3 lessons AI can teach about prayer

Recently, I attended MAICON (Marketing Artificial Intelligence Conference) in Cleveland. One of the main concepts that was discussed was prompt engineering. Prompt engineering is the skill of writing a useful prompt to give the AI what it needs to provide a useful answer.

When I first heard of prompt engineering, I balked. Is this really a skill? How hard can it be to tell a machine to do something and get what I need? I thought AI was so smart, I could practically grunt like a monkey at it and I'd get what I needed.

The problem with lazy prompting

Yet, as I played around with the technology and gave it monkey prompts, I kept getting lame results. It reminds me of that scene in City Slickers when Mitch is challenged by Barry, the ice cream guru, to give him a meal so he can tell him the perfect ice cream flavor that goes with it. Mitch replies, "Franks and beans," to which Barry scoffs, "Scoop of chocolate, scoop of vanilla. Don't waste my time."

I'd been approaching AI like Mitch, asking it simple questions with little detail or effort. The AI was perfectly content to engage at my rudimentary level. Something had to change. The way I tapped into this intelligence was broken.

The better way to access high intelligence

It turns out thoughtful, detailed prompting that takes some time and effort gets much better results.

Artificial intelligence is the greatest knowledge source mankind has ever seen. That's because it gathers the knowledge of billions throughout history, filters and sorts the information, and dishes it out in a cogent way in a matter of seconds.

Consider accessing a knowledge source that incredible. It's like Aladdin entering the cave of wonders. Of course, he could reach for the first gold bar he sees. But there's so much more to see, and when he ventures far enough in, he finds the precious treasure of the genie's lamp.

If AI is the Cave of Wonders, the prompts we use determine how well we'll navigate it. The quality of our input affects the quality of the output.

3 lessons AI can teach about prayer

Prayer is like a search in the Cave of Wonders, but much deeper. AI is only the cumulative knowledge of the digital universe. God is the Intelligence itself. There's no end to what we may discover or what may be communicated to us through prayer.

So how we prompt the Great Intelligence matters. Our approach can be lazy and simple, and get plain results. Or, we can communicate with all of our heart, soul, and mind.

Here are three lessons AI can teach us about prayer.

Lesson 1: No one-shot prompting. Have a conversation.

With AI, one-shot prompting is when you ask a simple question to get a simple answer. It can be helpful, but the lack of dialogue limits your ability to learn from the AI.

Instead, asking the AI a series of questions gets much better results. Once you get a response, it gives you an idea to ask something else. With the information you get, you can ask even better questions, and may find yourself getting closer to the genie's lamp.

Effective prayer tends to occur when there's a conversation. I'm not saying the Great Intelligence is going to audibly bellow some command like you need to run for sheriff. I am saying if your approach is relational, with the give and take of words and listening, you'll probably find the exercise to be more fruitful.

Lesson 2: But don't babble like a pagan.

Jesus said that, not me. When we're prompting AI, it's true that the more detail you give, the better. But the AI can often discern what you're getting at even if you're struggling for the right words. One useful prompting technique is to ask the AI how you should prompt it. The AI has a way of serving you something better than if you'd just wasted time giving it a bunch of nonsense.

Likewise, a detailed, drawn-out monologue isn't necessary to get answers from prayer. The Great Intelligence knows what you're going to ask before you ask it. And when you do, you get a personalized answer. Sometimes, instead of asking a detailed question with tons of context, pray a simple question like, "God, what should I ask?" or "What do you want me to think about?"

Lesson 3: Be patient. It takes time and effort.

The most important tasks or knowledge quests require more energy to establish a prompt and craft a dialogue. Not only do you ask questions, but you provide context, upload files, establish parameters, and fine-tune your query.

Likewise, it takes time to "learn" how to pray. Jesus gave the simple instruction to "ask, seek, knock." Only practice teaches us how these actions play out in prayer. We try rote prayers and unscripted prayers. We give thanks or confess. We take a walk or take a knee.

Just as we master the skill of AI prompting over time, so it is with learning prayer rhythms that are personal to us and God.

Practice makes progress

There are endless opportunities to ask, seek, and knock through prayer. Connecting with the Great Intelligence will change your life, one prompt at a time.

Let go of your image: Here's one joyful trick to fix your vanity

It was a summer Saturday morning, a day brimming with possibilities, so I did what a middle-aged dad is supposed to do on these kinds of days—find something that needs fixing.

Of course, finding broken things is the easy part. It’s repairing them that takes all your time and money. On this day, I didn’t even have to go looking. My wife told me the vanity in my daughter’s room was broken.

When I went to look at the piece, it was a wonder it was still standing. Its legs were askew, and when I attempted to move one into a firmer position, the whole thing teetered like a structure in a landslide. We were a sneeze away from a small, Macy’s-worth of toiletries crashing to the ground.

Not only were there loose screws, the wood was cracked around two legs, which meant I could tighten those screws like a torture rack, and the vanity would still totter like it inhaled too much Bath and Body Works.

Which left me with two choices.

I could destroy this vanity and buy a new one. Or give it my best Tim-the-Tool-Man-Taylor effort and repair it in a special way you'd never find on YouTube.

Naturally, I frugally opted for the latter and drove some new screws through some different parts of the wood to get that structure solid.

Proudly, I had fixed the vanity.

Why call it a vanity?

Isn't it strange to call a piece of furniture a "vanity"? We don't name other things after negative character traits. Why don't we call a recliner a "sloth"?

Baby, all you do is watch football in your sloth all day. Get up outta your sloth and do something for the family.

With a vanity, the name of the furniture warns you about using it. Looking to start the day with a deadly sin? Come have a seat in your vanity!

What is vanity anyway?

“Vanity” is derived from the Latin “vanitas” and means emptyness. Think of vanity as something that appears to be, but isn’t. Like a vapor that disappears or a mirage in the desert.

When people are vain, they see themselves in a prideful way, as better than others. While that feels like something important and real, it's actually empty. Instead of a true image, it's an illusion.

A powerful yet dangerous illusion

In C.S. Lewis' The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, a young girl named Lucy finds a magical book. As she turns the pages, she's captivated by the images that are alive and moving, and the spells that accompany them.

She comes to a page and sees images of herself. In the first image, she looks particularly ugly. In the next one, she's extraordinarily beautiful. So beautiful that when the image of Lucy looks at the real Lucy, the real Lucy has to turn away in embarrassment.

Then she sees images of princes searching and fighting to win her over because she's the most sought-after princess in the land, and her sister is plain and undesirable by comparison. All of it appeals to her insecurities about her looks, and she's convinced she must say the spell to make it real.

We experience life like Lucy. We're spellbound by a false—yet powerfully persuasive—image of ourselves. This empty image, this vanity, blinds us from reality and compels us to pursue things that are ultimately void and meaningless, whether it's success, wealth, or everlasting beauty.

If vanity is a false image that's harmful to us, what's the true image of ourselves we should care about?

The true image we're meant to reflect

The trick to fixing our vanity is understanding the image we're supposed to reflect. And here's the shock—it's not our own.

In the Genesis creation narrative, God says, “Let us make humans in our image.” In other words, God created a species to reflect His own character.

In the Narnia stories, Lucy is a girl of great character. She often reflects the character of her hero, Aslan the Lion, who created Narnia. And when Lucy is about to cast the spell from the magical book to make her false image come true, Aslan appears on the page, growling at her. He loves Lucy, but hates that she cares more about her false image, and that she wants to be someone other than who she was made to be—someone who simply reflects his character.

Once our life's pursuit is about bearing the Creator's image, our vanity fades. We lose interest in the false image.

On that summer Saturday morning, I might've temporarily fixed the vanity. But really, the vanity couldn't be fixed. It needed to be replaced. And so it should be with our vanity, that we'd stop pursuing it and discover the true image we were made to bear.

Is my ego fragile? You be the judge.

It was a warm night in August 2010, and I was nervously nursing a whiskey in the bowels of Charley Goodnight's Comedy Club.

I'd arrived early, hoping time and the Crown Royal would settle my nerves. I hadn't done this standup thing before.

I'd be going on stage within the hour.

I was participating in the “Triangle’s Funniest Accountant” contest, though I wasn’t an accountant and wasn’t sure yet if I was funny. I’d been practicing my routine for two months. Writing and editing my bits. Rehearsing in front of the mirror. Getting more nervous by the day.

When the day arrived, many of my family and friends were there to cheer me on and laugh at my jokes, regardless of how bad they were. As I sat backstage waiting to be introduced to a packed-out, 300-person comedy club, I was sure I’d never been so nervous. I had prepared, but how much can you really prepare for this kind of thing?

When my name was called, I jumped on stage and came out swinging. The first joke was calling out the obvious, that I was a man who had a baby face. I explained that people would tell me I’d appreciate having a baby face when I was older. But that I wouldn’t appreciate that at all because I’d be old and bald, and I would look like a baby. Good laughs, good start.

I transitioned to a joke about being carded and a joke about taking a breathalyzer when I’d had nothing to drink. More laughs, the train was a rollin'. And then, it wasn’t. I went blank.

I couldn't remember my next joke. I sucked in the empty air and stared out into bright lights and waiting faces. Nothing. After another second or two of awkward stillness, the crowd gave me applause to pep me back up. I pulled my notes out of my pocket to find the next joke. I put my notes back, kept going, and delivered the rest of the act without stumbling.

Still a pretty good night, right?

My ego and the night in retrospect

Since then and 15 years later, I've looked back on the time with mixed feelings. The good feeling, the one I prefer to stick with, is remembering that I faced my fears, did something few people get to do, and got a room full of people to laugh at my jokes. What a wonderful thing.

The bad feeling, which unfortunately is the one that persists and tends to dominate the memory, is forgetting my joke and everyone staring at me.

I wanted to have a perfect act. I wanted the perception of what I did to be a success. When it didn't work out that way, it sullied the memory.

Even today, deep in my psyche, I worry that I'll forget what I have to say when in front of a crowd, and feel that feeling again.

My perception, flawed and reforming

Today, I suspect my perception of that moment has been wrong for many years. I've made the experience black and white. Either it was good or it was bad. But that is solely my judgment, not rooted in any objective reality.

Who's to say it wasn't a good performance? Who's to say it was a disaster? It really doesn't matter. What matters was that I did it, and it was a life experience. Why judge it?

Because I have a fragile ego. That's why.

Our self-judgment spectrum

But I’m not the only one with a fragile ego. All of us have an ego, and thus, see ourselves in a certain light.

Where are you on the spectrum of how you see yourself and evaluating your actions?

Are you an extreme judge of yourself, making every moment a courtroom? Are you praising yourself for backing expertly into a parking space? Are you beating yourself up over burning your dumb toast?

Or are you no judge at all, doing whatever the heck you please with zero awareness or compunction? Are you throwing your banana peels in the recycling bin? Are you farting loudly in the grocery store?

Most of us are acutely aware of our actions and constantly judge them. We've been wired since we were children to mind our behavior. It's how we've survived socially and made friends.

We've come to love the back pats, the acknowledgment of getting it right. We've patted our own backs when no one else was watching. We've shunned our mistakes, looking for any way our weaknesses won't be found out.

And we're mentally exhausted by it. We're practically nauseous from this incessant seesaw of self-judgment. So what are we to do?

We have to consciously choose our judge.

Who's your judge?

There's a postmodern idea, championed by Friedrich Nietzsche, that we are the masters of our egos. A fragile ego, one that's influenced by external perspectives, is indeed weak and must be abandoned. Instead, one must elevate their ego and take pride in who they are, who they're becoming, and determine their own standards.

As we've seen, that mentality can get you ahead in the world. It can give you great power and success. Yet, when you answer to no one or nothing but yourself, it can crush the world around you. In the extreme, it can be a seed for genocide, like with Hitler and Stalin.

Having an elevated ego can also be too tall an order for some. It's difficult for the weak, poor, and marginalized to believe such a thing is even possible. Of course, the powerful take advantage.

There's an older idea, championed by men like St. Augustine and Thomas Aquinas, that God is the master of our egos. A fragile ego isn't only a sign of weakness, it's a symptom of mistrusting the Master. We've made our egos our center and made ourselves the judge. So every action is scrutinized, either assuaging our ego or assaulting it.

If you surrender your ego to the good Judge, you can stop keeping score. You don't have to inflate yourself with pride for a good deed or crush yourself for a mistake. Leave that to the Judge and when necessary, hand it over to Him in your heart. Over time, your looking outward will be much better for others and, naturally, yourself.

Still, probably best you don't throw banana peels in the recycling.