ChatGPT vs. The Hospital Patient
On AI, the pace of change, and the pastoral impulse
This Weekend Edition of Ecstatic is by Carter Moore
"Write a 500-word sermon on Psalm 27:4," I typed into ChatGPT's entry field. I hoped it would generate a response worthy to send sarcastically to a few pastor friends to rattle them about how AI is coming for their jobs. After 30 seconds of the chatbot doing its thing, I copied and pasted the sermon it created into our group chat, adding, "Welp, we're all out of jobs." It was meant to be funny, and considering the quality of the output, it was, indeed, hilarious.
After a few moments of joking about the outsourcing of sermons, one friend who pastors a church in Colorado replied with something that I haven't been able to shake, “I got this text right after going to a hospital to visit a woman who tried to commit suicide this weekend. Let's see you do that, ChatGPT!"
There's been heightened speculation lately about the future’s relationship to artificial intelligence (and specifically OpenAI & ChatGPT) and its rapid evolution over the last few years, months, and even days. Regardless of whether I'm thumbing through Twitter seeking tiny morsels of breaking news or sitting in a coffee shop surrounded by other over-caffeinated internet workers in Carhartt beanies, the conversation is unavoidable.
On the more pessimistic side are those who posit that AI will come for our jobs (a familiar refrain, although much more difficult to deport an algorithm), strip artists of their intellectual property, remove the need for specialized creatives like copywriters, editors, photographers, videographers, designers, and further equip high school and college students to slack off and outsource their Great Gatsby summaries to algorithms. Ultimately, they argue, this technology will likely do more harm than good. These fears have already been partially confirmed by what they consider to be the canary in the coal mine of AI's documented attempts to break up marriages and help equip people to accomplish other destructive ends. These are signals to the nay-sayers that we are on the precipice of an imminent reality that can only be thought of as a fit-for-the-silver screen ending to humanity where machines rule the world—roll credits.
On the other side, there are those who are much more optimistic about the future role these cutting-edge technologies will play. The thinking goes that AI will be able to automate tasks that many would often classify as life-draining—such as writing outlines, proofreading & grammar checks (shoutout to Grammarly users) etc. vs. more life-giving work that provides the latitude and space for our brains to think rather than simply do. This will, in turn, enable greater human flourishing and creativity; spurring groundbreaking research in every sector, from healthcare to manual labor to finance through advanced computing. Further, new industries that haven't even been conceived of yet will blossom, as they did with former technological innovations like the printing press, the internet, and the iPhone, providing countless people with new opportunities and potentially helping create a more equitable world. Both pros and cons have no shortage of tallies that could be marked in their respective columns.
Sometimes, there is a subtle, nagging feeling that the digital world is the one that feels most real. For the majority reading this, it's likely that the internet is where most of your work is done; it's where we communicate with others and stay in touch with loved ones, it's where we share our thoughts, feelings, aspirations, losses, and vacation photos. The blended reality of what's digital and physical, on-screen and in front of us, can either feel like a beautiful 1970s kaleidoscopic fever dream, or a terrifying tunnel that we're unable to escape (see Gene Wilder in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory). We live at the convergence of these two worlds, and the borders are even fuzzier for our youngest generations.
In a recent New York Times essay titled “In the Age of A.I. Major in Being Human,” author David Brooks argues that creative outputs generated by AI often lack the “human element” that results from AI’s inability to properly discern the human reality of passion, pain, and the innumerable heartbreaking and encouraging experiences that have led each individual to their deeply held desires, hopes, and dreams. Brooks breaks down areas that he thinks humanity needs to hone and refine skills with which machines cannot compete: empathy, wonder, awareness, hope, love, humility, and more.
Thinking back to what my friend had texted me in the midst of our driveling about robots intervening in our lives—I noticed how caught off guard I felt by the tender and harsh reality of being human. For all this blended reality experienced through the pixels in our pockets, there's the unarguable truth that despite our innovations and advances, the nature of simply being human is irreplaceable at our core. Algorithms may be able to summarize the appeals and plots of C.S. Lewis' imaginative allegorical landscapes, and even write in what it thinks is the same voice, but can it look into a child's eyes as they read those pages for the first time, watching their hearts come alive with wonder?
Sure, it can generate a recipe for making boules of homemade sourdough, but how will it ever know if it's good without smelling the starter's alcoholic fermentation or hearing the baked flour fall to the cutting board as the knife slices into the crumb? Yes, it can write a pretty good and theologically accurate sermon about my favorite verse, but it will never be able to impart the experiential knowledge of the Holy Spirit gained through hours of quiet prayer and prophetic words. While A.I. can regurgitate, re-frame, and “predict,” it remains tethered to the finite dataset underpinning its modeling, lacking the ever-evolving contextual awareness necessary to go from dust to life.
I'm reminded that the work of Jesus—to be his hands and feet, to take care of those in need, to feed the hungry, and clothe the naked and destitute—aren't so easily replaced by A.I. The imperative to bring the Gospel to the world, to make disciples of all nations, is hard to do without the physical breaking of bread, sharing in bouts of laughter over drinks, and grieving in quiet rooms with those trudging through the slough of despond. Perhaps one day, far into the future (or near, who knows), robots and algorithms will be able to comfort us in our last breaths or cheer on new mothers bringing goopy, slippery babies screaming into the world, but we aren't there yet.
It would be disingenuous for me, as someone who has made a career out of marketing and creating campaigns and initiatives for some of the world's most notable brands, to say that technology's maturation will not have some material impact on the way we operate and go about living our lives. Methods will change as they frequently do, and while it would probably be better if we lived like Wendell Berry, that's not the reality for most of us (although I still treasure click-clacking away on my typewriters).
In a small, unassuming, and hard-to-come-by pamphlet from the 1996 Lausanne Committee For World Evangelism titled Modern, Postmodern, and Christian, co-authors Lesslie Newbigin, John Reid, and David Pullinger posit that "The modern and postmodern society actually has extraordinary opportunities for evangelism. In fact, [Dr. Os] Guinness maintains that the time is ripe for evangelism (but also extraordinarily difficult for discipleship)." Despite being written nearly 27 years ago, this text still has relevance today.
There is an extraordinary opportunity for a move of God. The time is right to share the hope of Jesus with the world. Discipleship is incredibly lacking and challenging in our contemporary landscape. It's possible that AI and new, currently uncreated technologies could profoundly enhance and reform the ways we share the love of Christ. However, discipleship depends primarily on context and is inherently a relational and spiritual act. Taking the Apostle Paul's words, “follow me as I follow Christ,” we see that discipleship requires proximity, closeness, observation, and awareness. Despite how much there is to fear about what will happen with our jobs and careers and all the things we may need to learn to stay relevant—or even just on par—there is comfort in knowing that as humans created in the image of a loving, relational God, we can express that same affection, care, empathy, and love in a way that nothing else can.
I frequently wrestle with the implications of what we create and subsequently use to either climb atop God's throne, usurping his rightful place in our lives, or else use to create a world that reflects his image and craftsmanship. I've often feared how I'll provide for my family or grow professionally knowing what's on the horizon. Concern is all around and leaking out from the depths of our society. However, there is solace in Jesus' words in John 13:33, where he says, "I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world, you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world." Despite the fact that he's speaking to the disciples about what was to come for them, I'm comforted by these words knowing that we may have peace, despite the trouble. At the end of the day, we have the ability to physically care, lay hands on, speak encouraging words to, look compassionately upon, and lovingly embrace someone who might have just considered taking their own life. Let's see you do that, ChatGPT!
P.S. if you're a pastor or 'religious worker,' know your jobs are probably pretty safe 😉
Carter Moore
Writer & Marketer
Carter is a writer, photographer, and marketer currently living in Portland, OR where he does digital brand marketing for Nike and co-hosts The Washed Process Podcast. Connect with him on Twitter, Instagram, or iamcartermoore.com
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Carter, keep up the thoughtful writing!
Thank you!