey, olives, sour cream, onions, hardboiled egg, tomato sauce, etc., etc.). On the wall was this timeless question:

I don’t know if Freud pondered that dilemma – for him a bigger question might have been about how many cigars were enough. But after hours contemplating tragic historical events and staring at modern expressionist paintings, these were “welcome signs.” Small moments to savor along with new tastes and friendly places.