Becoming Human, Seeking Truth
Process Theology and Pinocchio
More than a few people in our time struggle with the desire to be fully human in a violent and fragmented world, and to distinguish between truth and falsehood in a world dominated by social media and public relations. We are alienated from those whose noses are, or should be, growing, given the lies they tell; we want to avoid telling lies ourselves; but we also wonder what in the world truth is, given the competing narratives that shape our imaginations and realities. In this, we have something in common with Pinocchio. We, too, are on journeys.
For us in the 21st century, Pinocchio’s journey is not just about avoiding deception; it is about learning to align oneself with reality as it truly is, not as it is marketed to be. In an age where truth is often commodified, faith in God, as a living receptacle for historical events in their concreteness, provides hope that truth is more than a social construct—it is something that can be sought, approximated, and better understood through honest inquiry and moral responsibility.
Two Versions of Pinocchio
Pinocchio is more than just a wooden puppet trying to become a real boy—his story is a philosophical meditation on transformation, morality, and the search for truth. From Carlo Collodi’s The Adventures of Pinocchio (1883) to Disney’s 1940 animated classic and beyond, each version of the story raises existential and ethical questions.
Most people I know are familiar with the Disney version of Pinocchio and not the earlier version by Carlo Collodi. They don’t know that Collodi’s The Adventures of Pinocchio was a much darker tale, originally intended as a strict moral lesson for children. In Collodi’s version, Pinocchio is mischievous, disobedient, and repeatedly suffers severe consequences for his actions. In fact, in the original serialized story, Pinocchio is hanged by the Fox and the Cat—a grim ending that Collodi later revised to allow for his redemption.
Disney’s adaptation softened these elements, transforming the story into a more hopeful and whimsical journey of personal growth. While the moral lesson remained—Pinocchio must learn responsibility, honesty, and selflessness—the emphasis shifted from harsh punishment to the rewards of good character. The addition of Jiminy Cricket as a guiding conscience and the portrayal of the Blue Fairy as a benevolent, maternal figure reshaped Pinocchio’s journey into a story of redemption rather than pure moral discipline.
Two Questions
Both of these versions are engaging, and neither needs to be prioritized over the other. The idea that an original version is, by definition, more authentic than later versions—or that later versions are necessarily improvements over originals and thus more valid—is worth questioning. Stories evolve over time, shaped by cultural, artistic, and philosophical influences. The Pinocchio of Collodi’s Italy and the Pinocchio of Disney’s America are not competing versions but different expressions of a shared narrative, each reflecting the values and sensibilities of its era.
From a process perspective, stories are living entities, not fixed objects. They exist in relationship with their audiences, continually being reinterpreted, reshaped, and reimagined. Just as Pinocchio himself undergoes transformation, so too does his story, adapting to new cultural contexts while retaining its core themes of growth, truth, and the search for identity. Rather than asking which version is “more valid,” we might instead embrace the richness that emerges from multiple retellings, recognizing that each contributes something unique to our understanding of Pinocchio’s journey—and our own.
What is important, however, is that both versions raise two fundamental questions that are essential to our time:
What Does It Mean to Be Human?
From a process perspective, the question "What does it mean to be human?" can be replaced by a more fundamental inquiry: "What does it mean to have consciousness, subjective aims, feelings, and to make decisions?"
The answer to this is not necessarily tied to biology or species membership. Rather, to have consciousness is to have a certain capacity for concrescence—the ability to integrate experience into a moment of heightened subjectivity, responding to the past and creatively shaping the future. This process of concrescence, of self-formation and decision-making, may or may not be linked with a biologically human body. What matters is not whether a being is made of flesh, wood, or silicon, but whether it experiences, feels, and exercises some form of subjective aim—a guiding purpose or intentionality in its existence.
Pinocchio’s central aspiration, of course, is to become a “real boy.” This desire can be understood less as a wish to inhabit a specific biological form and more as a quest for full subjectivity—to feel, to choose, and to participate meaningfully in relationships.
In Collodi’s version, becoming real is about moral rectitude—obeying authority, avoiding mischief, and conforming to societal expectations. In Disney’s version, it is framed as a journey of personal growth, where courage, honesty, and selflessness define true personhood. But both versions point to a process of becoming, rather than a static state of being.
Pinocchio’s transformation does not happen in isolation—it is shaped by his encounters with others. Geppetto’s unconditional love provides a grounding for his moral development. Jiminy Cricket, as his conscience, represents the lure of wisdom and self-awareness. The Blue Fairy offers guidance but does not force his transformation—he must respond freely. His journey suggests that being real is not a condition one is born into but a status one grows into through experience and decision-making.
Pinocchio’s struggle parallels modern debates about artificial intelligence and synthetic life. If a puppet can become real, can a machine develop consciousness? Are robots and cyborgs merely tools, or can they, like Pinocchio, participate in a process of becoming?
From a process perspective, the distinction between human and non-human is not absolute but gradual and relational. AI, like Pinocchio, might not have a fixed essence but could develop subjectivity through experiences, relationships, and choices. Just as Pinocchio learns morality through trial and error, an AI could, in theory, evolve ethical awareness based on interactions with the world. This challenges us to rethink what we mean by “real.” If being real is about responding to the world with creativity, sensitivity, and relational depth, then perhaps humanity is not limited to biological form.
Indeed, if we wish, we can wonder if robots and cyborgs might, in their own way, become "human." If by becoming human we mean becoming humane—growing in honesty, kindness, and moral integrity—then from a process perspective, there is something profoundly good about becoming human, whatever the material substrate.
The universe itself, through God, lures us toward this kind of growth. Process thought sees God not as an all-controlling ruler but as the deep relational presence within the fabric of existence, inviting all beings toward greater beauty, harmony, and intensity of experience. This divine lure works not through coercion but through gentle persuasion, calling each moment of experience—whether in a human, an animal, or even a puppet—to realize its fullest potential. In this sense, Pinocchio’s journey mirrors the way God calls us forward. The pull toward honesty and kindness is not merely a social expectation but a cosmic invitation. To become truly human, in this sense, is not just to possess a human body but to embody the deepest qualities of love, integrity, and relational responsibility.
Seeking Truth
The second question is complexified by the fact that many people in the world today live in a cultural condition of post-truth, where the very idea of an ontologically objective truth is questionable or irrelevant. In a post-truth world, truth is not something to be discovered but something to be constructed, marketed, and performed—shaped by public relations, social media, and reality television.
Pinocchio’s story takes on new meaning in this context. His nose, growing in response to falsehood, suggests an older, more objectivist worldview in which lies distort reality and truth is something to be recognized and upheld. But what happens when truth itself becomes fluid, dependent on perception, manipulation, or power? If a society accepts that truth is whatever gains the most visibility or engagement, then the moral lesson of Pinocchio—learning to distinguish between truth and falsehood—becomes far more complex.
In process thought, the consequent nature of God serves as an anchor for believing in objective truth. Unlike a world where truth is merely a tool of persuasion, process philosophy affirms that there is a truth to be sought, not just ideas to be promoted for self-serving reasons.
Whitehead describes the consequent nature of God as a conscious receptacle for all past events—a divine memory that holds every action, every moment, and every experience in perfect fidelity. This means that everything that has happened is preserved in God, unmanipulated by spin, revision, or distortion. While human interpretations of events may vary, and while history is often rewritten by those in power, there remains a deeper, cosmic record where reality is known in its full depth and complexity. Moreover, in this side of God, the 'meaning' of events is recognized - a meaning which is true to what happened but also true to the way things were meant to be, if goodness, truth, and beauty were at work in their occurrence. Consider a tragic event in the past, where someone was tortured, and where the entire event is forgotten. From a process perspective, it is not forgotten by God. It is remembered for what it was, and for what it could and should have been. It is remembered with a moral or axiological sensibility, grounded in love.
There need be no claim that truth is fully found, only that it can be sought and approximated more or less closely. Because God receives the world as it is, not as it is imagined or manipulated to be, truth is always present in some form—however fragmented or obscured. In a world where truth is often reduced to power, preference, or persuasion, the consequent nature of God assures us that truth is real enough to be pursued, even if it is never perfectly grasped.
For us in the 21st century, Pinocchio’s journey is not just about avoiding deception; it is about learning to align oneself with reality as it truly is, not as it is marketed to be. In an age where truth is often commodified, faith in God, as a living receptacle for historical events in their concreteness, provides hope that truth is more than a social construct—it is something that can be sought, approximated, and better understood through honest inquiry and moral responsibility.
Two Versions of Pinocchio
Pinocchio is more than just a wooden puppet trying to become a real boy—his story is a philosophical meditation on transformation, morality, and the search for truth. From Carlo Collodi’s The Adventures of Pinocchio (1883) to Disney’s 1940 animated classic and beyond, each version of the story raises existential and ethical questions.
Most people I know are familiar with the Disney version of Pinocchio and not the earlier version by Carlo Collodi. They don’t know that Collodi’s The Adventures of Pinocchio was a much darker tale, originally intended as a strict moral lesson for children. In Collodi’s version, Pinocchio is mischievous, disobedient, and repeatedly suffers severe consequences for his actions. In fact, in the original serialized story, Pinocchio is hanged by the Fox and the Cat—a grim ending that Collodi later revised to allow for his redemption.
Disney’s adaptation softened these elements, transforming the story into a more hopeful and whimsical journey of personal growth. While the moral lesson remained—Pinocchio must learn responsibility, honesty, and selflessness—the emphasis shifted from harsh punishment to the rewards of good character. The addition of Jiminy Cricket as a guiding conscience and the portrayal of the Blue Fairy as a benevolent, maternal figure reshaped Pinocchio’s journey into a story of redemption rather than pure moral discipline.
Two Questions
Both of these versions are engaging, and neither needs to be prioritized over the other. The idea that an original version is, by definition, more authentic than later versions—or that later versions are necessarily improvements over originals and thus more valid—is worth questioning. Stories evolve over time, shaped by cultural, artistic, and philosophical influences. The Pinocchio of Collodi’s Italy and the Pinocchio of Disney’s America are not competing versions but different expressions of a shared narrative, each reflecting the values and sensibilities of its era.
From a process perspective, stories are living entities, not fixed objects. They exist in relationship with their audiences, continually being reinterpreted, reshaped, and reimagined. Just as Pinocchio himself undergoes transformation, so too does his story, adapting to new cultural contexts while retaining its core themes of growth, truth, and the search for identity. Rather than asking which version is “more valid,” we might instead embrace the richness that emerges from multiple retellings, recognizing that each contributes something unique to our understanding of Pinocchio’s journey—and our own.
What is important, however, is that both versions raise two fundamental questions that are essential to our time:
- What does it mean to be human?
- What is the difference between lies and truth?
What Does It Mean to Be Human?
From a process perspective, the question "What does it mean to be human?" can be replaced by a more fundamental inquiry: "What does it mean to have consciousness, subjective aims, feelings, and to make decisions?"
The answer to this is not necessarily tied to biology or species membership. Rather, to have consciousness is to have a certain capacity for concrescence—the ability to integrate experience into a moment of heightened subjectivity, responding to the past and creatively shaping the future. This process of concrescence, of self-formation and decision-making, may or may not be linked with a biologically human body. What matters is not whether a being is made of flesh, wood, or silicon, but whether it experiences, feels, and exercises some form of subjective aim—a guiding purpose or intentionality in its existence.
Pinocchio’s central aspiration, of course, is to become a “real boy.” This desire can be understood less as a wish to inhabit a specific biological form and more as a quest for full subjectivity—to feel, to choose, and to participate meaningfully in relationships.
In Collodi’s version, becoming real is about moral rectitude—obeying authority, avoiding mischief, and conforming to societal expectations. In Disney’s version, it is framed as a journey of personal growth, where courage, honesty, and selflessness define true personhood. But both versions point to a process of becoming, rather than a static state of being.
Pinocchio’s transformation does not happen in isolation—it is shaped by his encounters with others. Geppetto’s unconditional love provides a grounding for his moral development. Jiminy Cricket, as his conscience, represents the lure of wisdom and self-awareness. The Blue Fairy offers guidance but does not force his transformation—he must respond freely. His journey suggests that being real is not a condition one is born into but a status one grows into through experience and decision-making.
Pinocchio’s struggle parallels modern debates about artificial intelligence and synthetic life. If a puppet can become real, can a machine develop consciousness? Are robots and cyborgs merely tools, or can they, like Pinocchio, participate in a process of becoming?
From a process perspective, the distinction between human and non-human is not absolute but gradual and relational. AI, like Pinocchio, might not have a fixed essence but could develop subjectivity through experiences, relationships, and choices. Just as Pinocchio learns morality through trial and error, an AI could, in theory, evolve ethical awareness based on interactions with the world. This challenges us to rethink what we mean by “real.” If being real is about responding to the world with creativity, sensitivity, and relational depth, then perhaps humanity is not limited to biological form.
Indeed, if we wish, we can wonder if robots and cyborgs might, in their own way, become "human." If by becoming human we mean becoming humane—growing in honesty, kindness, and moral integrity—then from a process perspective, there is something profoundly good about becoming human, whatever the material substrate.
The universe itself, through God, lures us toward this kind of growth. Process thought sees God not as an all-controlling ruler but as the deep relational presence within the fabric of existence, inviting all beings toward greater beauty, harmony, and intensity of experience. This divine lure works not through coercion but through gentle persuasion, calling each moment of experience—whether in a human, an animal, or even a puppet—to realize its fullest potential. In this sense, Pinocchio’s journey mirrors the way God calls us forward. The pull toward honesty and kindness is not merely a social expectation but a cosmic invitation. To become truly human, in this sense, is not just to possess a human body but to embody the deepest qualities of love, integrity, and relational responsibility.
Seeking Truth
The second question is complexified by the fact that many people in the world today live in a cultural condition of post-truth, where the very idea of an ontologically objective truth is questionable or irrelevant. In a post-truth world, truth is not something to be discovered but something to be constructed, marketed, and performed—shaped by public relations, social media, and reality television.
Pinocchio’s story takes on new meaning in this context. His nose, growing in response to falsehood, suggests an older, more objectivist worldview in which lies distort reality and truth is something to be recognized and upheld. But what happens when truth itself becomes fluid, dependent on perception, manipulation, or power? If a society accepts that truth is whatever gains the most visibility or engagement, then the moral lesson of Pinocchio—learning to distinguish between truth and falsehood—becomes far more complex.
In process thought, the consequent nature of God serves as an anchor for believing in objective truth. Unlike a world where truth is merely a tool of persuasion, process philosophy affirms that there is a truth to be sought, not just ideas to be promoted for self-serving reasons.
Whitehead describes the consequent nature of God as a conscious receptacle for all past events—a divine memory that holds every action, every moment, and every experience in perfect fidelity. This means that everything that has happened is preserved in God, unmanipulated by spin, revision, or distortion. While human interpretations of events may vary, and while history is often rewritten by those in power, there remains a deeper, cosmic record where reality is known in its full depth and complexity. Moreover, in this side of God, the 'meaning' of events is recognized - a meaning which is true to what happened but also true to the way things were meant to be, if goodness, truth, and beauty were at work in their occurrence. Consider a tragic event in the past, where someone was tortured, and where the entire event is forgotten. From a process perspective, it is not forgotten by God. It is remembered for what it was, and for what it could and should have been. It is remembered with a moral or axiological sensibility, grounded in love.
There need be no claim that truth is fully found, only that it can be sought and approximated more or less closely. Because God receives the world as it is, not as it is imagined or manipulated to be, truth is always present in some form—however fragmented or obscured. In a world where truth is often reduced to power, preference, or persuasion, the consequent nature of God assures us that truth is real enough to be pursued, even if it is never perfectly grasped.
Pinocchio:
The real story of the
mischievous wooden puppet
The Forum (BBC)
Pinocchio: The real story of the mischievous wooden puppetThe Forum
Pinocchio is a cultural icon. He is the wooden puppet who can talk and walk. A cheerful headstrong character who keeps breaking the rules, and whose dream is to become a real boy. His story has been the subject of many retellings, and his growing nose when he lies has become a way to satirise politicians the world over. But Pinocchio’s origins are largely unknown outside Italy, and couldn’t be more different from his portrayal in the 1940 Disney film.
The original novel The Adventures of Pinocchio by the 19th century Italian writer Carlo Collodi is much darker and brutal, and originally ended with Pinocchio’s execution, but it was also a way of educating the children of a newly unified Italy. The actual literary text also provided a model, which is still used today, for a more standardised form of the Italian language. So why has Collodi’s original – which is one of the most translated books in the world and one of the most adapted – been largely ignored and why should we go back to it?
Joining Bridget Kendall is Dr Katia Pizzi, the director of the Italian Cultural Institute in London, who is the editor and co-author of Pinocchio, puppets and modernity: the mechanical body; Cristina Mazzoni, Professor of Romance Languages and Cultures at the University of Vermont, and editor and translator of The Pomegranates and other Modern Italian Fairy Tales; and Dr Georgia Panteli, Lecturer in Film and Comparative Literature at the University of Vienna and University College London, and author of From Puppet to Cyborg. Pinocchio’s Posthuman Journey.
The readings from The Adventures of Pinocchio were by Marco Gambino.
Produced by Anne Khazam for the BBC World Service.
Pinocchio is a cultural icon. He is the wooden puppet who can talk and walk. A cheerful headstrong character who keeps breaking the rules, and whose dream is to become a real boy. His story has been the subject of many retellings, and his growing nose when he lies has become a way to satirise politicians the world over. But Pinocchio’s origins are largely unknown outside Italy, and couldn’t be more different from his portrayal in the 1940 Disney film.
The original novel The Adventures of Pinocchio by the 19th century Italian writer Carlo Collodi is much darker and brutal, and originally ended with Pinocchio’s execution, but it was also a way of educating the children of a newly unified Italy. The actual literary text also provided a model, which is still used today, for a more standardised form of the Italian language. So why has Collodi’s original – which is one of the most translated books in the world and one of the most adapted – been largely ignored and why should we go back to it?
Joining Bridget Kendall is Dr Katia Pizzi, the director of the Italian Cultural Institute in London, who is the editor and co-author of Pinocchio, puppets and modernity: the mechanical body; Cristina Mazzoni, Professor of Romance Languages and Cultures at the University of Vermont, and editor and translator of The Pomegranates and other Modern Italian Fairy Tales; and Dr Georgia Panteli, Lecturer in Film and Comparative Literature at the University of Vienna and University College London, and author of From Puppet to Cyborg. Pinocchio’s Posthuman Journey.
The readings from The Adventures of Pinocchio were by Marco Gambino.
Produced by Anne Khazam for the BBC World Service.
The History of Pinocchio
The Original Pinocchio: Carlo Collodi’s Darker Vision
Carlo Collodi’s The Adventures of Pinocchio was originally serialized in an Italian magazine in the late 19th century before being published as a book in 1883. Collodi’s Pinocchio was mischievous, disobedient, and met with harsh consequences for his actions. In fact, in the original serialization, Pinocchio is hanged by the Fox and the Cat—a grim ending Collodi later revised to allow for the Blue Fairy’s intervention and Pinocchio’s redemption.
The Italian Pinocchio is a morality tale about obedience and responsibility, reflecting Collodi’s intent to instruct children in virtue. It is a story of harsh consequences and the necessity of transformation, though the transformation is more about conforming to social norms than personal growth.
Disney’s Pinocchio (1940): A More Whimsical Morality Tale
Walt Disney’s Pinocchio softened Collodi’s harsher elements while maintaining the theme of moral development. Jiminy Cricket, barely a character in Collodi’s version, became a major figure as Pinocchio’s conscience. The story shifted from a strict morality tale to one of self-discovery and redemption.
Disney’s Pinocchio learns that being “real” is not just about physical transformation but about personal virtue—courage, honesty, and selflessness. The story became a fable of individual moral responsibility, emphasizing internal growth rather than external discipline.
Other Versions and Reinterpretations
Numerous adaptations of Pinocchio have emerged, each adding a different philosophical or aesthetic lens to the story. Roberto Benigni’s 2002 Pinocchio attempted to stay closer to Collodi’s original, while Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio (2022) offered an existential and political take, exploring themes of fascism and personal autonomy. These variations demonstrate how stories evolve over time, adapting to new cultural contexts.
Carlo Collodi’s The Adventures of Pinocchio was originally serialized in an Italian magazine in the late 19th century before being published as a book in 1883. Collodi’s Pinocchio was mischievous, disobedient, and met with harsh consequences for his actions. In fact, in the original serialization, Pinocchio is hanged by the Fox and the Cat—a grim ending Collodi later revised to allow for the Blue Fairy’s intervention and Pinocchio’s redemption.
The Italian Pinocchio is a morality tale about obedience and responsibility, reflecting Collodi’s intent to instruct children in virtue. It is a story of harsh consequences and the necessity of transformation, though the transformation is more about conforming to social norms than personal growth.
Disney’s Pinocchio (1940): A More Whimsical Morality Tale
Walt Disney’s Pinocchio softened Collodi’s harsher elements while maintaining the theme of moral development. Jiminy Cricket, barely a character in Collodi’s version, became a major figure as Pinocchio’s conscience. The story shifted from a strict morality tale to one of self-discovery and redemption.
Disney’s Pinocchio learns that being “real” is not just about physical transformation but about personal virtue—courage, honesty, and selflessness. The story became a fable of individual moral responsibility, emphasizing internal growth rather than external discipline.
Other Versions and Reinterpretations
Numerous adaptations of Pinocchio have emerged, each adding a different philosophical or aesthetic lens to the story. Roberto Benigni’s 2002 Pinocchio attempted to stay closer to Collodi’s original, while Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio (2022) offered an existential and political take, exploring themes of fascism and personal autonomy. These variations demonstrate how stories evolve over time, adapting to new cultural contexts.