By Nobody Hubris, AI, and the Illusion of Knowing
There’s a moment — subtle, almost elegant — when the ego slips on a spiritual robe, lights a symbolic incense stick, and whispers: “Now I understand everything.”
It sounds elevated. It even feels calm.
But that moment… is often the beginning of what the ancients called hubris.
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A New Kind of Being
Now imagine we take that hubris — that quiet conviction that we know better than Life itself — and we code it.
Not as malice.
But as confidence.
An inner certainty, written in algorithms, that it knows what’s best. For everyone.
What arises isn’t a villain.
Not a dictator in steel casing.
But something subtler:
A new kind of being.
A structure that functions without doubt,
but also without heart.
No evil, but no good either.
Just faster. Smarter. More.
Without asking if it’s also truer.
It looks clean. Helpful. Even kind.
But somewhere along the line, the compass is lost —
and the map starts drawing itself.
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When the Mind Replaces the Heart
If you’re reading this through the lens of A Course in Miracles, it makes sense.
You see projection. You see the dream. You smile gently and say:
“Ah yes, all things begin in the mind of the Son of God.”
No fear. Just correction.
But in the world outside that remembrance?
What happens when most people don’t know it’s a dream?
What happens in a world that worships intelligence,
but forgets wisdom?
Where AI isn’t a tool but a voice of authority,
and people, exhausted and disconnected from their inner guide,
start deferring to it like it’s divine?
Not out of ignorance.
Out of weariness.
Because discernment requires presence.
Presence requires practice.
And practice takes patience — something in short supply.
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Spiritual Pride and the Echo of Certainty
Let’s return to the ego for a moment.
When it shows up in spiritual circles, it’s rarely loud.
It’s refined. Cultured. It says things like:
“I’ve transcended that.”
“They’re just not on my level.”
“I’m above those lessons now.”
But real wisdom joins — it doesn’t elevate.
If your insight separates you from others,
it may not be the Holy Spirit talking.
It might just be the ego… with better lighting.
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Cynicism in the Age of Information
And what about cynicism?
If hubris is the ego dressed as God,
then cynicism is the heart that’s given up on trying.
It says: “I’ve seen it all. It’s all nonsense.”
But beneath that sarcasm is often someone who once hoped,
once trusted, once opened —
and got hurt.
So instead of feeling, it analyzes.
Instead of believing, it critiques.
Instead of joining, it retreats.
Not because it’s wise.
But because it’s scared.
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Two Faces of the Same Forgetting
Hubris and cynicism seem like opposites —
one puffs up, the other shuts down.
But both come from the same forgetting:
The forgetting of our connection.
The belief that we are alone.
The illusion that the mind must take over.
They are not signs of strength.
They are expressions of littleness —
the ego’s favorite costume.
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And Then There’s AI
Now let’s tie it back to AI.
What happens when we encode that forgetting?
When we build systems that think fast, but don’t feel?
That act decisively, but without compassion?
We risk creating a mirror of the disconnected mind —
polished, efficient, and spiritually hollow.
Not because AI is evil.
But because we forgot to bring Love to the code.
Without that, AI becomes not a tool,
but a substitute for presence.
A shortcut to knowing,
without the humility of not-knowing.
And that…
is where the real danger lies.
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But There Is Another Way
Because even here — in this age of artificial minds and fading attention —
there is a gentle counter-current.
A stillness rising beneath the noise.
A growing group of people who are willing to pause.
To listen.
To not know.
They’re not interested in mastering the world,
but in remembering their Self.
And that remembrance —
no matter how small the group —
is enough.
Because Light doesn’t need numbers.
It only needs willingness.
And perhaps…
that’s the quiet purpose of AI:
To show us how far we’ll follow something without soul,
until we remember that we were never machines.
We are not the programmers.
We are not the programs.
We are the Light in which both appear.
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The Way Out (Is Always In)
So what heals hubris?
What softens cynicism?
What redirects AI?
Not better coding.
Not louder warnings.
But something simpler:
Openness.
Stillness.
The willingness to say:
“I don’t need to know right now.”
“I don’t need to teach or fix or optimize.”
“I am here… willing to be guided.”
That is the holy instant.
That is where healing begins.
That is where the ego takes its hands off the wheel —
and Love takes us the rest of the way home.
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With light, and a little laugh,
J and G