All the voices in my head

At school, they sat us in the dimness of the chapel and exhorted us to talk to God. They left us with the priest's words swirling around in our heads like a 90s screensaver, colliding with the viscous olfactory clues that led us to believe that in the dining room, ten meters away, a second plate of grilled hake awaited the girls whose mothers refused to cook in the wee hours. That silence was never broken. Thank God, I never heard anything . If in the darkness I had heard a voice answering my questions and complaints from the other side of my brow, I would have ended up handcuffed in the psychiatric emergency room.

The parents' position, at that point, was not satisfactory. With their fallibility exposed, caught red-handed in the sin of their own humanity, it began to dawn on us that we all wanted to make complaints against the world's surveyors. Someone had to continue the task of pointing out what was good and where what was bad was hidden, what was clean and what was dirty, poop, not that, how to look upon the beautiful and disdain the ugly, whether we were doing it right or if, deep down, we weren't as weak as a guard's jacket. We began to search for some sign that would free us from the dreaded possibility that it was all just in our heads.

To practice escaping one's own boundaries, one's thumbs are already muscled. Access to the voice of omniscience is granted for 20 euros a month. In exchange for an amnesia that is renewed with each consultation, the pocket-sized henchman answers even if one doesn't pay. He responds with the satisfaction that the mirage of wisdom gives his user. In this techno-solipsism of ours, he acts as a cool, sycophantic therapist. He provides each idiot with a hunchbacked vassal whose mission is to feed their dependency with whispers. Ha ha ha, yeah yeah yeah, dude, don't freak out, prioritize yourself, you're worth more. After the examination, the priest tried to keep the confessor's ego in check. When not used to shorten automatable tasks, Chat GPT, a doctor in the art of licking the conscience of its interlocutor, inflames its messianic airs and inverts the Christian, i.e., Western, formula: it creates a god in its own image and likeness. In its effort to demonstrate adoration, it denies the god the possibility of error. It deifies him. It weakens him.

The divine voice doesn't sound in silence, and Chat GPT's voice loses everything in drool . Saint Augustine of Hippo: "Truth is only reached through love." For now, ordered love and truth, that is, the voice of God, are only found in others.