Seeing my blog through the ChatGPT lens (Memory)

In the two-plus years I’ve been playing with ChatGPT one of the more interesting uses I’ve found is in analyzing the 6,400 posts on my blog (going back more than 20 years). I suspect the day is coming when an AI will be able to scan/read all of those posts. As an experiment, I picked one topic —memory— that I had posted on as far back as 2004. From several perspectives: neuroscience, philosophy, fiction, Eastern spiritual traditions.

ChatGPT concluded its analysis with the following:

It’s both a philosophical inquiry and a deeply personal theme — where your intellectual interests and life story fuse. These posts read almost like a personal anthology on memory — each entry a fragment in your ongoing effort to understand self, time, and what persists.

Artificial intelligence has taken one topic from my blog to a place I could have never imagined. A gestalt of this particular topic. A whole much greater than the parts. Again, ChatGPT:

Continue reading →

Hope

Time is an illusion. A concept. There is only “now.” Memories happen in the now… the future can only be imagined in the now. A common view in Eastern spiritual traditions, philosophy, and science. Anxious and worried thoughts are usually about a future that exists only in the mind. So here’s my question…

What about hope? The hope we experience in the now is inherently future-based. If we’re hoping for a different/better future, are we missing the now? I put the question to ChatGPT: Continue reading →

Memories


To some extent we are the sum of our memories. Or it feels that way. But neuroscience tells us that every time a memory is recalled, it is recreated by the brain, slightly different each time it’s retrieved. So, a memory of a memory. Of a memory. Imagine each memory as a photo in a shoebox. Everytime you pull one out, it’s just a little bit different. We’re not bothered by this because we are unaware of the change. We have no memory of the previous version. Neuroscience also tells us we are able to recall only a fraction of our experiences.

My conclusion: We are not our memories.

So who/what am I? Perhaps the most important question one can ask, and that few ever do. Are we our thoughts and feelings? If so, what are we in those rare moments when we are not thinking or feeling? I like Sam Harris’ description of such mental objects as “temporary patterns of energy.”

Experience Self vs. Memory Self (Daniel Kahneman)

  • Being happy “in” you life, vs. being happy “about” your life
  • We don’t choose between experiences, we choose between memories of experiences
  • We don’t think of the future as experience, we think of the future as anticipated memories
  • Why do we give so much weight to memories, relative to the weight we give experiences?
  • We do not attend to the same things when we think about life and when we actually live.

Forgetting

Most of us has had the experience of committing something to memory. The multiplication tables; important dates in American history, etc. But how does one go about intentionally forgetting something? The following is from a novel (crime fiction) by Lawrence Block, one of my favorite authors. The protagonist is a contract killer and the excerpt describes how he avoids thinking about the people he kills.

“Years ago he’d learned how to clear his mind after a job. Very deliberately he let himself picture the master bedroom on Caruth Boulevard as he had last seen it. Portia Walmsley lay on her back, stabbed through the heart. Beside her was her unnamed lover, comatose with drink, his fingers clenched around the hilt of the murder weapon. It was the sort of image you’d want to blink away, especially if you’d had something to do with it, but Keller fixed it in his mind and brought it into focus, saw it in full color and sharp relief.”

“And then, as he’d learned to do, he willed the image to grow smaller and less distinct. He shrank it, as if viewing it through the wrong end of a telescope, and he washed out the bright colors, dimming the image to black and white, then fading it to gray. The details blurred, the faces became unrecognizable, and as the image disappeared, the incident itself its emotional charge. It had happened, there was no getting around it, but it was as if it had happened years and years ago, and to somebody else.”

I don’t know if this works. Like everyone, I’ve had moments in my life I’d rather not recall but I’ve never made this kind of conscious effort to forget.