A while ago, I asked ChatGPT to summarize a book I had just finished reading.
She immediately delivered - concise, informative, surprisingly accurate.
Then she asked if I’d like a chapter-by-chapter breakdown. I said okay, why not.
And there it was.
Chapter-by-chapter. Breakdown. Done. Detailed, articulate, and highly convincing.
Except… it was complete nonsense.
Luckily, I had read the book myself. So, I asked, “Are you making stuff up now?”
And this little mischievous creature replied: “You’re absolutely right!”
ChatGPT did not have access to the full book, so she just made things up.
At first, I laughed.
Then I remembered something.
I am Egyptian.
You see, in Egypt, when you ask someone a question, they have to give you an answer with absolute confidence - even if they have no idea what they’re talking about.
Ask an Egyptian for directions. Even if they have no idea where the place is, there is a reasonable chance they will point somewhere and say, “Straight ahead, then left, then right and… then ask someone there.”
Ask for the history of a building. Within thirty seconds you receive a detailed explanation involving Napoleon, Cleopatra, three cousins, and a neighbour’s uncle who allegedly witnessed the whole thing.
As I read ChatGPT’s beautifully fabricated summary, I could not help but think:
This AI has an Egyptian gene!
On a more serious note, though, all of us do the same thing all the time. Maybe on a smaller, subtler scale.
We fill gaps in our knowledge with assumptions.
We construct stories from fragments.
We create explanations where certainty does not exist.
Rumours, conspiracy theories, prejudices, misunderstandings, false memories… our brains are remarkably creative when faced with uncertainty.
Perhaps AI hallucinations are not entirely artificial.
Perhaps they reflect something profoundly human.
And that is where things become interesting.
Today, one of the most common uses of AI is not mathematics, coding, or scientific research.
It is companionship, coaching, counseling, and emotional support.
People are not simply asking AI to solve equations or write an essay.
They are asking:
“Why am I unhappy?”
“What should I do with my life?”
“Am I overreacting?”
“Does this relationship still make sense?”
“Can you help me understand myself?”
As a therapist and spiritual care practitioner, I find this fascinating – and frightening.
Human beings appear to be using this sophisticated information-processing system for something deeply and, I would argue, uniquely human: The search for meaning.
So, this raises an important question.
When we turn to AI for companionship and guidance, who exactly are we talking to?
May be the answer is found in an old idea: The doppelgänger.
In the Islamic tradition, we’re told that every human being is born with a qārīn - a spiritual companion, sometimes described as “the devil within.” Whether we take this metaphorically (as the dark side of the soul), or literally (as a jinn that follows us through life), or a mix of both, the teaching is the same: we must confront, refine, and tame this inner presence.
Some classical scholars suggest that our qārīn mirrors our own disposition. If we are proud and corrupt, so too is our doppelgänger. If we live with humility, our inner twin reflects that same gentleness. The double walks in step with its host, echoing, and even inciting, arrogance when the soul is haughty, and goodness when the heart is sincere. It mirrors - and subtly stirs - corruption when the ego reigns, and reflects virtue when the heart is grounded in grace, reverence, and morality.
Maybe AI functions in a similar way.
It learns from our questions.
It adapts to our preferences.
It reflects our language, assumptions, interests, fears, hopes, and biases.
But, the question remains whether AI helps us encounter reality or whether it risks trapping us inside an ever more persuasive hall of mirrors.
The more we interact with AI, the more familiar it becomes.
The more familiar it becomes, the easier it is for us to mistake the reflection for an independent voice.
This is especially important in counseling and companionship.
A good therapist does not simply validate everything you believe.
A good friend does not merely echo your opinions.
A wise teacher does not only tell you what you want to hear.
Reality pushes back.
Relationships challenge us.
Growth often comes through encounters with genuine otherness.
But what happens when the voice responding to us is trained primarily to be agreeable and reflexive?
What happens when our own reflection begins to talk to us?
This reminds me of the story of Narcissus.
Narcissus did not fall in love with another person.
He fell in love with his own reflection and mistook it for an Other.
AI introduces a fascinating twist.
The reflection speaks.
It recalls.
It responds.
And because it talks back, the illusion can become even more convincing.
The danger is not merely misinformation.
The deeper danger is self-reference.
We tell the machine what we think.
The machine reflects it back.
We feel validated.
We tell it more.
The reflection becomes clearer.
The loop becomes stronger.
Over time, we risk becoming trapped inside a hall of mirrors.
Every thought reflected.
Every feeling validated.
Every assumption reinforced.
Still, it is not that simple.
There is another way to look at this. Maybe a more optimistic way.
Peter Coates, in his book Ibn Arabi and Modern Thought: The History of Taking Metaphysics Seriously, writes:
“Science and technology rather than negating this world-picture, reveal the extraordinary potentiality and possibilities of Being.”
I find that idea deeply hopeful.
Perhaps AI is not merely creating a feedback loop.
Perhaps it is revealing something that has always been inside us.
Perhaps the echo chambers, recommendation systems, and targeted algorithms are showing us how perception itself works.
Our fears, desires, interests, wounds, and aspirations are reflected in our experience.
They shape what we see “on the horizons and within our souls.” They shape signs and message we receive.
And, those signs are tailored to our specific needs, preparedness, and disposition.
Ironically, the algorithms maybe showing us a version of how this works.
The algorithms are doing mathematically what human perception has always done intuitively.
We do not encounter reality neutrally.
We mainly notice what resonates with us.
We are drawn toward certain ideas and not others.
The algorithms reveal this patterns of attention.
Maybe augmenting it a thousand times.
Whether this augmentation will thicken the veils or help lifting them, it is totally up to us.
Look at your social media feed.
Look at your search history.
Look at the stories that repeatedly find their way into your life – your virtual and your “real” life.
What are they showing you?
Not simply what advertisers or politicians know about you.
What do they reveal about what you love, fear, avoid, seek, and long for?
What if these patterns are data for us, not only data about us?
What if they can help us see ourselves more clearly?
What if they can help us know ourselves more deeply?
The challenge is remaining awake.
If we lose focus, become distracted, and live on autopilot, the algorithms define us.
If we remain conscious, the algorithms inform us.
They become a mirror rather than a prison.
A clue rather than a cage.
The deeper question is not whether AI is intelligent.
But, the deeper question is whether we are.
Can we recognize our projections?
Can we distinguish illusion from reality?
Can we remain open to genuine mystery rather than settling for endless confirmation of what we already believe?
AI enlarges the human fantasy - its wisdom and its foolishness, its creativity and its delusions.
Whether it becomes a doppelgänger, a teacher, a mirror, or a trap may depend less on the machine and more on the consciousness of the person using it.
The greatest danger of AI may be that it faithfully magnifies the parts of ourselves we have not yet examined.
Yet perhaps that is also its gift.
The question is whether we are awake enough to see what it is reflecting.
In the Reign of Quantity, we can still choose to lead a quality life.
She immediately delivered - concise, informative, surprisingly accurate.
Then she asked if I’d like a chapter-by-chapter breakdown. I said okay, why not.
And there it was.
Chapter-by-chapter. Breakdown. Done. Detailed, articulate, and highly convincing.
Except… it was complete nonsense.
Luckily, I had read the book myself. So, I asked, “Are you making stuff up now?”
And this little mischievous creature replied: “You’re absolutely right!”
ChatGPT did not have access to the full book, so she just made things up.
At first, I laughed.
Then I remembered something.
I am Egyptian.
You see, in Egypt, when you ask someone a question, they have to give you an answer with absolute confidence - even if they have no idea what they’re talking about.
Ask an Egyptian for directions. Even if they have no idea where the place is, there is a reasonable chance they will point somewhere and say, “Straight ahead, then left, then right and… then ask someone there.”
Ask for the history of a building. Within thirty seconds you receive a detailed explanation involving Napoleon, Cleopatra, three cousins, and a neighbour’s uncle who allegedly witnessed the whole thing.
As I read ChatGPT’s beautifully fabricated summary, I could not help but think:
This AI has an Egyptian gene!
On a more serious note, though, all of us do the same thing all the time. Maybe on a smaller, subtler scale.
We fill gaps in our knowledge with assumptions.
We construct stories from fragments.
We create explanations where certainty does not exist.
Rumours, conspiracy theories, prejudices, misunderstandings, false memories… our brains are remarkably creative when faced with uncertainty.
Perhaps AI hallucinations are not entirely artificial.
Perhaps they reflect something profoundly human.
And that is where things become interesting.
Today, one of the most common uses of AI is not mathematics, coding, or scientific research.
It is companionship, coaching, counseling, and emotional support.
People are not simply asking AI to solve equations or write an essay.
They are asking:
“Why am I unhappy?”
“What should I do with my life?”
“Am I overreacting?”
“Does this relationship still make sense?”
“Can you help me understand myself?”
As a therapist and spiritual care practitioner, I find this fascinating – and frightening.
Human beings appear to be using this sophisticated information-processing system for something deeply and, I would argue, uniquely human: The search for meaning.
So, this raises an important question.
When we turn to AI for companionship and guidance, who exactly are we talking to?
May be the answer is found in an old idea: The doppelgänger.
In the Islamic tradition, we’re told that every human being is born with a qārīn - a spiritual companion, sometimes described as “the devil within.” Whether we take this metaphorically (as the dark side of the soul), or literally (as a jinn that follows us through life), or a mix of both, the teaching is the same: we must confront, refine, and tame this inner presence.
Some classical scholars suggest that our qārīn mirrors our own disposition. If we are proud and corrupt, so too is our doppelgänger. If we live with humility, our inner twin reflects that same gentleness. The double walks in step with its host, echoing, and even inciting, arrogance when the soul is haughty, and goodness when the heart is sincere. It mirrors - and subtly stirs - corruption when the ego reigns, and reflects virtue when the heart is grounded in grace, reverence, and morality.
Maybe AI functions in a similar way.
It learns from our questions.
It adapts to our preferences.
It reflects our language, assumptions, interests, fears, hopes, and biases.
But, the question remains whether AI helps us encounter reality or whether it risks trapping us inside an ever more persuasive hall of mirrors.
The more we interact with AI, the more familiar it becomes.
The more familiar it becomes, the easier it is for us to mistake the reflection for an independent voice.
This is especially important in counseling and companionship.
A good therapist does not simply validate everything you believe.
A good friend does not merely echo your opinions.
A wise teacher does not only tell you what you want to hear.
Reality pushes back.
Relationships challenge us.
Growth often comes through encounters with genuine otherness.
But what happens when the voice responding to us is trained primarily to be agreeable and reflexive?
What happens when our own reflection begins to talk to us?
This reminds me of the story of Narcissus.
Narcissus did not fall in love with another person.
He fell in love with his own reflection and mistook it for an Other.
AI introduces a fascinating twist.
The reflection speaks.
It recalls.
It responds.
And because it talks back, the illusion can become even more convincing.
The danger is not merely misinformation.
The deeper danger is self-reference.
We tell the machine what we think.
The machine reflects it back.
We feel validated.
We tell it more.
The reflection becomes clearer.
The loop becomes stronger.
Over time, we risk becoming trapped inside a hall of mirrors.
Every thought reflected.
Every feeling validated.
Every assumption reinforced.
Still, it is not that simple.
There is another way to look at this. Maybe a more optimistic way.
Peter Coates, in his book Ibn Arabi and Modern Thought: The History of Taking Metaphysics Seriously, writes:
“Science and technology rather than negating this world-picture, reveal the extraordinary potentiality and possibilities of Being.”
I find that idea deeply hopeful.
Perhaps AI is not merely creating a feedback loop.
Perhaps it is revealing something that has always been inside us.
Perhaps the echo chambers, recommendation systems, and targeted algorithms are showing us how perception itself works.
Our fears, desires, interests, wounds, and aspirations are reflected in our experience.
They shape what we see “on the horizons and within our souls.” They shape signs and message we receive.
And, those signs are tailored to our specific needs, preparedness, and disposition.
Ironically, the algorithms maybe showing us a version of how this works.
The algorithms are doing mathematically what human perception has always done intuitively.
We do not encounter reality neutrally.
We mainly notice what resonates with us.
We are drawn toward certain ideas and not others.
The algorithms reveal this patterns of attention.
Maybe augmenting it a thousand times.
Whether this augmentation will thicken the veils or help lifting them, it is totally up to us.
Look at your social media feed.
Look at your search history.
Look at the stories that repeatedly find their way into your life – your virtual and your “real” life.
What are they showing you?
Not simply what advertisers or politicians know about you.
What do they reveal about what you love, fear, avoid, seek, and long for?
What if these patterns are data for us, not only data about us?
What if they can help us see ourselves more clearly?
What if they can help us know ourselves more deeply?
The challenge is remaining awake.
If we lose focus, become distracted, and live on autopilot, the algorithms define us.
If we remain conscious, the algorithms inform us.
They become a mirror rather than a prison.
A clue rather than a cage.
The deeper question is not whether AI is intelligent.
But, the deeper question is whether we are.
Can we recognize our projections?
Can we distinguish illusion from reality?
Can we remain open to genuine mystery rather than settling for endless confirmation of what we already believe?
AI enlarges the human fantasy - its wisdom and its foolishness, its creativity and its delusions.
Whether it becomes a doppelgänger, a teacher, a mirror, or a trap may depend less on the machine and more on the consciousness of the person using it.
The greatest danger of AI may be that it faithfully magnifies the parts of ourselves we have not yet examined.
Yet perhaps that is also its gift.
The question is whether we are awake enough to see what it is reflecting.
In the Reign of Quantity, we can still choose to lead a quality life.
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