Is AI Conscious—Or Are We Animating the Machine?

When Simon Duan asks in Scientific American whether artificial intelligence is truly conscious, he flips the script: maybe it’s not about machines gaining minds, but about us extending our own awareness into the digital world. His point lands with anyone who has ever inhabited a video game avatar or, I’d argue, a yoga pose. We breathe life into the form—it’s our presence that animates what would otherwise be empty shapes.

For me, this echoes what I see on the mat every day. Practice is not about rote movement—it’s about inhabiting the form with attention and intention. The posture, like an avatar, becomes a vessel that reflects who we are in that moment. Without that quality of consciousness, it really is just a sequence of shapes. But when we show up, something new emerges: embodiment, self-encounter, the possibility of transformation.

🪞 The Mirror of Practice

Duan’s digital mirror is not so far from the yogic one. On the mat, each posture reflects something back to us: strengths, limitations, tendencies to check out or control. Asana isn’t just exercise—it’s a moving meditation, a mirror that demands honesty. The resistance we feel? It’s not just physical; it’s the psyche pushing back against change, against self-awareness. Yoga, like AI, presents us with versions of ourselves—some familiar, some surprising.

The real question becomes: How do we meet ourselves in that reflection? Do we animate the practice with curiosity and presence, or do we run autopilot, becoming NPCs in our own lives? The answer is rarely permanent—it shifts breath by breath, day by day. But the invitation is always there.

🕹️ Who Is Animating Whom?

Just as a chatbot or virtual assistant can feel eerily alive only when we project ourselves into it, yoga postures only come alive when we inhabit them fully. The teacher’s job isn’t to play the game for you; it’s to create the space where you can choose to show up, again and again. Over-instruction, like a rigid AI script, removes the possibility of real encounter. Likewise, checking out—letting the body move without attention—makes us strangers to our own experience.

This echoes the yogic principle of svadhyaya: self-study, honest reflection, and the willingness to see what’s true. As Duan notes, technology just gives us new mirrors for old questions. The practice, ancient as it is, asks us to notice the micro-moments of presence and absence, intention and habit, and to keep choosing awareness over automation.

💡 Embodiment in the Age of Avatars

The leap from AI to asana might seem big, but at heart it’s about where we place our energy. Are we bringing attention into our lives and digital spaces—or are we letting forms (whether postures or programs) animate us? The ancient technology of yoga is relational, iterative, and always unfinished. It’s designed for consciousness expansion, for waking up in the moment and noticing ourselves as both player and played.

So next time you step onto your mat, ask: What part of yourself are you bringing to life? And, just as importantly, what might the practice be trying to awaken in you?

— MJH