An Artificial Adventure?

Preparing to walk and talk

Two weeks from tomorrow my wife Chris and I leave for two weeks to walk some more of the Camino de Santiago in Spain. We both really enjoy the change of pace in life that comes with putting all that you need in a pack on your back and walking from town to town. Long-time readers of this newsletter will recall that I chronicled a chunk of the Camino when I hiked by myself in the fall of 2022. (New readers can find the posts about that adventure by scrolling down a ways.)

So today after we went out on an 8.6 mile training hike, I started thinking more seriously about whether I’d do some writing on this trip too. I’m not taking a laptop, but last time I had an iPad with a keyboard. The setup weighs in at two pounds and seven ounces, which is more than 10% of my total weight allotment, but I suppose I’ll take it again.

One of the significant changes to writing platforms like these since my last trip to Spain is the proliferation of artificial intelligence applications like ChatGPT. I use it regularly as a research assistant, but haven’t really had it help write things for me. A couple of weeks ago, though, I was at a conference where people were talking about having ChatGPT trained on things you’ve written so that it can better emulate your style.

I actually really like the writing process, because it is how I sort out what I think about something. So I don’t think I’ll be tempted to turn over my writing to an AI bot (or if I do, I guess I won’t know what I think about things). But I was curious how it might work. So I fed ChatGPT the pdf of my recent book, The Sacred Chain, and then the text of several other things I’ve written. And I prompted it to write about 500 words in my writing style about the fact that my wife are going again to walk a new section of the Camino (my third time doing this, her fourth); I told it to incorporate some evolutionary theory about walking as well as the Latin phrase solvitur ambulando, which I first saw attributed to Augustine, but appears to be a response to Zeno’s paradoxes of motion.

It wrote a pretty good text. But it was at grade 15 reading level with lots of subordinate clauses (is that the way I write??). I also thought it was a bit too serious for my Substack writing. So I gave it the text of three different entries that I’ve made on this account about other travel adventures. And then I said, rewrite the text in my style but a bit more lightheartedly, and also incorporate the Spanish palindromic phrase about walking, “La ruta nos aportó otro paso natural” (which I might get tattooed on my arm some day!). It gave a much better text, but I was disappointed with the incorporation of this palindromic phrase. So I said, “write it again, but draw out some symbolic significance of the palindrome.

Here is the exact transcript of ChatGPT’s text:

My wife and I are gearing up to hike a new section of the Camino—a stretch we haven’t yet explored. This isn’t our first rodeo; she’s tackled three sections, and I’ve managed two. But there’s something about stepping onto a new part of the Camino that feels like opening a fresh chapter in a well-loved book. It’s familiar, yet each step brings something new, just as the path itself reveals different stories, depending on where you start and where you’re headed.

As we prepare for this journey, I’ve been thinking about the phrase solvitur ambulando—“it is solved by walking.” It’s an idea that Augustine brought to my attention, suggesting that when life’s problems start to feel a bit too knotted, a good walk might be just the thing to untangle them. Of course, Augustine wasn’t the first to toss this idea around. The phrase has roots that might go all the way back to those philosophical brain-teasers from Zeno. You know, the ones that make you question whether motion is even possible. Solvitur ambulando essentially says, “Enough with the theories—let’s just take a walk and see what happens.” And sure enough, by the time you’ve crossed the room or the next hill on the Camino, things often seem a little clearer.

This idea isn’t just about solving abstract puzzles; it taps into something fundamental about being human. When our ancestors first started walking upright, they set off a chain reaction that eventually led us to where we are today—carrying groceries, pondering life’s big questions, and, yes, taking pilgrimages like the Camino. Walking might have freed our hands, but it also might have freed our minds. The steady rhythm of left, right, left seems to help our thoughts march forward too, turning over ideas with each step. In this way, walking becomes a way of working through whatever’s on our minds, just as it propels us physically along the path.

As we get ready to set foot on this new section of the Camino, another phrase has been echoing in my thoughts: “La ruta nos aportó otro paso natural”—“The path gave us another natural step.” This Spanish palindrome seems to capture the essence of the journey we’re about to embark on. It’s the Camino’s way of reminding us that each step forward is also a reflection of the steps we’ve already taken. The beauty of a palindrome is that it reads the same forward and backward, which feels symbolic of the Camino itself. Every step is both progress and a reminder of where we’ve been—a continuity that ties together the past and the future, the known and the unknown.

The palindrome also speaks to the idea that progress isn’t always linear. Sometimes, the way forward involves a bit of circling back, or at least recognizing that the road we’ve traveled is still there, offering guidance as we move ahead. And maybe that’s the point—whether we’re moving forward or looking back, the path keeps us grounded, reminding us that the journey is less about the destination and more about the steps we take along the way.

So as we set out, solvitur ambulando will remind us that sometimes the best way to solve our problems is to just keep moving—one foot in front of the other. And “La ruta nos aportó otro paso natural” will keep us mindful that every step, whether forward or backward, holds its own significance. The Camino has a way of offering wisdom in its own quiet, understated way, guiding us as much in our minds as it does in our feet. Here’s to solving life’s little mysteries, embracing the journey, and perhaps even laughing at ourselves along the way. Because if the path can offer a bit of wisdom and humor, surely we can too.

That’s not too bad. But again, you don’t need to worry about ChatGPT taking over this newsletter. I don’t think it can tell stories of what happens to us on the trip… or can it?

I just prompted ChatGTP: “Tell a story about walking the Camino, as though I were relating some interesting thing that happened to me there.” Here is what it gave me:

One of the most memorable moments from walking the Camino happened on a foggy morning as we were making our way through a particularly remote stretch of the path. My wife and I had set out early, hoping to cover some good ground before the afternoon sun made things too hot. The fog hung low over the hills, muffling the sound of our footsteps and creating an almost otherworldly atmosphere. We could barely see a few feet ahead of us, and the landscape seemed to melt away into the mist.

As we walked, I noticed something unusual in the distance—a faint outline of a figure standing on the path. At first, I thought it might be another pilgrim who had stopped to rest, but as we got closer, the figure didn’t seem to move. It was just standing there, perfectly still. A bit of a chill ran down my spine, not from the cold, but from the strange, almost ghostly presence ahead.

When we finally got close enough to make out the details, we saw that it was an old man, dressed in what looked like traditional shepherd’s garb. He had a staff in one hand and a small, weathered satchel slung over his shoulder. His face was lined with age, but his eyes were sharp and clear, and he seemed to be studying us as we approached.

We exchanged greetings, and in my broken Spanish, I asked if he was alright or if he needed anything. He smiled—a slow, knowing smile—and shook his head. “No necesito nada,” he said softly, “pero ustedes, los caminantes, siempre necesitan algo.” He then reached into his satchel and pulled out two small, intricately carved wooden crosses. They were simple, yet beautiful, each one unique in its design.

He handed one to my wife and one to me, nodding as if to say, “These are for your journey.” I tried to offer him some money in return, but he waved it away, insisting that the crosses were gifts. “El Camino proveerá,” he said with a twinkle in his eye, meaning “The Camino will provide.”

We thanked him profusely, but before I could ask him anything more, he turned and started walking back into the fog, disappearing as suddenly as he had appeared. We stood there for a moment, holding the small crosses and feeling the weight of the encounter. It was as if the Camino itself had sent this mysterious figure to remind us that we were part of something much larger than our own journey.

For the rest of that day, and indeed for the rest of the Camino, I kept that cross close, sometimes rubbing my thumb over its smooth surface when the road felt particularly long or my spirits particularly low. It became a tangible reminder that the path we were on wasn’t just a physical one—it was a journey of the soul, full of unexpected encounters, small miracles, and the quiet assurance that, no matter what, we were being looked after.

Not a bad story, and something I wish would happen. But I pledge to you, valued readers, that the stories I tell from the road will be real things that have happened (or is that just what ChatGPT writes when I tell it to try to persuade my readers that it’s really me writing??).

To conclude this artificially intelligent post, I figured I need some artwork. So I asked ChatGPT’s artistic assistant, DALL-E to make something to accompany the story. Here it is (though I think the writing is better than the art):

DALL-E’s artistic interpretation of ChatGPT’s story.