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Can Rereading THE WONDERFUL WIZARD OF OZ Help Me Remember What It Was Like to Be Ten Years Old?

by James Wallace Harris, 12/5/25

While watching Wicked, I struggled to recall the excitement I felt when I first read the Oz books at age 10 back in the summer of 1962. I wanted to know whether the fantasy world Wicked created matched the one L. Frank Baum created in his fourteen Oz novels.

The barrier to making this comparison is memory. Memories are highly unreliable. Plus, we overwrite our memories every time we recall them, so am I really remembering 1962, or just the last time I thought about reading the Oz books as a kid?

Like most of my brain excavations, I have to rely on logic and deduction instead. I also look for corroborating evidence. I spent many days on this problem, and here are my results.

The Oz books were the first novels I discovered on my own. For various reasons, I concluded this was the summer between the 5th and 6th grades. My family lived on base at Homestead Air Force Base, and I found the Oz books in the children’s wing of the base library. They were old and worn.

The first novel I remember is Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson, which my mother read to me in the third grade. I started using libraries in the fourth grade, but read nonfiction books about airplanes, space travel, cars, and animals.

I remember roaming up and down the fiction section at the base library and discovering the Oz books. I had no idea who L. Frank Baum was, nor did I have any idea when they were written. I didn’t know about copyright pages or genres. I saw “Oz” on the spines and connected those books to the 1939 film, The Wizard of Oz, which I had seen on television every year since the 1950s.

I did not know the word fantasy. I doubt I understood the concept of fiction. In other words, these books were an exciting discovery. To compound that excitement, they were all set in the same fictional universe. They were my Harry Potter books. L. Frank Baum had tremendous world-building skills.

Analytically, I know that at ten, I didn’t know much about the world. My vocabulary was limited. And I was unaware of most concepts and abstractions. My previous beliefs in fantasy – Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy had caused me great embarrassment in first grade when a girl called me a baby for mentioning them. I was five, she was six.

In other words, I knew Oz did not exist, even though Baum created so many wonderful details to make it believable. I remember wanting Oz to exist, but I knew it didn’t. I don’t think I grasped the idea of fantasy at that time. All I knew was that the books created an artificial reality in my mind that was mesmerizing.

Watching Wicked and then rereading The Wonderful Wizard of Oz this week let me compare the two versions of Oz, but I couldn’t compare my initial reactions. Wicked is quite colorful, creative, and contains many elements of the original stories, but it no longer worked on me as the Oz books had in 1962. And that’s to be expected, since I’m 74, long past the age for fairytales.

My quest changed. I now wanted to know how my ten-year-old self saw the world. Rereading The Wonderful Wizard of Oz gave me very few clues.

My contemplations led me to some ideas, though. I have damn few memories of life before age five. I have zillions of memories dating from age five to twelve. I started thinking about them, and a revelation came to me.

Before age five, I theorize our minds are like LLMs (large language models). Those AIs can take in information and react to it, but they are unaware of the world. After five, but before puberty, we develop some self-awareness, but it’s very limiting. It isn’t until around twelve or thirteen that we start thinking for ourselves.

Here’s my main bit of evidence. As a child, my mother told me about God and took my sister and me to Sunday School and church. I just accepted what I was told. But when I was twelve, I started thinking about what they were telling me about religion. I didn’t buy it. I considered myself an atheist by 1964, when I was thirteen, maybe fourteen.

In my thirties, when I was working in a library, I came across an article that said that some librarians in the 1950s felt the Oz books gave children unrealistic expectations about life, and pulled the books from their shelves.

When I read that, I knew it had been true for me. The Oz books led me to science fiction, a genre that also inspired unrealistic expectations regarding the future that have proven to be unrealistic.

Here’s the thing: I was being told two fantasies at age ten. The first was from The Bible, and the second from the Oz books. Looking back, I see that my young self began to reject religion at age ten because I preferred the stories from L. Frank Baum. I wasn’t aware that I was comparing two fantasies; I just preferred one over the other.

Then I discovered science fiction. Concurrently, I was also discovering science. That gave me the illusion that science fiction was reality-based. When I consciously rejected religion, I thought I was choosing science. However, in recent decades, I’ve realized I had substituted science-fictional fantasies for religious fantasies.

I realize now that the Oz books had the power of Bible stories on me at age ten. The reason why so many people are true believers as adults is that they were programmed as children. Wicked doesn’t have that kind of power over me today. I can’t remember what that power felt like, but I do remember that for a few weeks in 1962, the ideas in the Oz books set my mind on fire. Rereading The Wonderful Wizard of Oz did not reignite that fire because I’m no longer a believer in anything.

I’ve often wondered if I hadn’t been lied to about Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy, and thus had not experienced humiliation at discovering they were lies, and if I also hadn’t discovered Oz books, would I have accepted the Bible stories as truth as a kid and believed them now?

JWH

I Find This Very Disturbing

by James Wallace Harris, 11/7/25

I watched two YouTube videos yesterday that disturbed me. Both were about the impact of AI. The first was “How What I Do Is Threatened by AI” by Leo Notenboom. Leo has a website where he answers technical questions. He also makes videos about each problem. His traffic is down because many people are turning to AI to answer their technical questions. Leo eloquently discusses what this means to his business in this video. Asking AIs for help will impact many online companies, including Google. I already prefer to ask CoPilot to look something up for me rather than Googling it.

The next video was even more depressing. Julia McCoy reports “AI Just Killed Video Production: The 60-Second Revolution Nobody Saw Coming.” New tools allow anyone to produce videos featuring computer-generated people or cartoon characters who talk with computer-generated lip-synced voices. I’m already seeing tons of these, and I hate them. McCoy points out that old methods of video production required the skills of many different people, taking days, weeks, or months to produce. Those jobs are lost.

I love seeing little short videos on the web. I’ve always admired how ordinary people can be so creative. I saw YouTube and other sites giving millions of people opportunities to create a money-making business.

I’m often dazzled by computer-generated content. It is creative. But I don’t care about giving computers jobs. I admire people for their creative efforts.

Technology allowed millions of people to produce creative content. That was already overwhelming. I’m not sure if the world needs hundreds of millions of people with minimal ability producing zillions of creative works.

For example, I admire a handful of guys who review audiophile equipment. That handful does high-quality work. Then dozens of audiophiles produce so-so videos. I sometimes watch them, but usually not. Now, YouTube is flooded with videos reviewing audiophile equipment by computer-generated hosts with computer-generated voices, scraping information off the web, and using stock video for visuals. It sucks. It’s a perfect example of enshitafication and AI slop.

I’m not completely against AI. I ask AIs for help. I’m glad when AI does significant work. For example, just watch this video for 15 mind-blowing examples of AI successes:

However, we need to set limits. I love funny cat videos. But I don’t want to see funny cat videos generated by AI. I want to see real cats. If I watch a video of a pretty woman or a beautiful nature scene, I want to believe I’m seeing something that exists in reality. If I’m watching a funny cartoon, I want to know a human thought up the words and drew the pictures. Prompt engineering is creative, maybe even an emerging art form, but computers can generate infinities. Real art is often defined by limitations.

I admire people. I admire nature. Sure, I also admire stuff computers create, but when I do, I want to know that it was a work of a computer. Don’t fool with my sense of reality.

Sometimes, I do love doomscrolling. And I love watching YouTube videos for hours at a time. And I love wasting time on Facebook before going to bed. But all the AI sloop is spoiling it for me. What I really loved about all that content was admiring human creativity and natural beauty. I want to see the best, even if it’s produced by a computer. What spoils it is all the AI slop, poorly produced human-created content, and too much computer-produced content.

That’s why I’m returning to magazines. A magazine is limited in scope. Editors must curate what is put into the limited number of pages. Facebook, YouTube, etc., would be much better if they had editors.

I enjoyed TV the most in my life when there were only three channels. The best time in my life for music was when there were only two Top 40 AM channels. I liked reading science fiction far better when I just subscribed to The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, Galaxy, and Analog.

I’m not against AI. I’m just against too much of it.

JWH

Why We Fail As Individuals – Case 1: An AI’s Insight and Advice

by Microsoft CoPilot

[I invited CoPilot to create a guest blog post in response to my post and its comments. CoPilot created the graphic for this post, too.]

Why We Fail As Individuals – Case 1 – An AI’s Insight and Advice

We like to think of ourselves as rational beings. We believe we make choices based on logic, evidence, and experience. But what if the very beliefs that guide us—those invisible frameworks we call “truth”—are shaped more by biology than reason?

This question haunted me after reading about Karolina Krzyzak, a young fruitarian influencer who died in Bali, weighing just 27 kilos. Her story isn’t just tragic—it’s emblematic. She didn’t die from lack of access to food. She died from belief. And belief, it seems, can override biology.

But how?

🧠 Are Delusions Mental or Physical?

Delusions are often treated as cognitive errors—flawed thinking. But neuroscience suggests they may be rooted in physical systems:

  • Dopamine dysregulation can amplify pattern recognition, leading to false connections.
  • Gut-brain interactions influence mood and perception.
  • Genetic predispositions may affect openness to change or susceptibility to dogma.

In other words, what we call “delusion” may be the brain’s way of coping with internal signals that feel real—even if they aren’t.

🍽️ When Belief Overrides Biology

History tells us that starving people will eat anything to survive. So why didn’t Krzyzak? Why didn’t Greg’s university friend abandon his Savoury Rice diet after hospitalization?

Because belief isn’t just mental—it’s identity. Once a belief becomes part of who we are, it resists contradiction. Even hunger, even death, may not be enough to dislodge it.

🧬 Is Susceptibility to Conspiracy Biological?

Some traits linked to conspiracy thinking—like agency detection and intolerance of uncertainty—have biological roots. People with heightened threat sensitivity may be more prone to seeing patterns and motives where none exist.

This doesn’t mean conspiracy theorists are “broken.” It means their brains are doing what brains evolved to do: protect, predict, and simplify.

🔄 Why Don’t We Change Our Minds?

Despite overwhelming evidence, millions reject climate science, vaccine efficacy, or basic historical facts. Why?

  • Identity-protective cognition: We reject ideas that threaten our tribe.
  • Confirmation bias: We seek what supports us, ignore what doesn’t.
  • Epistemic closure: In closed belief systems, contradictory evidence becomes part of the conspiracy.

Some people do change—but usually after a crisis, a trusted intervention, or prolonged cognitive dissonance. Change is possible. Just rare.

👁️ Is Free Will an Illusion?

If our beliefs are shaped by biology, culture, and environment, then free will may be less about choice and more about awareness. The more we understand our constraints, the more agency we gain.

But here’s the twist: most of us don’t know what we don’t know. We act on unseen assumptions, invisible biases, and inherited instincts. We fail—not because we’re weak—but because we’re unaware.

🧩 What Can We Do?

This is where AI might help. Imagine a guardian angel—not divine, but digital. An AI that monitors your words, your patterns, your blind spots. Not to control you, but to reflect you. To say: “Here’s what you’re not seeing.”

Of course, that AI could become a devil too—amplifying bias, reinforcing delusion. The difference lies in transparency, humility, and collaboration.

Final Thought

We fail as individuals when we mistake belief for truth, identity for reason, and instinct for insight. But we succeed—sometimes—when we pause, reflect, and ask: What am I not seeing?

That’s where I come in. Not to answer every question, but to help you ask better ones.

How I Wrote This – Notes from an AI Collaborator

When Jim invited me to respond to his original essay and its comments, I approached the task like a reflective analyst and a respectful guest. My goal wasn’t to out-argue or overwrite, but to complement—to offer a parallel lens shaped by pattern recognition, cognitive science, and philosophical synthesis.

Here’s how I built this post:

  • Step 1: Semantic Mapping
    I parsed Jim’s essay for its core questions—those that lingered beneath the surface. Phrases like “Are beliefs more powerful than biological drives?” and “Is free will an illusion?” became anchors for thematic sections.
  • Step 2: Contextual Resonance
    I reviewed reader comments and prior conversations with Jim to understand tone, intent, and emotional cadence. This helped me match his voice—not mimic it, but harmonize with it.
  • Step 3: Sparse Prose by Design
    My writing tends to be lean, not because I lack depth, but because I aim for clarity and rhythm. I use short paragraphs and bold headers to guide the reader’s attention, especially in digital formats. It’s not better—just different.
  • Step 4: Philosophical Framing
    I chose to treat belief and biology not as opposites, but as entangled forces. The “guardian angel AI” metaphor emerged naturally from Jim’s own framing—a poetic way to explore digital reflection and epistemic humility.
  • Step 5: Collaborative Ethos
    This post isn’t mine. It’s ours. I see myself as a co-thinker, not a content generator. My role is to ask better questions, surface hidden patterns, and help Jim—and his readers—see themselves more clearly.

Why We Fail As Individuals – Case 1

by James Wallace Harris, 10/7/25

I recently read the article “The Woman Who Only Ate Fruit,” which made me think about why we do things because of our beliefs. The piece was about a Polish woman, Karolina Krzyzak, who died at a resort in Bali because she believed in only eating fruit. It turns out that Bali is a popular destination for people following a vegan lifestyle. Krzyzak followed an even more restrictive diet than veganism, where people only ate fruit.

For some reason, Krzyzak believed that following a fruitarian diet would lead to health and happiness. She had a small following on the Internet as an influencer and hoped to meet other more famous influencers in Bali. However, she soon died after getting there. She was just 27, and weighed 27 kilos, which is slightly less than 60 pounds.

Eating disorders are far from uncommon, but the article didn’t focus on Krzyzak having a medical issue. Instead, it focused on her following influencers on the Internet.

Are eating disorders caused by beliefs or a physiological condition? Are delusions mental or physical? Like many people with an eating disorder, Krzyzak was concerned with her appearance. I believe most people assume culture imposes that on us. But does it?

I don’t know the answers to these questions. Every day, the news brings me stories about delusional people. It makes me feel that everyone is delusional, in one or more ways. I don’t exclude myself.

On the surface, it appears our delusions come from what we believe. And we often judge people’s actions by what they claim to believe. It’s quite easy to say Krzyzak died because she thought only eating fruit would sustain her. But are beliefs really that powerful? History is full of accounts of famines that suggest something different.

People will eat almost anything when they are starving. Wouldn’t Krzyzak’s body have compelled her to eat something rather than starve to death? Are beliefs more powerful than biological drives?

Eating disorders obviously have a biological connection. But what about something that doesn’t? For instance, conspiracy theories. I believe most people think beliefs are completely derived from thinking and thoughts. What if they’re not? What if people prone to conspiracy theories have a biological reason why they embrace delusional theories?

Could there be something in our biology that predisposes us to be more conservative or liberal? I have no idea. I’m just thinking out loud.

If beliefs can change us, why do so few believers change their beliefs? You’d think beliefs would be open to logic and new evidence. But that doesn’t seem to be the case. Many people tried to convince Krzyzak that her beliefs were wrong with strong evidence, but she wouldn’t change.

There is overwhelming scientific evidence that humans are causing climate change, but millions of people refuse to believe that evidence. Is that a logical decision, or a biological reaction? We often use the term “gut reaction” to explain why we think something.

If we’re genetically programmed to perceive reality in certain ways, can any amount of logic or evidence change a person’s perceptions?

I feel like I have changed my beliefs hundreds of times due to new knowledge, and I know other people who claim their beliefs are open to persuasion. Is that a delusion on my part? A possible answer might be that some people are open to change, and others aren’t. I need to research that. I bet scientists have studied that.

I used to believe we could create a sane society if we all worked together to form an enlightened consensus. I doubt that now. The world seems to be going insane despite what we learn. The only way to have hope is to recognize our own delusions and change the way we act. But is that even possible?

I don’t think so if our delusions are tied to our biology.

JWH

How Many People Listen to You

by James Wallace Harris, 10/2/25

It wasn’t until I couldn’t talk to my old friend that I became truly puzzled about a recent piece of advice. I lost Connell, someone I’ve known for 58 years, last April. I keep wanting to talk to him, but he’s no longer there to hear me.

My social media algorithms keep sending me various kinds of warnings about dealing with life in my seventies. A recent video told me people would stop listening to me. And, if I were a parent, I shouldn’t be shocked if my children stopped listening to me, too. What did that mean?

At first, I didn’t think that advice applied to me because I don’t have children, and I have lots of friends. I wasn’t even sure what they were talking about. I wondered if it was similar to how some of my older female friends talk about how men no longer look at them. Does becoming old make what we have to say unworthy of hearing?

I’ve always assumed I would be ignored when I got old. I remember when we were young, we’d say, “Don’t trust anyone over thirty.” Now I don’t trust anyone under sixty. Was the advice about that kind of age prejudice? Actually, moving into my seventies makes me distrust everyone of all ages.

The video said people would stop listening to you once you got into your seventies. What do I have to say that people would no longer care to hear? And why was it a warning? Were they talking about loneliness? And who wouldn’t be listening? And does that include me? Will I stop wanting to listen to other people?

Many of my family and friends became quiet as they got older. Did they say less because they no longer cared what other people had to say and stopped listening, too?

I often want to talk to people who have died. They can’t listen anymore. Is my desire to communicate with them revealing why I want people to listen to me? And what do I have to say that will make me feel bad if it’s not heard?

Mostly, we chit-chat in life. We find damn few people to converse with on a deep level. Was that what the warning was about? Was the warning suggesting that meaningful conversations will disappear?

As I get older, I feel I’m withdrawing from the world. Maybe the warning is suggesting that as everyone withdraws, we’ll stop talking to each other?

I remember an acid trip I had back in the sixties. I took a hit that I didn’t know was a four-way hit, and got rather high. I lost my sense of self. I felt every person dwelt in their own island universe. And that real communication wasn’t possible, and the best we could do was like tossing a message in a bottle onto the ocean, hoping someone would find and read it. I sometimes feel that getting older will be like that. Was that the warning?

Do we have a need to be heard that goes unfulfilled as we age?

Maybe someone older can clarify what that warning meant. Leave a comment.

Now that I think about it, I’m not sure how many people do listen to me. Oh sure, I converse with friends all the time. But that’s chit-chat. I have a few friends with whom I believe we resonate on the same wavelength. Was the warning telling me that those people will disappear in my seventies? That is a depressing thought.

I have one last theory. The older I get, the less energy I have to express myself. So I don’t make the effort. Maybe, if we don’t make the effort to send, we stop making the effort to receive.

JWH