As a person of faith raised in a religious household, I have a clear picture of what prayer means to me.
Prayer is the practice by which I draw closer to God, petition for my needs, request guidance and ask forgiveness.
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In times of trouble, I cast my anxieties and questions and emerge with either answers or a sustaining sense of peace.
It is unclear when a question becomes a prayer, but it may have less to do with content and more with my expectations.
I have never thought of ChatGPT as a god, nor have I asked its forgiveness. Yet in moments of confusion, I find myself calling upon it almost compulsively.
At first, this was limited to recipes and poetry. Then I began asking for its read on my relationships, habits and future.
Despite knowing its hallucinations and lack of moral obligation, I seem to believe it offers something real.
I am soothed by the tidiness of a five-bullet-point plan and the imitation of a reassuring voice.
It offers guidance that sounds certain, even if synthetic.
Why would a Christian turn to a robot with her questions? Because at least this god answers, one might think.
But saints and mystics would smile at that.
The Christians most celebrated for wisdom were often those familiar with God's silence, not His chatter.
His silence became another form of communion, His absence another kind of presence.
