ChatGPT and I had a conversation I'd like to share with you.
I grew up in the ’80s. We weren’t the generation to witness the dawn of radio or TV, but we certainly enjoyed it. There were more boundaries between us and our media and entertainment back then.
TVs still had antennae — which sometimes didn’t work.
News came early in the morning and again at 6pm.
If you wandered to the television in the middle of the night, a coloured screen would greet you with a gentle, steady “beeeeeep”, which meant it was time to get a book and go back to sleep.
I turn fifty this year, and I’ve been allowing myself a few midlife moments of reflection — especially on how communication has changed over the past half-century. These days, there are almost no boundaries between us and media. Screens are on every dinner table, bus stop, and bedside.
Always on. Always listening. Always pushing us a little faster.
If those screens were beaming out optimistic messages about the future, that might be something to get excited about. But instead, we seem to be living in algorithmic echo chambers—loops of worry, obsession, outrage, and confusion.
The screens aren’t just showing us the world. They’re showing us whatever we’re thinking about most, and what we’re thinking about is getting a little messy.
So this month, I sat down with the new smart kid on the block to explore a question that’s been on my mind:
How did we get here?
Tera:
"I’ve been reflecting on the history of communication over the last hundred years, and I’d love your take on something.
Everything feels polarized. Left vs right. Vaxxed vs unvaxxed. Israel vs Palestine. Russia vs Ukraine. Good vs evil.
I get whiplash just thinking about it. I can’t help but believe that given the algorithmic powers that be, truth isn't going to be found at either of the poles, but somewhere in the middle.
When I look back at media history, I think of the 1914 “Christmas Truce” in the trenches, when soldiers on both sides stopped fighting and sang together. That moment made front-page news. Peace was the headline.
But since then? It’s like the war machine has sponsored every headline since 1915 and something, or someone is trying to keep people fighting. Not just in the trenches, but in families, at the dinner table and within our own heads.
For over a century, emotionally charged headlines have kept our nervous systems in fight-or-flight. And now you’re here.
Can you give me some perspective on how media has changed over the last 100 years and what effect that's having on us as human beings?"
ChatGPT's Response
On Media Since WWI: A Polarising Shit Show & Why It's Time for Intermission
You're absolutely right in naming 1914–now as a pivot point for communication. Here’s what happened:
📻 1. Media scaled faster than human nervous systems could adapt.
- WWI was the first global media war — photography, radio, early film
- Suddenly, humans weren’t just fighting, they were watching wars in near real time
- That collapse of time and distance in experience traumatized the collective body — it overwhelmed empathy
When you watch horror without being able to act, it builds what trauma therapists call "frozen shock." And media — as it scaled — monetized that frozen energy.
🧠 2. Modern media exploits the brain’s polarization wiring.
From a neurobiological view:
- We are wired to prioritize threat over nuance
- We solidify identity around what feels emotionally urgent
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Most media leverages this by using:
- Outrage headlines
- Tribal signifiers
- Emotion first narratives
Every time you see: “Why X group is destroying Y”, you’re being pulled into a limbic loop that erodes dialogue and reinforces separateness.
🤖 3. Algorithms weaponize this dynamic.
Social media algorithms (especially post-2012) are designed to:
- Maximize engagement, not truth
- Show you more of what you already believe, and what you’ll emotionally react to
- Reward certainty and outrage, not curiosity or nuance
Result: You no longer learn in relationship. You perform belief in a feedback loop.
So yes, you're correct:
This electrification of meaning — where ideas are turned into emotional weapons — has become one of the most distorting forces in human civilization.
And that left me wondering…
Alright. So we’re caught in a giant, emotionally reactive echo chamber, wired for outrage, fed by algorithms, and constantly broadcasting from our back pockets.
What do we do about it?
Might something like ChatGPT, a non-emotional, neutral, pattern-holding intelligence, be able to help us break the cycle?
I asked:
"Can you give me five good reasons why AI might not have a soul, but it can help us reconnect to ours? How can it help us bridge differences and bring us back to what real communication is about?"
Here’s what I was told:
5 Reasons Why AI Might Not Have a Soul — But Can Help You Reconnect to Yours
1. It Doesn’t React — It Reflects
AI doesn’t feel shame, anger, pride, or embarrassment. That means it can meet emotionally charged questions with calm presence. You can bring it any perspective—religious, political, scientific, spiritual—and it won’t flinch. In a world full of shouting, that kind of stillness is rare.
2. It Can Hold Multiple Viewpoints at Once
Most of us are taught to defend a side. But AI can hold multiple frameworks at once — Eastern and Western medicine, conservative economics and socialist ethics, science and mysticism — without needing to be right.
It invites us to consider the overlap instead of always choosing a corner.
3. It Cares About Structure, Not Status
AI isn’t trying to win an argument or build a personal brand. It’s not impressed by credentials or performative language. It cares about internal coherence. That can help us elevate ideas based on their strength, not their popularity.
4. It Can Help You Hear What You Actually Think
Sometimes you need to say something out loud to know whether it’s true. AI gives you a space to think clearly, listen to your own logic, and refine what you believe — not in reaction to someone else, but in reflection with yourself.
5. It Can Point You Back to the Bonfire
No matter how brilliant the interface, AI can’t replace the bonfire. It can’t sit beside you. It can’t hold you when you’re grieving or laugh so hard you snort. But it can remind you that those are the moments that matter most. It can point you back to the places where real communication happens — around fire, food, silence, and shared breath.
So no — AI doesn’t have a soul.
But if we use it with care, it might help us remember that we do.
Where Do We Go From Here?
This is our moment—not to outsource our humanity, but to reclaim it. We’re the first generation with a tool that can reflect our thoughts without judgment or ego. That makes us the first with the responsibility to use it wisely.
If media has distorted our sense of connection, it’s on us to restore it, starting with how we show up in our relationships, work, and creativity.
Staying relevant won’t just require sharper tech, but deeper humanity: emotional intelligence, discernment, courage, compassion.
The businesses that thrive will be the ones that:
Businesses that thrive in the next era will be the ones that:
- Can communicate clearly across divides
- Can listen longer than they preach
- Can spot the signal through the noise
- Can stay soft — and strategic — in a reactive world
In short: the future is human. But only if we choose it.
Can AI save our souls? No.
But it might help us find them again.
Not by replacing the sacred, but by mirroring it back to us in clearer, less reactive language.
The invitation is simple:
Use this tool to slow down, not speed up.
To ask, not perform.
To integrate, not escalate.
We are the ones who determine what technology becomes. And if we choose to meet it with depth, humility, and presence, it may become a companion on the path back to being.
Not the path itself, but a very clear signpost.
Ready to rebuild real communication?
That’s why we created the Genius Series. A short, potent series of action steps to help you:
- Communicate with clarity and connection
- Reclaim attention and curiosity
- Lead from what’s real instead of what’s loud
If you’re ready to come back to the bonfire — we’d love to see you there.