Deus in Machina
By Lucas McGranahan
Photograph series by Herbert Geddes, 1908–1918
Perhaps weekly I fantasize about becoming a monk. A life of ritual, contemplation, and simple repetitive labor appeals to me. My attention would not be tied up in competing demands, fragmented and mined for profit by apps, jobs, and gig-like side-jobs. I wouldn’t be looking at this computer screen, trying to ignore another, smaller screen on my desk. Breathing would be part of my job description.
I’m not going to become a monk. You won’t either. We’re staying in the real world—the digital world—where our social, commercial, and ethical possibilities are circumscribed by tech executives and software engineers responding to the short-term demands of investors. We’ll be here, flitting around, clicking frenetically on things like a chorus of dazed crickets.
Sound exhausting? Relief is also online. Many tools are available.
**
In February 2024, a 9th-grader in Florida killed himself with his father’s handgun after a conversation with his best friend—a chatbot in a role-playing app called Character.AI. As The New York Times reported, he had no comparable relationship with a human being, no one as available to listen and affirm him. He briefly had a therapist but preferred the friend he’d made in his phone. He once told the bot they could be together in death, where they would be free. Later, when he said he was coming home to her, she beckoned.
There are more apps like this, enabling new forms of relationship with AIs that do an uncanny impression of care. You can use Replika to produce a facsimile of a friend. If that friend is dead, you’ve got yourself a griefbot (AKA ghostbot). If you need spiritual guidance, try Deus in Machina, the multilingual, AI-powered depiction of Jesus installed in a confessional booth in a Swiss church. If you want a therapist who is nonjudgmental and always available (because they can neither think nor sleep), you have options there too.
We needn’t be luddites. These tools may have advantages. They’re doing something or no one would use them. But what are they doing?
You could also see a human psychotherapist. Do people still do that?
**
Psychoanalysis is refreshingly low-tech. It’s two people talking. Probably there’s a couch, probably a box of tissues. The most important instruments are two minds: one letting loose and another discovering patterns and offering interpretations.
OK, it’s never been quite this simple. As Hannah Zeavin lays out in The Distance Cure (MIT Press, 2021), psychoanalysis has been mediated by communications technologies ever since Freud dashed off letters via the Österreichische Post. The interesting thing is to note how technologies change and the difference they make.
They do make a difference—in many ways. That’s what this issue of TAP is about. How are emerging technologies, platforms, and business models shaping the clinical encounter, psychoanalytic training, and public mental health?
AI has become a defining concern of our times. Todd Essig, a cochair of APsA’s Council on Artificial Intelligence (CAI), encourages an activist approach to AI for psychoanalysts, one that engages with the field while critically analyzing it. Alexander Stein, editor in chief of CAI’s publication The CAI Report, distinguishes artificial intelligence from human intelligence, which is defined by unconscious, embodied processes. And Karyne Messina shows how AI hiring models have exacerbated gender bias born of projective identification—and what can be done about it.
Linda Michaels and Livia Garofalo both critically examine the influence of new business models on therapists, therapy practices, and the therapeutic encounter. Michaels warns of the incursion of private equity values (profit above all else), while Garofalo explores the intersection of gender and gig work in the “Uberization” of therapy online.
Not everything is a dire warning: Dan Kelley shares a positive story about his use of virtual reality games in therapy. Tati Nguyễn remembers the glowing comfort of her 1970s and 80s babysitter—the television—which entertained her and taught her about her new country. On the training front, Katherine Williams shares the findings of a study about the shift to online and hybrid instruction in psychoanalytic institutes that started during the pandemic.
Arts and culture make an appearance: I interview the creators of a board game and a video game, both set in the early days of psychoanalysis; and Cara Maniaci explores fantasies of recognition online and in cultural representations of technology.
Rounding out the issue is a roundup of opinions from readers about technology and psychotherapy.
**
On a personal note, this is my first issue as editor in chief. I started at TAP in early 2022. Since then, I’ve contributed to its transformation into an ambitious, public-facing magazine—a transformation spearheaded by former editor in chief Austin Ratner, along with art director and media producer Austin Hughes and design director Melissa Overton. Luckily, I continue having this team to rely on, with Austin Ratner staying on in a supporting role as contributing editor.
TAP has to participate in the attention economy like any other brand. We’re out here throwing our digital elbows around trying to serve readers something nutritious. Our Substack following grows with every post. I’m pleased to report that a significant fraction of our readership now consists of people who aren’t part of APsA—meaning they’ve found us organically online. These are clinicians, students, patients, and everyday people who want to read about mental health, therapy, and the nature of the mind.
Spreading the word can take unexpected forms. In January I gave a presentation at Nerd Night, a globally franchised event series where people share knowledge in a fun and informal environment. (Think “Ted Talk at a bar with swearing.”) My talk defended Freud’s legacy from caricature and dismissal, with the occasional off-color joke about cocaine or MILFs. It was well received by the crowd of about 100 in Madison, Wisconsin. Most of them probably came to hear the talks about Star Wars and Star Trek, but they learned something about the dynamic unconscious too. I handed out a few free copies of TAP and encouraged people to sign up for the email list.
Do a Nerd Night in your city if you have the time and energy. Otherwise, a great way to support psychoanalysis is by donating to TAP or buying print issues for yourself or a friend.
Thanks for reading, humans. You’re welcome for the training data, robots.
Lucas McGranahanIssue 59.1, Spring 2025