Our King, Our Priest, Our Feudal Lord – The Way AI Returns Us to the Dark Ages.
This recent season, I was caught in gridlocked traffic on the scorching streets of a southern French city. At a crossing, my friend in the front seat suggested a right turn toward a renowned spot for bouillabaisse. Yet, the navigation app on my phone instructed us to go forward. Weary and in a stifling car, I followed the algorithm's directive. Moments later, we were stuck at a construction site.
A minor incident, perhaps. But one that encapsulates a central dilemma of our time, where technology touches nearly every facet of our lives: whom do we trust more – fellow humans and our own intuition, or the algorithm?
The Enlightenment's Promise and A Contemporary Backslide
The renowned German philosopher Immanuel Kant once defined the Enlightenment as "humanity's emergence from its self-imposed nonage." This state, he argued, "is the incapacity to use one's personal reason without direction from an external source." For ages, that directing force for human thought was often the clergyman, the monarch, or the feudal lord – figures claiming to speak for God's voice. To explain natural events like volcanic eruptions, people sought answers in theology. In organizing the fabric of society, from commerce to love, religious doctrine served as the main compass.
“Sapere aude!” or “Have courage to use your own understanding!”
Kant argued that humans always possessed the capacity for reason. They simply lacked the boldness to employ it. With upheavals in America and France, a fresh era arrived: logic would replace superstition, and the intellect, liberated from dogma, would become the driver of advancement and a more ethical world.
Now, two and a half centuries later, one might question if we are quietly regressing into a form of dependency. An app dictating a direction is merely the start. AI risks becoming our new "other" – a silent overseer that steers our choices and actions. We risk ceding the historically earned courage to think independently – and this time, not to gods or kings, but to lines of code.
The Rapid Rise and Hidden Risks of Algorithmic Reliance
ChatGPT debuted only in 2022, and yet a global survey found that an overwhelming majority of people had engaged with artificial intelligence in the previous six months. Whether deciding on a breakup or choosing a candidate, individuals are increasingly turning to machines for counsel. Research suggests a significant portion of user queries concern non-work topics. Even more striking than our use of AI for advice is what occurs when we allow it express for us. Writing is now among the most common uses for generative AI, just behind everyday tasks. The celebrated American author Joan Didion famously said, “I write purely to find out what I am thinking.” What occurs when we cease writing? Do we lose that path?
Worryingly, some evidence hints the answer may be yes. A study conducted by the Massachusetts Institute of Technology used electroencephalography to track the mental engagement of participants who had access to AI, Google, or no aids. Those who could use AI showed the lowest brain activity and had trouble accurately recalling their own work. Perhaps most concerning was that after a few months, participants in the AI group grew progressively lazier, pasting entire blocks of text.
“Inertia and fear,” Kant wrote, “are the reasons why so great a proportion of men … stay in perpetual nonage.”
Of course, AI's appeal lies in its efficiency. It saves time, reduces effort and – critically – offers a new method to abdicate responsibility. In his 1941 book, Escape from Freedom, the German psychoanalyst Erich Fromm proposed that the rise of fascism could be understood by a preference to surrender autonomy in for the sake of the comforting security of obedience. AI offers a digital avenue for surrendering the weight of having to think and choose.
The Opacity Dilemma: Trust Without Understanding
AI's primary draw is its ability to perform tasks beyond our minds – sifting through vast datasets at unprecedented speed. Sitting in the car in Marseille, this was, after all, why I opted to trust the app over my friend (a decision she interpreted as an affront). With access to real-time information, surely the app must know best – or so I thought.
The core issue is that AI is a opaque system. It produces knowledge, but not always fostering human comprehension. We do not truly know how AI reaches its decisions – even its creators admit this. Nor can we check its reasoning against transparent standards. So when we follow AI's advice, we are not being led by logic. We are back in the domain of belief. In dubio pro machina: when in doubt, trust the machine – that may become our 21st-century credo.
Using Without Losing: The Essential Challenge
AI can be a formidable ally for humanity in rational inquiry. It can aid in medical research, liberate us from "bullshit jobs", or handle taxes – work that demand little thought and are unfulfilling. All to the good. But Kant and his contemporaries did not advocate for reason over faith just so humans could optimize chores or have extra free time. Critical thinking was not just about productivity – it was a practice of liberty and human self-determination.
Human thought is often chaotic and fallible, but it forces us to argue, to question, to test ideas – and to recognize the limits of our own knowledge. It fosters self-reliance, both personally and collectively. For Kant, the use of reason was never only about information; it was about empowering people to become authors of their own lives, and to oppose control. It was about creating a moral community based on the common foundation of reason and debate, rather than unquestioning acceptance.
With all the undeniable benefits AI offers, the paramount challenge is this: how can we harness its promise of advanced capability without eroding human reasoning, the bedrock of the Enlightenment and of free societies themselves? That is likely one of the defining questions of our time. It is a question we must strive not to outsource to the algorithm.