When I was in high school, I prided myself on being able to remember everything about everything. Not that my mastery of detail ever reached quiz-show heights, but it was good enough to get me dubbed by my classmates “the walking encyclopedia.” As one gets older, though, the brain changes, and it retains less data and more wisdom. Which is by and large a good thing.
But once in high school, I vividly remember a particular exam. The paper was sitting on my desk staring at me, and I was staring back. Probably it was a history test, my least favorite subject. I had read the essay question and I could remember—nothing. Literally nothing. I was not accustomed to blanking out, and I almost panicked. I sat there for perhaps 2 or 3 minutes. Still nothing. Suddenly, something changed in my mind, like a switch being thrown to send a train down a different track. Without knowing the answer mentally, I wrote out the entire essay. I passed the test, maybe even aced it. And I was left to ponder what had happened.
Years later, I realized that the mind of God in me, the higher mind, knew the answer all along. But my human mind was blocking my understanding. All I had to do was switch off my human mind and allow the higher mind to take over. And it did.
We tend to be overawed by the human mind. Think of all those quiz shows. The winner is whoever remembers the most data the fastest. That’s what computers are about too—but who wants to be a computer, or even a walking encyclopedia?
This is an important point to ponder in the era of artificial intelligence. What is a computer but the human mind on steroids? Are we having a love affair with computers, when we should be in love with God instead? A computer will never, never, NEVER be able to do what God does, think what God thinks, know what God knows, do what God does. Nor will a computer ever deserve our adoration.
Data—even the most data and the best data—never saved anyone’s soul. In this information age, filling ourselves with too much data can crowd God out. We need to go in the opposite direction—to empty our minds, to make room for God.
“The fish trap exists because of the fish. Once you’ve gotten the fish you can forget the trap. The rabbit snare exists because of the rabbit. Once you’ve gotten the rabbit, you can forget the snare. Words exist because of meaning. Once you’ve gotten the meaning, you can forget the words. Where can I find a man who has forgotten words so I can talk with him?”