Robots and the Psalms

I've never been one to sleep in. Even in college, when I stayed awake as late as my peers (though may have been dozing during every late night movie) I sprang out of bed with the sun. Ryan was even warned by college friends that this would be the case, and watch out, because she doesn't seem to notice that others don't share this communion with the sun. I was usually quiet, but would appreciate some company, in other words. Having newborns and babies and even toddlers wore away at this (once two college friends visiting our newborn twins were astonished to find me in bed at 11 am) but once we were all caught up on sleep, I returned to my sun up-sun down rhythm, more or less.

What does this have to do with robots or the psalms? Today Ryan and I were making coffee by 6 am and I was well into a NYT article on robotic teachers by 6:10. There are big dollars being spent to develop robots being designed to interact with children in such a way to teach them various things from social interactions to foreign languages to primary language. The catcher story is about an autistic child who sees a robot mimicking his behaviour. When the child withdraws, the robot draws him back by doing one of the behaviours he had exhibited. The boy sees the robot remembering his move, say, lifting a hand, and he responds. Having babysat for two autistic children, I appreciated the way this child was drawn in by the robot's reflective behavior. But the article goes on to show how robots are being programed to teach toddlers and babies vocabulary. The research shows -- gasp -- that the little ones were retaining 10-20 words after a robotic vocab session. Kids retain everything! Why wouldn't they from a robot? Robots are being "hired" as teacher assistants and the companies selling them are trying to get the cost down to less that 10K so they are affordable. Right now, they are close to entry wage for a real person assisting (24-34K). Maybe it is better than a video. These robots can change their tone of voice, their questions, their tactics, based on the students' responses. And the article admits that in many ways these robots are glorified toys (better than anything you can find at Brookstone). But using robots for teaching? Really?

A few hours (and pancakes, and arguments about clothing, and locating shoes) I was sitting on a wood pew next to a fidgeting child when the choir introduced the Psalm of the day: "Show me your ways, O Lord, and teach me your paths". Psalm 25, the teacher. Dietrich Bonhoeffer preached a sermon on just one verse from this Psalm. If I remember right it was the verse just following what the choir sang: "Lead me in your truth and teach me, for you are the God of my salvation; in you have I trusted all the day long". The student stands before the holy and asks to be led. There is no agenda or standard or requirement save for openness to the ways of God and willingness to trust, all the day long. I always feel a sense of intrusion when I read or pray this psalm. Who am I to hear the longing words of this person who leans so closely to God? It feels too intimate, and yet, I long to be in that place of trust and openness where I let God do the teaching and leading.

I used to play this verse over in my head as I ran around the lakes in Minneapolis. It had a sort of rhythm to it that matched my foot strikes, or even made them faster. The words rolled around, "truth, and teach me". The end of the verse was both a challenge, "in you I have trusted all the day long" and a promise, that trusting in God for the day, whatever it held, was an option. But it is the verse that the choir sang, "Show me your ways, O Lord, and teach me your paths" that made me hear what was nagging at me, but I could not name, as I read the article about the robot.

A glorified toy is fine -- there is a market for just about anything automated and interactive. But a robot that is programed to anticipate and respond is hardly a teacher. Teaching begins with trust. It begins where the psalmist begins in opening herself to God. There is something deeply lost when teaching becomes measurable, achievable rather than relational and compassionate. The psalmist goes on to ask God to remember God's compassion and love, to forgive the sins of her youth and to remember her as she stands now, a student, trusting in her teacher.

Maybe tomorrow I'll open to the Psalms with the sun, and save the robots for dozing off.