This past summer, I was caught in congested traffic on the sweltering streets of Marseille. At a crossing, my companion in the front seat suggested a right turn toward a renowned spot for fish soup. Yet, the digital guide on my phone commanded us to go forward. Weary and overheated, I followed the algorithm's advice. Minutes later, we were stuck at a roadwork site.
A minor event, maybe. But one that captures a defining question of our time, where digital tools permeates nearly every facet of our lives: whom do we trust more – fellow humans and our personal instincts, or the algorithm?
The renowned German philosopher Immanuel Kant once defined the Enlightenment as "man's release from its self-imposed immaturity." This immaturity, he wrote, "represents the incapacity to use one's personal reason without guidance from another." For centuries, that directing force for society was often the priest, the king, or the landowner – entities claiming to channel God's voice. To explain natural events like changing seasons, people sought answers in religion. In organizing the social world, from commerce to matters of the heart, religious doctrine acted as the main compass.
“Sapere aude!” or “Dare to use your reason!”
Kant argued that humans had the capacity for reason. They just didn't have the boldness to employ it. With upheavals in the 18th century, a new dawn emerged: reason would supplant blind faith, and the human mind, freed from authority, would become the driver of progress and a more ethical world.
Today, two and a half centuries later, one might question if we are slipping back into a state of intellectual immaturity. An app suggesting a direction is just one example. Artificial intelligence threatens to become our contemporary authority – a unseen overseer that steers our choices and actions. We risk ceding the hard-won autonomy to think independently – and now, not to gods or kings, but to computer programs.
ChatGPT was launched only in 2022, and already a global survey found that an overwhelming majority of people had used AI in the previous six months. Whether deciding on a breakup or choosing a candidate, individuals are looking to machines for guidance. Research suggests a large majority of user queries concern personal life matters. Even more striking than our reliance on AI for advice is what occurs when we allow it speak for us. Composition is now one of the most common uses for generative AI, just behind everyday tasks. The celebrated American author Joan Didion famously said, “I write entirely to find out what I am thinking.” What transpires when we cease writing? Do we lose that path?
Worryingly, some evidence suggests the answer may be affirmative. A study conducted by the Massachusetts Institute of Technology used brain monitoring to track the cognitive activity of essay writers who had access to AI, Google, or nothing. Those who could use AI displayed the lowest brain activity and had trouble accurately recalling their own work. Perhaps most troubling was that over time, participants in the AI group became increasingly reliant, pasting large sections of text.
“Inertia and fear,” Kant wrote, “are the reasons why so many of men … stay in perpetual nonage.”
Of course, AI's attraction stems from its convenience. It saves time, reduces effort and – importantly – offers a new method to offload responsibility. In his 1941 book, Escape from Freedom, the German psychoanalyst Erich Fromm argued that the appeal of authoritarianism could be partly explained by a preference to give up autonomy in for the sake of the comforting security of subordination. AI presents a digital avenue for surrendering the weight of having to think and choose.
AI's primary draw is its ability to perform tasks beyond our minds – sifting through oceans of data at lightning pace. Stuck in the car in Marseille, this was, after all, why I opted to trust the app over my friend (a decision she took as an insult). With access to real-time information, surely the app had superior insight – or so I thought.
The fundamental problem is that AI operates as a black box. It produces answers, but without necessarily deepening human understanding. We do not truly know how AI reaches its decisions – including its programmers admit this. Nor can we check its reasoning against transparent standards. So when we follow AI's recommendation, we are not being guided by reason. We are back in the realm of belief. In dubio pro machina: when in doubt, trust the machine – that could be our 21st-century credo.
AI can be a powerful tool for humanity in rational inquiry. It can aid in medical research, liberate us from tedious tasks, or manage administrative chores – work that are repetitive and are unfulfilling. All to the good. But Kant and his contemporaries did not advocate for reason over faith just so humans could assemble better furniture or have extra free time. Critical thinking was not just about efficiency – it was a practice of freedom and human emancipation.
Human thought is inherently messy and error-prone, but it compels us to debate, to question, to challenge concepts – and to recognize the limits of our own knowledge. It fosters confidence, both individually and as a society. For Kant, the exercise of reason was never solely about information; it was about empowering people to become authors of their own lives, and to resist control. It was about building a ethical society grounded in the common foundation of rational discourse, rather than unquestioning acceptance.
With all the advantages AI brings, the paramount challenge remains: how can we leverage its potential of superhuman intelligence without undermining human reasoning, the cornerstone of the Enlightenment and of liberal democracy themselves? That may be one of the central dilemmas of our century. It is a question we would do well not to outsource to the algorithm.