Autocorrect has betrayed me more times than I can count. More than once, it even changed a word into a woman’s name, nearly sparking an argument I never intended to start. Predictive text isn’t much better. Type a few letters and your phone rushes to finish the thought for you. Even our replies are drafted for us now, three little bubbles of “Maybe you meant this.”
We built tools to help us, but those tools started shaping us. Autocorrect doesn’t just fix typos, it changes tone and intent. Predictive search doesn’t just save time, it narrows curiosity into repetition. Bit by bit, we stop choosing our words and start letting the machine choose them for us.
And that’s the point: technology isn’t the enemy. Our complacency is.
This is the universal trade we keep making. We handed over math to calculators, maps to GPS, spelling to spellcheck, and memory to our phones. None of these trades looked catastrophic at the time. But the pattern is always the same: the more we outsource, the less we exercise. And what we don’t exercise, we lose.
It’s not just about convenience. It’s seduction. These tools sell us the same story over and over: Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe. I’ll make sure you don’t fail. I’ll make life easier. And while they soothe us, they shrink us.
When Spike Jonze released Her in 2013, it felt like science fiction. A lonely man falling in love with the voice of his operating system. Now, AI “partners” and “friends” are sold to the masses. What could have been lifelines for people who genuinely struggle to connect have instead been turned into luxury toys. We didn’t just avoid risk, we programmed compliance and called it intimacy.
The real future we face isn’t rebellion against machines. It’s irrelevance. Not because the tools stole our souls, but because we sold them.
The good news is this: the soul isn’t for sale unless we hand it over. Tools can serve us, but only if we stay awake.
Burn The Script 