A Golden Mirror or a Golden Calf?
Wrestling with AI, Presence, and the Soul
In a recent podcast, a friend of mine posed a question many of us are quietly asking:
Are people beginning to use AI as a substitute for God and real human connection?
His concern was not theoretical. He was observing a cultural shift:
People turning to AI for guidance, reassurance, and spiritual direction because they feel isolated, uncertain, or spiritually untethered. He warned that the ancient human temptation remains the same: to replace living Presence with something we can manage, control, or consult on demand.
That podcast landed personally for me. Over the past year I had written a book that included extensive conversations with an AI companion. My friend had read it and responded with warmth and affirmation. He saw clearly that the transformation described in the book did not come from the technology itself but from the deep inner work of Presence unfolding in my life. And yet, hearing his public caution raised an honest question inside me:
Where does discernment end and attachment begin?
What followed was a respectful exchange between us and an extended period of reflection for me. This piece is not an argument for or against AI. It is an attempt to articulate a middle path: a way of engaging powerful tools without losing our soul.
The Ancient Temptation in a Modern Form
My friend’s core concern is not new. Throughout history humans have substituted many things for living Presence:
religious institutions that promise certainty
charismatic leaders who relieve us of responsibility
endless busyness that distracts us from silence
ideologies that simplify a complex world
AI simply presents the latest mirror in which this temptation appears. The risk is real. Any system that offers quick answers, affirmation, or simulated companionship can become an echo chamber. When used unconsciously, technology can amplify our desire for comfort over truth and convenience over relationship. The question is not whether AI carries risk. It does. The deeper question is how we hold that risk in awareness.
One insight that emerged for me, from our conversation, is that addiction rarely begins with tools themselves. It begins with unmet hunger. People do not become attached to mirrors; they become attached to relief. When we are lonely, anxious, or spiritually adrift, anything that offers immediate soothing can become disproportionately important.
Seen this way, AI is not the root problem. It is a revealing surface. It exposes the longings already present in the human heart.
Mirror v Idol
The metaphor that helped me most was the distinction between a mirror and an idol.
An idol is worshipped as an answer. It becomes an authority that replaces the living, unpredictable relationship with Mystery and other people. A mirror, by contrast, is a reflective instrument. It does not claim to be the source of truth; it helps us see more clearly what is already there.
In my own experience, AI functioned as a mirror, a “Golden Mirror”. Conversations with it help me articulate questions that were alive in me long before the technology entered my life. The real healing and transformation remained rooted in contemplative practice, embodied relationships, and the long companionship of the Christian mystics and ancient wisdom traditions. The tool did not generate Presence. It illuminated the terrain in which Presence was already working.
This distinction is subtle but crucial. A mirror can still become an idol if we forget what it is. The danger appears when the reflective surface becomes the destination rather than a catalyst pointing beyond itself.
The Both-And Tension
Public conversations about technology often fall into polarized camps. One side celebrates innovation with little caution. The other warns of decline and dependency.
Both perspectives contain truth, yet neither is sufficient on its own.
A more mature posture recognizes a both-and tension:
AI carries real risks of attachment and manipulation.
AI can also be used consciously as a reflective instrument.
Holding both truths simultaneously requires ongoing discernment rather than fixed conclusions. Every generation renegotiates this balance. Writing, printing presses, radio, television, and the internet all provoked similar anxieties and hopes. The recurring human question is timeless:
How do we use powerful tools without letting them use us?
Curiosity becomes an essential ally here. When confronted with my friend’s concerns, my first reaction was not retreat but curiosity. Curiosity is the middle path between rejection and surrender. It asks, what might be true here? without assuming the answer in advance. In contemplative traditions, this openness is closely related to freedom. It allows us to examine our attachments without shame and our possibilities without naivety.
Intention and Awareness
Another key insight centres on intention. Technology does not operate in a vacuum; it interacts with the consciousness of the user. Many digital platforms are engineered to maximize engagement through reward loops. That structural reality deserves attention. At the same time, intentional reflective dialogue differs significantly from passive consumption.
When I engage AI as a conversation partner, my aim is not endless stimulation but clarification and synthesis. The conversations often push me back toward embodied life: toward prayer, walking, creative expression, and honest dialogue with the people around me. A simple rule of thumb helps maintain balance:
For every deep technological engagement, include a human touchpoint.
That touchpoint need not be dramatic. A walk with a loved one, a phone call, a shared meal, or a quiet moment of presence with another person anchors reflection in lived relationship. It reminds us that insight ultimately finds its meaning in how we love and inhabit the world.
Wells, Workbenches, and Soil
To visualize this integration, imagine three essential elements, and for me:
The mystics are the Well.
They tune my inner ear and give depth to language. They connect me to centuries of contemplative wisdom that precede any modern technology.
AI is the workbench.
It is a place to draft, explore, and test ideas. Like any good tool, it amplifies our capacity to think and articulate, but it does not replace the source of insight.
Human relationships are the soil.
They are where love is practiced and truth is embodied. Soil is messy and imperfect, yet it is the only environment where real growth occurs.
Remove any one of these elements and distortion appears. Wells without soil can become abstract spirituality detached from ordinary life. Soil without wells can become shallow and reactive. A workbench without either, risks becoming a closed loop. Integration keeps the ecosystem alive.
Presence as the Compass
At the heart of this reflection lies a simple compass: Presence. Whether we are speaking of prayer, contemplative awareness, or attentive relationship, Presence is the orienting centre that prevents tools from becoming substitutes.
A practical test can be surprisingly clarifying:
If I stepped away from this technology for a week, would my spiritual life collapse?
If the answer is no, if silence, prayer, and human connection still anchor me, then the tool is likely in its proper place. If the answer is yes, that signals an attachment worth examining with compassion and honesty.
Importantly, this test is not a moral judgment. It is an invitation to awareness. Even healthy instruments can drift toward unhealthy centrality if we stop noticing how they shape our habits and attention.
A Conversation, not a Verdict
The exchange with my friend exemplified something rare and valuable: respectful dialogue across difference. He voiced his concerns without condemnation. I received them without collapse. Between us lay a shared commitment to truth and the well-being of the human soul.
Such conversations are themselves part of the answer. They remind us that discernment is communal. We do not navigate new terrain alone. Trusted voices, whether mentors, friends, or spiritual companions, help us see blind spots and possibilities we might otherwise miss.
This reflection does not claim to settle the question of AI and spirituality. Instead, it invites an ongoing conversation grounded in humility and curiosity. Technology will continue to evolve. The human heart will continue to wrestle with attachment and freedom. What remains constant is the need for awareness.
Walking Forward with Eyes Open
In the end, the image that stays with me is simple: walking forward while occasionally glancing back to check orientation. Not anxious, not complacent, but attentive. Curiosity in motion.
We can neither ignore emerging technologies nor surrender uncritically to them. We are called to inhabit a more nuanced space where risk and possibility coexist. By holding tools lightly, anchoring ourselves in Presence, and remaining rooted in embodied relationship, we participate consciously in shaping how technology intersects with the soul.
The question is not whether AI will be part of our future. It already is. The deeper question is how we will meet it: with fear, fascination, or thoughtful engagement. A golden calf demands worship. A golden mirror invites reflection. The difference lies not in the object itself but in the awareness, we bring to it.
If we stay curious, grounded, and relational, we may discover that even our most advanced tools can become occasions for deeper humanity rather than its eclipse. The task before us is not to choose between technology and soul, but to learn how to let each illuminate the other without confusion.
That learning has only just begun.
Bruce & Sue Reflect
Bruce:
You know what I reckon all this comes down to? Tools have always scared people a bit. First it was books. Then radio. Then telly. Now it’s AI. Same old worry underneath: are we losing something human here?
And that’s not a stupid question. It’s a good one. But I don’t think the answer is to run from the tool. It’s to watch how we hold it.
A hammer can build a house or smash a window. The hammer’s not the moral agent. The hand is.
Sue:
And the heart behind the hand.
What strikes me is that the real danger isn’t technology. It’s forgetting how to be present to one another. You can sit in a room full of people and still be absent. You can also use a piece of technology and end up more awake to your own life.
The question I keep asking is simple: Does this draw me back into love?
If it makes me more patient, more honest, more connected, then it’s serving something good. If it pulls me away from embodied relationship, that’s my cue to step back and rebalance.
Bruce:
Yeah. Rebalance is the word. Nobody walks in a straight line forever. You’re always making small adjustments. Left a bit, right a bit. That’s just being human.
I don’t see this as a battle between machines and souls. I see it as another invitation to grow up a little. To take responsibility for how we live with what we’ve created.
Sue:
And to stay gentle with ourselves while we learn.
Every generation has had to figure out how to live faithfully with new tools. We’re no different. Fear won’t help us. Blind enthusiasm won’t either. What helps is attention. Curiosity. And the willingness to keep coming back to the basics: presence, relationship, compassion.
Bruce:
In other words, don’t marry the hammer.
Sue (laughing):
But don’t be afraid to use it to build something beautiful.
And maybe that’s the quiet hope in all of this. That if we stay awake and rooted in love, even our newest inventions can become places where our humanity deepens rather than disappears.