Tag Archives: digital life

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.”

The first iPod

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.

The first iPod

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

[ii] Ibid.

Lead image: Edison’s first phonograph

Friction, Character and Home-Cooked Meals

            Some years ago, I heard of one family’s coming-of-age ritual for children on their 12th birthday: prepare and serve a multi-course dinner for the family. Not by micro-waving or Grub-hubbing but by doing it all from scratch.  Deciding on a menu. Making a list of ingredients and buying them.  Setting the table.  Prepping and cooking each dish. Planning it all so everything would be ready at the right time.  Announcing, “Dinner is ready” and calling everyone to the table.  Then doing the clean-up after everyone is done.

            This was expected of each child, regardless of gender.

            I doubt if I would have wanted to do that when I was a kid.  It would involve giving up highly productive activities I preferred – like watching cartoons and sitcoms.  It would require listening, observing, experimenting, and being patient.  I might very well experience what we can call “friction”– the discomfort we experience when we are doing something difficult.

            My use of the word “friction” comes from a philosopher of technology, Albert Borgmann.  I encountered him and his work twenty years ago when I did a sabbatical project exploring how digital technology was changing personal life and spiritual practices.  Borgmann observed how digital devices often reduce friction in our life.  Instead of getting up and having to do something that may take effort and skill, a device invites us to avoid the effort – the friction — and instead, we tap a button or give a voice command.   Borgmann’s point is that the more and more we expect a friction-free life as the way things are supposed to be, our capacity to deal with friction when we encounter it diminishes.  He also believes the way in which we handle friction in daily tasks carries over to the formation of our character and capacity for nurturing interpersonal relationships.

            I remember a time when our family was practicing having a “digital sabbath day” – one day a week when we would not turn the computer on.  (This was long long ago in a galaxy far far away — before smartphones and tablets competed with oxygen and water as essential for moment-by-moment survival.)  My six-year-old daughter was bored. She begged me to let her turn on the computer and play a game. I told her we were taking a day off from using the computer.  Why not, instead, play with a favorite neighborhood friend of hers?

“We had a fight on Friday”, she said.

“Well, you could call her and try to get over it,” I said.  She fumed.  But after minutes and minutes of misery, she decided to call.  They got together, cautiously at first. But soon they became lost in play which continued for two hours. They faced the friction of interpersonal issues and got through them.  It would have been easier to be digitally distracted — and alone.  But working through the friction led to a renewed relationship.

Whether it’s marriage, family, or the workplace, dealing with other people often involves some discomfort – some friction – and it takes patience and determination to see if things can be worked out. The more digital technology leads us to expect a friction-free life, the less and less able we will be to deal with other people — those pesky humans just don’t seem to respond to our desires as quickly and easily as our beloved devices.

            My wife spent many years teaching first graders, who can become frustrated learning a new skill. She would tell them to say to themselves: “I can do difficult things.”  In a sense, it’s saying, “I can bear the friction I experience as I learn to master something new or challenging.”  And developing our will and stamina to do that strengthens our character.

            Huston Smith said that one of the shortcomings of our contemporary culture’s understanding of “spirituality” is that we often make it too easy and self-serving.  Spirituality becomes something like a buffet table – we walk by displays of various ideas and practices and put on our plates what appeals to us at the moment.  In doing so, we may avoid anything that is difficult.  But the great global traditions include practices (Ramadan, High Holy Days, Lent, vision quests, etc.)  that ask us to take on difficult things, like fasting, repentance, and acts of service.  Our ego may resist, but our soul welcomes the challenges as the means to a more personal strength and maturity. The traditions, Smith said, “have traction.”   

            I’ve often thought of that family’s dinner preparation ritual. Imagine turning 12 and, for the rest of your life, having the confidence and skill to feed yourself and others. How strong and free you would feel.

Image: “Mickey Mouse and Goofy: Thanksgiving Dinner,” #776, Children’s Book Illustration, Whitman, c. 1970s (apparently the guest on the right is a turkey who’s been invited to share in a vegetarian banquet instead of being the main dish.)