The Machine Mind

Does reliance on technology make us less smart?

I am not questioning whether our post-post-modern world’s use of technology as a crutch lowers our scores on standard IQ tests (though recent studies show a decrease in literacy). I am referring to our ability to think critically for ourselves. Years ago, I met a very smart college professor who could not tell me which route he took to our house because he had relied on GPS. “I just followed the instructions,” he shrugged.

Bicycle navigation applications aren’t as smart as the now ubiquitous apps that provide information based on language-learning models (not yet at least). This was certainly my experience using Komoot, the German-based (now Italian-owned) route planning and navigation app. With Komoot, you can plan routes tailored for road cycling, mountain biking, and hiking. The app provides details of the types of surfaces along the route, such as asphalt, gravel, or trails, and allowed me to key in my fitness level, and preferred type of route.

Best, I thought, was the feature to provide step-by-step route instructions that would display on my Garmin Edge bike computer after I synced the Komoot route with my Garmin device. Before I departed, I had dutifully mapped out a route from the Olympic Peninsula to Columbus, close to 3,000 miles across seven states until I reached the Ohio to Erie trail in Xenia, from which point, the trail was so familiar that I could practically ride home blindfolded. Once home, I figured I would map out the remaining miles from Columbus to some yet determined remote Maryland shore.

Rookie Mistake

Confident in my preparations, on my first full riding day of the trek, filled with no small amount of trepidation, expectation and promise, I walked my bike to the edge of the RV Park where we had camped and toggled through the Garmin controls to select the route I had mapped out using Komoot, and waited.

And waited.

It took so long to load the route because the app was attempting to display the full 2,838 miles. I felt foolish just standing there at the side of the road, waiting for the technology to complete its task, instead of simply pushing off with a whoop and a holler, like I did on those college-era long distance treks. In this case, technology didn’t make me dumber; nonetheless, I felt pretty stupid just standing there, dependent upon the software. Better just to hit the hard road.

The route finally loaded, and I set out, rather sheepishly at having to wait five minutes, but happy that I was finally on my way through the fine coastal mist. After only 2.7 miles, the Garmin lit up with my first navigation instruction: “Turn left on road.” I obediently made the turn and was pleased to be riding through the trees on a narrow asphalt path that the map noted as “Goodman Mainline Rd.” But I had only ridden less than a mile when I noticed that the distance to my next turn remained unchanged despite my obvious forward progress. As I pedaled deeper into the forest, it must have lost the satellite signal. Consider the irony: The programmed machine was severed from the server on which it depended by the trees on the very path itself had selected. I was tempted to scream, “Open the goddam pod bay doors, Hal!”

These trees don’t look that tall but they gummed up Komoot’s step-by-step navigation instructions.

A couple of days later Komoot’s directions bordered on the absurd and revealed its true colors: a Machine Mind of limited intelligence. I was riding on the busy, suburban roads on the Kitsap Peninsula when the navigation display announced, “Turn right on path.”  I was on a busy four-lane stretch bordered by sidewalks, gas stations, and strip malls. What path? But then I saw a right-hand turn onto a two-lane drive. I entered, but all it did was dump me back onto the highway after a 20-yard loop. “OK, Komoot,” I said to myself. “Fool me once….”

On the eighth day, struggling to reload the route as beads of sweat dripped from my forehead on a stop alongside the Yakima River, I abandoned my original idea of following the 2,800-mile route and decided to map out the following day’s route each evening before I collapsed from exhaustion. The step-by-step directions were not only impractical -- but I also sensed they were becoming an impediment to being in the present. Instead of enjoying the stunning scenery around me I was directing too much of my attention to the app. I was aware that this choice might result in making mistakes, such as missing a turn, but I wasn’t traversing a hostile environment like the Arctic where a navigational blunder would be life-threatening. I quickly discovered that not relying on the app for directions made my riding experience more enjoyable, even if it meant I had to stop occasionally to check the Komoot route map.

Efficiency vs. Spontaneity

On a bike trek, there are numerous advantages to planning – risk reduction and time efficiency being the two primary benefits. But since I wasn’t trekking through the wilderness with food or water constraints, I opted for spontaneity over efficiency. As humanity rushes at breakneck speed towards living that is increasingly measured, governed, and guided by artificial intelligence, are we losing spontaneity for the sake of algorithmically-defined efficiency?  I am happy that I have one foot planted in the analog world and the other in the digital and can recall a time when I did not have the “luxury” of relying on technology. Millennials and Gen-Z’ers have no such memory.

The way we consume information in the digital world is surely affecting the brain’s wiring. No doubt this will have repercussions for the way humans plan, organize, and relate to one another. But will it erode trust in ourselves? For example, I know it is common (at least for some of us) to occasionally ignore the GPS instructions because we feel in our guts that we know the correct direction, only to learn that we were mistaken. Will the lesson “never distrust the algorithm” result in humans becoming less trusting of our intuition and subservient to the Machine Mind?

The future is hazy and no one can predict with accuracy how the increasingly sophisticated Machine Mind will change the way we live. But we do know from the historical record that all forms of technology we adopt are double-edged swords; therefore, we can deduce that AI won’t just provide humanity with a bouquet of fresh smelling flowers. No, there is surely some other foul-reeking offering it will present to us tucked into the basket with those pretty flowers, something that will burn our eyes and constrict our throats.

If there is one thing I know it is that no energy in the Universe is wasted. Consequently, as much as human intuition and spontaneity might be subdued or even squashed for authoritarian purposes, these decidedly analog human traits will bloom in some other, least-expected manner, like grass growing through the pavement.