AI and the Cognitive Abyss

Think about what happens to a person with Alzheimer’s disease. The tragedy isn’t the underlying pathology—that’s not what families grieve. What they mourn is the disappearance of the person they once knew. The individual who remembered and carried a lifetime of experience begins to fade away.

The body remains, but the self doesn’t.

We understand something in those moments that we rarely say plainly. And perhaps, it’s time we put this idea front and center. Cognition isn’t merely something a person has, it’s something a person is.

Day after day, we become ourselves through the act of thinking. From the complex to the trivial, we traverse a reality that bumps and bruises us into personhood. And that friction isn’t an obstacle to identity, it’s how identity forms.

Aristotle understood this long before neuroscience provided a name for it. Character isn’t something we possess. It is something we create. What we think shapes what we do. What we do, repeatedly, shapes who we become. Which is why the question of artificial intelligence, at least to me, isn’t primarily a question about productivity or efficiency.

Of course, AI doesn’t arrive as a threat, it arrives as a relief. And that’s what makes it so insidious. There’s no cognitive check engine light to warn you. There’s just the comfort of a swift and almost effortless answer. The friction that used to shape you simply didn’t happen. Do that enough times and something changes, not dramatically, but in the way that habits shift things. Gradually, then all at once.

Technology has always extended human capability. The wheel extended our legs. Writing extended memory. The calculator extended arithmetic. But AI is different in kind, and not merely degree. It reaches into cognition itself, into the territory where “we” live—into the domain of judgment, understanding, and idenity. A calculator doesn’t threaten to do your becoming for you.

The neuroscientist Michael Merzenich is well-known for the mechanism that we today call neuroplasticity. Simply put, neural connections are strengthen when used and weakened when not. The brain adapts continuously to the demands placed upon it. This isn’t a lofty metaphor but measurable biology. The brain you exercise is not the brain you don’t.

But cognitive surrender isn’t a neutral act. Every decision handed off to AI are small withdrawals from the account of the self. Of course, handing the process over to a machine provides certain efficiency or even relief, but you step away from the mechanism through which you author, well, you.

There is a phrase, adapted from the Upanishads, that I alluded to earlier: as you think, so you act. As you act, so you become. This is doing more than describing habit. It is describing identity formation. We are not simply what we know. We are, in part, what we have struggled to understand.

The answers may still sound like you. What fills the space is not.

That’s the abyss. Not a dramatic fall, but a quiet retreat from the very process that makes a person a person.

I wrote about the Borrowed Mind as a possibility. Now, I think it’s worth asking, with some regularity, whether it has become a habit.

John Nosta is the author of the best seller:  The Borrow Mind—Reclaiming Human Thought in the Age of AI.