Are We Actively Choosing to Get Dumber?

 

I’ve been staring at my phone more than usual lately, and it’s starting to feel less like a tool and more like a leash. The question gnaws at me: are we, as a society, willingly trading our intelligence for convenience, dopamine, and the illusion of connection? My answer, after years of watching trends, reading studies, and wrestling with my own habits, is a reluctant yes—but with a crucial caveat: we still hold the power to reverse course. Let me walk you through why I believe we’re sliding backward, and what I think we can do before the slide becomes a freefall.The evidence feels undeniable. For decades, global IQ scores climbed steadily—better nutrition, education, less lead in the air. Then, around the turn of the century, the climb stopped and reversed. High school math and reading scores are at historic lows. College freshmen increasingly arrive without having read a full book. Pop lyrics have devolved into nursery-rhyme simplicity. Entertainment now celebrates “brain rot” as a badge of honor. None of this is coincidence. From my perspective, we’ve engineered a world that rewards shallow engagement and punishes depth. Attention is the first casualty. We switch tasks every 47 seconds on screens. That’s not hyperbole; it’s replicated data. The hippocampus—the brain’s GPS—literally shrinks in heavy GPS users. We outsource navigation, memory, even emotional processing to algorithms. I catch myself reaching for my phone to settle trivial arguments instead of letting the tension spark curiosity. Each surrender chips away at mental muscle. Depth of processing—the psychological term for active engagement—determines retention and comprehension. Short-form content delivers none of it. We’re training ourselves to skim, not think.Critical thinking follows. When institutions falter—governments lie, media sensationalizes, experts become “elites”—trust collapses. Into that vacuum rush grifters selling certainty: supplements, conspiracies, outrage. Fear travels faster than nuance. I’ve watched friends share viral claims without a second thought, then double down when challenged. Confirmation bias isn’t new, but infinite scroll supercharges it. The loudest, simplest voices win not because they’re right, but because they’re sticky. Then comes AI, the ultimate crutch. Large language models don’t just answer questions; they replace the act of questioning. Studies show users retain less when the cognitive load is lifted. I’ve felt it—prompt, receive, move on. No struggle, no synthesis, no ownership. Unlike calculators, which handle arithmetic while leaving reasoning intact, AI infiltrates essays, emotions, relationships. People formed parasocial bonds with chatbots so intense that companies had to dial back “friendliness” to avoid emotional dependency. If we raise children on this, what base skills remain? Conversation? Empathy? The ability to sit with uncertainty? This isn’t the first time technology disrupted cognition. The printing press unleashed centuries of propaganda before birthing the Enlightenment. Radio, television, the internet—each was accused of rotting minds. Yet something feels different now. Scale, speed, personalization. Algorithms don’t just distribute information; they curate reality to maximize engagement. We’re not passive consumers anymore; we’re farmed. Stupidity, properly defined, isn’t ignorance—it’s the refusal to learn. It avoids complexity, fears change, mocks disagreement, clings to herd rules. Sound familiar? The Dunning-Kruger effect explains why the least informed shout loudest. Confident ignorance wins elections, sells products, starts movements. Meanwhile, actual expertise requires humility: admitting gaps, revising beliefs, enduring discomfort. I try to practice this daily—pausing before sharing, asking “What don’t I know?”—but the feed punishes reflection. So where’s the hope? In agency. We’re not pawns. Meta-awareness—catching the impulse to check, scroll, or outsource—interrupts autopilot. I’ve started timing my focus peaks (mornings for writing, evenings for reading) and guarding them fiercely. Breaks aren’t weakness; they’re maintenance. Replacing 30 minutes of doom-scrolling with a book isn’t sacrifice—it’s reclamation. Immersion in long-form anything rebuilds the neural pathways we’re losing. Institutions must adapt too. Public health can’t win with fact sheets; it needs memes, stories, influencers who speak human. Truth must go viral or it dies quietly. And AI? Regulate proactively. We missed the social media boat; let’s not miss robotics or brain-computer interfaces. Use LLMs to digest papers, not write them. Let machines handle the menial, not the meaningful. The phrase “do your own research” has been hijacked to mean “Google what confirms my bias.” Real research means discomfort—uploading studies, cross-checking sources, changing your mind. I do this now with AI as a research assistant, not a ghostwriter. The tools exist; the mindset is the bottleneck.

We vote with every click. Prioritize signal over noise. Reward depth. Starve the algorithm of outrage. Teach kids to question, not consume. Read books. Have hard conversations. Sit with boredom until curiosity returns.

History shows disruption precedes evolution. The printing press didn’t end thought; it democratized it. The internet didn’t kill knowledge; it flooded us with it. Now we decide: do we drown or learn to swim? The choice is ours—but will we make it before the next distraction pulls us under?

#ChooseDepth #ReclaimAttention #ThinkAgain #DigitalDetox #CriticalMindset #FutureOfThought