II’m afraid these men will only slow me down,” says a confident Benedict Cumberbatch as the godfather of computing, Alan Turing. A 2014 biopic, The game of imitations, depicts Turing as a solitary, world-changing genius who reluctantly accepts help from less intelligent colleagues who would only threaten his effectiveness and from whom he must hide secrets that threaten his clearance, his career, and his life. It turns out he’ll need his friends’ help to keep his job, and together they crack the Nazis’ Enigma code and create the prototypical model of a computer, the Turing machine (it’s the story, not a spoiler!).
One of Turing’s many contributions to the development of computational intelligence was the Turing test, a method designed to probe a machine’s ability to display intelligent behavior that a human observer might mistake for human behavior. Needless to say, we have come a long way in this area. By (successfully) designing computers that match and exceed many aspects of our own cognitive faculties, we find ourselves in a chaotic battlefield where grim apocalyptic AI jeremiads and utopian techno-optimist manifestos vie for control. soul of humanity.
These rapid developments are driven by a powerful metaphor: the human mind as computer. And the more we use this metaphor, the more we come to believe it. And yet, as this mindset has seeped into our collective unconscious, it faces more and more resistance.
Consider philosopher and cognitive scientist Tim van Gelder, author of 1995 test “What could cognition be, if not calculation? » In it he suggests that the Turing machine (a computer model) is less useful for modeling human cognition than what he calls a “dynamic system”. Such a system constantly adapts to an ever-changing environment, reacting and adjusting in an automatic give-and-take relationship, whereas a Turing machine is only designed to solve a specific equation.
In other words, our brains are constantly growing and adapting to our world; they are not machines programmed with a defined algorithm for a specific outcome.
Giving shape to the intangible
In his latest book, You are a tree: and other metaphors to nourish life, thought and prayer, writer Joy Marie Clarkson explores the metaphors we inhabit in our daily lives. In our rush to adopt and live in powerful metaphors, we can easily forget that metaphors are, by definition, incomplete approximations. As Clarkson explains in his introduction: “This is why the French philosopher Paul Ricoeur proposes what might be described as a theory of the tension of metaphor… between literal and metaphorical interpretation. By noticing where the metaphor ends, we are forced to pay more attention to why the thing is not actually what we are describing.
Clarkson exemplifies a new generation of Substack writers and thinkers who have gained an audience by sharing their thoughts as they happen, blending journal-style observations with scholarly notes tied to research and writing projects. Reading his book is more like meeting an old friend over coffee than sitting at the feet of a distant and inaccessible sage.
Although van Gelder and Clarkson find common ground in their resistance to the “human as computer” metaphor, the similarities end there. Van Gelder writes in a dense mathematical style (more power to you if that’s your thing) and always uses a machine-based metaphor to describe human thinking. Clarkson, meanwhile, is a theology and literature specialist at King’s College London, and her words flow from a passion for poetry, literature, history and the Bible, revealing a whimsical, fun spirit and openness to daily wonders. She sticks to more agricultural and naturalistic metaphors, arguing that computers, “as a systematic metaphor for human flourishing”, are “incomplete and unforgiving”.
As the title of his book suggests, Clarkson believes that you are less like a computer (designed to operate with perfect efficiency) and more like a tree in a forest. Trees, much like Turing and his peers, need the roots of surrounding trees to help them thrive amid seasons of poverty and abundance.
You are a tree begins with a compelling reintroduction to the concept of metaphors, revealing how subtly they can shape us. Metaphors are more than just another poetic tool in a person’s flowery language kit: they can generate cathartic feelings. aha moments of self-understanding by giving tangible form to intangible and inexpressible feelings or ideas.
Clarkson describes how, for most of her life, she was forced to move from place to place, leaving her feeling like a potted plant whose roots can only go so deep. As she remembers, coming across this metaphor of the potted plant “pained me but also satisfied”. A good metaphor is liberating because it allows us to “talk about our experiences” and “give those things shape so we can look at them, talk about them, show them to other people so they can be seen, perhaps even understood.” .” Through metaphors we can know and be known.
However, bad metaphors can be dangerous. Unhelpful comparisons are not only conceptually unclear: they can lead us to attribute misleading, even dehumanizing, traits to ourselves and others. Clarkson points out that the humans-as-computers metaphor places the highest value on productivity, which can imply that less productive people are broken or expired, and therefore more disposable. This metaphor says: If you can’t perform as well, you are less valuable.
Metaphors are therefore not neutral. Whether we choose them consciously or absorb them unconsciously, they have a subtle but powerful influence on our lives, and wrestling with them can play a vital role in our individual journeys of spiritual formation.
Having established the flawed nature of humanity’s mechanistic metaphors, Clarkson reserves most of his chapters for elaborating a better, richer set of metaphors (not to mention metaphors within metaphors). In a patient and pleasantly sinuous manner, she traces their appearances in Scripture, literature and daily life. Clarkson further helps readers think with examples and recommendations from poems, paintings, films, songs, and even architecture.
The wisdom of clichés
You are a tree is an enlightening guide to the metaphors we use for God and our own lives, and it will show you how to meditate on a metaphor and let its deeper meanings speak. A testament to Clarkson’s depth and insight comes from the fact that many of the metaphors she addresses – “wisdom is light”, for example, or “life is a journey” – explore expressions you’ve probably heard countless times before, to the point of seeming cliché. What more could we add? Yet Clarkson constantly breathes new life into language that may seem mundane at first glance.
Due to the book’s meditative approach and sometimes winding path, some parts will likely prove more interesting than others, depending on how certain metaphors resonate with certain readers. When specific sections don’t resonate, the metaphors can start to seem a little monotonous and the fluid structure of the chapters can start to seem unclear. This is one reason why I would recommend reading the book in shorter increments (one to two sittings per chapter) rather than reading it cover to cover. For a relatively short book, You are a tree covers a lot of ground, almost like a survey course for undergraduates. It is, however, full of information, and if you Pay attention (as she often reminds us), you should come away with a wealth of profound and potentially game-changing knowledge.
In the final chapter, Clarkson lays out the metaphor of “life is a journey,” acknowledging the delicate balancing act she faces even when writing about such mundane expressions. As she says: “I realize that I am dangerously close to becoming a ridiculous inspiration board in a home and garden store. Life is not about the destination, but about the journey,” after which she half-jokingly philosophizes: “But what is life and what is a journey? By truly diving into these questions, Clarkson tears away the veil of excessive familiarity that so often obscures the simplest yet most profound truths.
In reflecting on why life is truly a journey, Clarkson evokes Augustine’s sense of incessant longing or, in his words, “what German existentialists might call Unheimlichkeitradical homelessness,” an idea she develops with references to Camus, Heidegger, James KA Smith and The Lord of the Rings. , among others. As a child of a third culture – someone with a complicated relationship with the concepts of home and belonging – this resonated enormously. This is something I will explore much more in my own writing. And I’m convinced that there will be at least one image or idea, and probably many more, that will resonate similarly with you.
Raed Gilliam is a writer, filmmaker and associate producer for CT Media.
