Month: May 2026

No Context, No Citation – Lamentations of an Old Meathead

I’ve written often about AI in the last year and vowed not to use it, at least when I know it’s there and when I have a choice.  Little did I realize that, whether I used it or not, it was using me.

But let me back up.  The old lady has another (related) complaint.  Authors – both online and in print – have been getting very sloppy about citing their sources.  I am not talking about plagiarism here.    I am talking about when someone puts quotes around a sentence, perhaps even informs us that these are the words of  Chesterton or the like, but gives us no information as to where the quote came from, and therefore 1) we have no context and 2) have no easy way to get back to the source.  I try to provide citations for things I quote in the blog.  I hope my readers find it useful; it is a good exercise for me and keeps me on the straight and narrow.

I was trained academically to treat the printed word as if it were holy.  It was pounded into me that all references, quotes, paraphrasing needed exact citations.  At the end of writing my dissertation, I spent weeks in the library checking my sources, correcting the footnotes, and making sure that any ideas that were not strictly my own got appropriate recognition.  It was a worthwhile exercise, because I could not only check the citation (down to the page and the year of publication) but also the context – had I used the quote in the sense that it was written, that it was intended?

But now I am often frustrated by blogs, articles, books (after 1990 or so) in this regard.  Google used to help.  With a long quote, I could put it into the search engine and sometimes find out where it originally occurred. But this is less and less the case.  What I usually get these days are 1) an AI summary of what the quote is about, as if I couldn’t comprehend it without help and 2) a list of site after site where the quote is used, still lacking a citation for it is source.  This is particularly true of pithy quotes that are much used, usually for “inspiration” of one type or another.  Such quotes are wonderful, but they are like 30 second ads – and they bounce off us in the same way.  They become meaningless out of context.

Worse, some quotes are taken out of context for an ulterior motive.  Easy to do. We have all had it happen to us – your child picks up the stupidest phrase you said in your lecture on keeping his room clean – and turns it back on you. Such are the uses of Bible verses and snippets from Ronald Reagan these days.

This whining about correct attributions is a prelude to something that I discovered about my own work lately.  I was  doing a search on something to do with Spinoza (one of my favorites as my readers are aware), and the AI result (which Google puts front and center, steering us all away from more original results) came back with a close paraphrase of a blog I had published on the same subject.  At the end was a very tiny tag which would take you back to my blog, but why would anyone click on it when AI had summarized it so nicely?  As I entered more topics that I had written on, I found that sometimes AI had even turned them into bullet points!  Thank you AI for providing CliffsNotes for my blog!

Do you remember CliffsNotes?  For my generation of high school students it was a way of cheating, of avoiding reading Great Expectations or whatever work of literature was assigned.  It is no way to learn, but I can’t help thinking we are living in a world of CliffsNotes, where work can be simplified, stupefied, taken out of context – stolen in the interest of speed, ease, and propaganda.  And there is no recourse.

So, thanks for listening to my rant.  I make no money from my writing and have never tried to do so.  The blog, stories, bibliographies, novels – all are there for anyone interested.  Lewis Hyde wrote a wonderful book a number of years ago (The Gift) about the art of sharing, and it is in that spirit I post my blog.   But I do feel sorry for authors, composers, and artists who are dependent on intellectual property rights, who need sales, hits on their website, recognition and acknowledgement.  AI seems intent on summarizing the world for us.  Think about that.  It is hard enough to figure out what life is all about without battling a digital and capitalist machine that is trying to usurp our prerogatives and turn our lives into comforting but meaningless memes.

Sunday’s NYTimes had an article about human brains as “dumb meat computers” – I guess the quote is from Elon Musk originally: “We are all dumb meat computers compared to digital superintelligence.”  It made me think of Descartes, who thought animals were machines and what made humans superior was that they had something more – a soul, for want of a better word.  To Descartes, it was degrading to think of humans as simply mechanical systems.   I also thought of Pico della Mirandola’s “Oration on the Dignity of Man”: it is a long way from upholding the dignity of human life (“There is nothing to be seen more marvelous than man”) to describing ourselves as “dumb meat computers.”  Meatheads.  Think about it.

We baby-boomers are a Faustian generation.  No generation has ever experienced the technological change that we have – from radio to TV to VCR to PC to CD to e-retail to replacement hips and knees.  We were vaccinated, entertained, and relieved from strenuous work in a way never seen by previous generations.  Technology has fixed our teeth, our eyes, our ears and our mood swings.  We were able to easily access ideas from all over and spread our own ideas.  But it was not free.  And it feels very much like the Devil is determined to get his due.

For a story about the limits of technology, you might try my “Two New Apps.”  Or you could ask AI to summarize it for you!

 

“No More Dying Then” – Resurrections of All Kinds

 

Spring is full of resurrections.  We watch trees come back to life and flowers peek through the dead leaves.  Spring brings Easter, of course, with its stories and promises of resurrection.  This Easter, I reread D.H. Lawrence’s novella, The Man Who Died, an alternate spin on the empty tomb, a lovely counter-tale about the missing body of Jesus.  In its way, it is as sacramental as the Biblical version.  Lawrence’s Jesus lies in a farmer’s yard, healing and thinking about his second chance at life, about the trap of language (“The Word is the midge that bites at evening”), and about the release of being reborn (“How good it is to have fulfilled my mission, and be beyond it.  Now I can be alone, and leave all things to themselves, and the fig-tree may be barren if it will, and the rich may be rich”).  As Jesus hides in the farmyard, he befriends a feisty cock (rooster) that throbs with life – and he heads out for his next chapter with the cock under his arm.  (A little symbolism there!)  Another kind of resurrection.

And there are resurrections closer to home.  After the close call of a cardiac arrest this winter, my husband has taken to calling this his “bonus time.”  Unlike many heart attack victims, he has not seemed to suffer depression, but rather seems to bask in this resurrection time with gratitude.  One more spring.  His appreciation of life has rubbed off on me.

Of course, resurrection does not always happen.  Our granddaughter had the hard experience this year of working over the body of a fellow choir member when he fell beside her as they processed down the aisle. She had been trained in CPR, and if he had survived it might have been a wonderful experience for her.  As it happened, he did not and the death was very hard to process.  But isn’t that why resurrections are so joyful – because they might not have happened?

There are many kinds of resurrections.  In his autobiography, G. K. Chesterton said that he became a Roman Catholic because he adored the rites of confession, penitence, and the washing away of sin, a weekly process for the resurrection of the soul:

Well, when a Catholic comes from Confession, he does truly, by definition, step out again into that dawn of his own beginning ….  He believes that in that dim corner, and in that brief ritual, God has really remade him in his own image.  He is now a new experiment of the Creator.  He is as much a new experiment as he was when he was really only five years old…. He may be grey and gouty; but he is only five minutes old.

That last bit is lovely with the vision of an oldster facing the world anew, feisty as a young lamb.

Shakespeare, as usual, has his own take on resurrection and immortality.  We think of his sonnets as love letters, but there are a very few that tackle other challenges of life.  I think most often in this regard of Sonnett 146, one of my favorites:

Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
[Fooled by] these rebel powers that thee array,
Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth,
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?
Why so large cost, having so short a lease,
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend?
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,
Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body’s end?
Then soul, live thou upon thy servant’s loss
And let that pine to aggravate thy store;
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;
Within be fed, without be rich no more.

So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,
And, Death once dead, there’s no more dying then.

I like Shakespeare’s form of “resurrection” because it is an awakening to a new way of life, that not only frees us from the hold of the body and other earthly possessions, but simultaneously frees us from fear of death.  The imperative, “Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross,” could be a touchstone for one’s entire life! I love the way the final couplet takes a sharp turn from fear of death (“that feeds on men”) to a kind of immortality where death has no sting (“no more dying then”).  I might note that there was an error in the second line of the original printing of this poem, so we are left to guess what the Bard meant to say.  You will see many versions out there, but I prefer this one.

So, may we all have a resurrection of sorts this spring.  May we value properly our “hours of dross” and wash away our sins and cares.  Do you remember, as Chesterton seems to, what it felt like to be five years old in a field full of daisies and dandelions?

For perhaps real resurrection – enlightenment, peace, whatever you want to call it – comes not from rising from the dead, but from escaping from the fear of death and all the death-like things – past mistakes, regrets, losses and future fears of all kinds.   Old age brings us both closer to the brink and possibly closer to acceptance. Once we get past our terror of the end, we are the (resurrected) fearless five-year-old again.  May it be so for you.

For other kinds of resurrection, you might try my tales, “Hallelujah, It’s a Mouse” or “A Balm in Gilead.”