Artificial Intelligence and Actual Effort

You are created in the image of God, and you carry that holy imprint into every task, every decision, every outcome of your existence. You are not a machine in any sense, and a machine can never replicate the image that sets you apart from it.

When we invented the printing press, washing machine, lawnmower, typewriter, telephone, and thousands of other machines to extend and amplify our physical abilities, we freed ourselves for the higher pursuits of human life. A person who no longer needs a full day to hand-wash her clothes can spare the time and spirit to write poetry, to understand her neighbors, to discover the healing properties of plants growing near her home. 

But we had to find a balance. As the physical convenience of life increased, our bodies first gained strength as they were no longer enduring constant hardship. But there came a point where we began to seek physical exercise because our daily life no longer provided it. We needed to escape the inevitable weakness of muscles no longer in use.

The body houses the brain, sustains it, and acts on its behalf. The brain houses our  intelligence,  our memory, and the earthly coverings of our spirit. Without it, we can’t access our consciousness or maintain our freedom. Creativity, resilience, empathy, self awareness, and the uncountable gifts of the divine image come and go through this fantastic, vulnerable portal. 

This is why artificial intelligence is not just another machine. The convenience it offers doesn’t simply ease the body to support the spirit. Yes, it powers search engines, for example,  reducing the time necessary for research and thereby amplifying the information available for study by orders of magnitude. But it also offers to do that studying for you, to remove the burden of analysis, of attentiveness, of fully completed thoughts. 

What replaces those tasks we’re ceding to the machine? What exercises of the mind have we taken up to maintain its strength? What do we gain in exchange for an active mind?

Especially as we age, we only keep the intellectual powers we regularly use. We run the risk of dependence on what began as a pleasant but unnecessary convenience.  We’re inviting ourselves into enslavement to a supposed liberator that is not created in the image of God. 

Life is hard. Earth is not heaven. That divine image within us calls us to comfort and encourage each other. But doesn’t it also call us to treasure the strength we are given, to work on it and increase it, to urge ourselves onward and upward in doing good? Struggle is not our enemy. When we embrace it faithfully, it can become our friend. Effort is a sign and tool of spiritual life. God protect us from the temptation to give it up!

Who Has Known Heights

This poem has lingered in the reaches of my consciousness for decades. I don’t recall where I first read it, only that I shared it with my Dad, who understood the feeling it conveyed.

Who Has Known Heights

Who has known heights and depths shall not again
Know peace – not as the calm heart knows
Low, ivied walls; a garden close;
An though he tread the humble ways of men
He shall not speak the common tongue again.

Who has known heights shall bear forevermore
An incommunicable thing
That hurts his heart, as if a wing
Beat at the portal, challenging;
And yet – lured by the gleam his vision wore –
Who once has trodden stars seeks peace no more.

Mary Brent Whiteside

I remember how strongly I felt, reading this poem, how well it expressed my experience then. But now that I’ve found it and read it again, after these decades of life have washed over me, I can see that it is no longer all of my experience.

I do seek peace now.

The heights and depths are there, but they exist more in my inward thoughts. I have learned to guard them, and I have learned that sometimes weariness trumps artistic exuberance.

The memory of those heights tinges my quest for peace with guilt sometimes, and I believe that’s good. I don’t want to be a seeker of peace at any price. I want only to maintain the balance I hadn’t yet discovered in those urgent younger days.

Whether I will or no, I exist within limits. I reread books I’ve read dozens of times. I decide not to watch a film I know will make me cry. I accept the spiritual poetry of scrubbing dirty dishes in warm water in a home of my own.

I choose my quests more cautiously, remembering that final victory may elude me or, more likely, appear in ways and times that can’t be prophesied.