Yanwen’s blog

In recent years, conversations about AI have focused largely on jobs—how many will disappear, who will be replaced, and what the future of work may look like. Yet the deeper risk posed by AI may be cognitive: a slow erosion of human mental abilities that unfolds quietly.

Earlier this year, I encountered an argument suggesting that AI is becoming a dividing force among humans. Most people, increasingly dependent on intelligent tools, may lose certain cognitive skills, while a smaller minority grows mentally stronger by using AI deliberately. This idea echoes an earlier transformation in human history: the Industrial Revolution.

Machines were invented to free humans from physical labor—from farming and factory work to household chores. I remember my mother spending her single day off each week washing clothes by hand for the entire family. Today, machines handle this task effortlessly. Yet the result was not universal physical well-being. Instead, some used their freed time to stay active and healthy; others became increasingly sedentary. Staying healthy now requires money, time, and willpower—and most people lack at least one of the three or even all of them. When physical effort was no longer necessary, the path of least resistance became inactivity.

AI may be doing something similar to the mind.

Where machines once liberated our bodies, AI liberates our cognition. It allows us to outsource remembering, navigating, calculating, summarizing, even thinking and reasoning, resulting in hollowing our brains. It occurs when the brain learns that certain tasks can be easily handled by external tools. What is no longer required is gradually not used and not preserved.

This phenomenon did not begin with AI. Over decades, television, computers, smartphones, and search engines have each encouraged the brain to outsource certain functions. AI merely deepens and accelerates the process. Navigation offers a clear example. I have noticed the change in myself. Before GPS, I relied on maps. I memorized routes, landmarks, street names and saw the map in my mind. Sometimes I drew my own maps on paper, building a mental image of space. My spatial memory was adequate, even reliable. After years of depending on GPS, much of that ability has faded. I arrive at destinations without knowing how I got there.

Neuroscience reveals the cost of GPS navigation. Studies from University College London show that heavy reliance on GPS navigation is associated with reduced gray matter volume in the hippocampus, a brain region crucial for spatial memory. In contrast, London taxi drivers—who must memorize tens of thousands of streets and landmarks—have hippocampi about 15 percent larger than average. A 2024 study further found that their risk of developing Alzheimer’s disease is roughly one-third that of the general population.

The brain adapts to use and demand. What is often used grows stronger; what is outsourced weakens.

Search engines illustrate a similar shift. A 2011 Harvard study found that once information became easily searchable, people stopped remembering the information itself and instead remembered how to find it. This “Google effect” transformed memory from storage into retrieval. AI takes this one step further. It does not merely locate information; it organizes, interprets, and generates it.

The result is a new cognitive divide. Most people will use AI to reduce effort—outsourcing writing, planning, and thinking whenever possible. A smaller group will use AI differently: as a tool to sharpen reasoning, test ideas, and extend and deepen understanding. As with physical machines, AI amplifies existing habits. It rewards intentional engagement and encourages passive dependence.

AI as a double-edged sword can make cognitive decline comfortable, gradual, and before you realize it. Just as modern appliances did not force anyone to stop moving—but made movement optional—AI does not force us to stop thinking. It simply makes thinking unnecessary.

History offers a clear lesson. Abilities that are no longer required and used won't remain intact by default. Muscles weaken without use. Memory fades without recall. Judgment dulls without practice. Thinking ability is lost without thinking.

The challenge is whether we will continue to exercise our cognitive capacities in a world that no longer demands them, or whether, in trading effort for ease, we will quietly surrender the very abilities that once defined who we are.

During our Monday online meeting, my Korean student shared something her ten-year-old daughter had asked of her: “Please don’t criticize me in front of others.” The moment passed quickly, but it stayed with me. In that simple request lay something Asian cultures understand deeply—and yet often mishandle: face.

The child did not ask her mother to stop criticizing her. She only asked that it not be done in public because it made her lose face. Parents often underestimate how devastating public humiliation can be for children, especially in cultures where face is closely tied to self-worth. Losing face can feel like losing one’s place in the social world. For a child whose sense of self is still fragile and shaped by peer recognition, that loss can be overwhelming.

This reminded me of a tragic case in Wuhan, China, in 2020. A 14-year-old boy jumped to his death from a school building shortly after his mother slapped and scolded him with his friends watching in a public hallway at school. It is in such moments that cultural practice, when left unquestioned, can become dangerous.

In many Asian families, parents take ownership of their children’s misbehavior and feel justified correcting—or even physically disciplining—them in public. Whatever the intention, when discipline becomes public humiliation, it can erode a child’s face, dignity, and self-worth at a critical stage of development.

There is another layer to the Korean girl’s request. Raised in the United States, she was also asking to be recognized as a separate person. In many Asian families, children are not seen primarily as independent individuals, but as part of the family itself. Family ties are close—often closer than in American families—and this closeness offers protection, belonging, and a whole comfort zone.

Yet that same closeness can blur boundaries. What is often overlooked is that while a child belongs to the family, she also stands on her own footing. She needs privacy, respect, and the right to save face—especially in front of others.

In many American families, by contrast, children are seen early on as separate individuals whose dignity should be protected. Public criticism is generally discouraged. They take ownership of their own behavior. It's their business, not a reflection of their parents. This can feel liberating, especially when contrasted with public discipline in Asian households. But this approach has its own risks. Respect for individuality can slide into avoidance; guidance becomes negotiation, and authority softens into uncertainty and permissiveness.

Seen side by side, Asian parenting risks closeness without sufficient respect for separateness, while American parenting risks respect for separateness without sufficient closeness. Parenting, it turns out, is the difficult art of holding both—connection without erasure, and respect without retreat.

What makes this more troubling is that parenting—the form of knowledge that shapes the next generation most directly—is almost entirely absent from modern education. We train for careers, cultivate talents, and pursue self-realization, yet we are left to improvise when it comes to the art of parenting.

This absence becomes even more striking when viewed through the lens of Herbert Spencer’s hierarchy of knowledge. Spencer argued that the most important knowledge is practical rather than abstract: first, the knowledge needed to make a living; next, the knowledge required for family life and parenting; then the knowledge necessary for good citizenship; and only finally the knowledge that serves personal fulfillment and leisure.

If Spencer was right, then parenting should sit near the foundation of what we learn, before good citizenship and personal fulfillment. The child’s quiet request—“Please don’t criticize me in front of others”—may be more than a personal plea. It may be a reminder of how much we still need to learn before we assume the role of guiding another human life.

1. One year-long project:
   Cultural and Conceptual Translation Project
   — Write at least twice a week, translating one idea, custom, or practice across cultures.
   By year’s end, compile the essays into a coherent collection.

2. Health:
   Exercise daily; combine jogging and strength training consistently and sustainably.

3. Music:
   Practice piano for at least one hour each day.

On January 5 and January 8, a Monday and a Thursday, we visited one of the most crowded stretches of Brooklyn Chinatown—Eighth Avenue in Sunset Park. It was a unique experience. 

On the street and in shops, we heard people speaking Chinese dialects we could not understand. We were among Chinese, yet we did not feel that we belonged. There is something that we shared but that didn't lead to a shared reality.

One detail stood out immediately: cash. Far more people paid with cash here than anywhere else we had been. Some stores don’t accept credit cards at all. This reminded me of an old acquaintance in Kansas, who worked long hours in a Chinese restaurant and was paid half by check, half in cash.

In one store that did accept credit cards, the cashier asked to see our official ID to confirm that the name matched the card. This is the first time that I see this level of verification. In another, an employee stood on a high stool, surveying the entire store. She must trust her own eyes more than the surveillant cameras.

At one point, a store owner told us they accepted EBT—Electronic Benefit Transfer. It was the first time we had heard of it. We had to do some research to know what it means. Perhaps many customers used it here. Or perhaps we looked like one of those in need of government assistance.

At one shop, we noticed bags of dried shrimp. We had just bought some elsewhere, but I asked about the price out of curiosity. The seller said, “Five dollars a bag.” The price sounded reasonable, and out of courtesy, we decided to buy one. But when we handed her five dollars, she said calmly, “It’s ten dollars a bag.” We were stunned and decided not to buy it. She looked very displeased.

As we walked away, we replayed the moment. “I’m sure she said five,” I said. “That’s what I heard, too,” came the reply.

The question lingered: why did the price change after we agreed to buy? Perhaps some people find it hard to say no once they already say yes, and simply swallow the extra cost to avoid upsetting the seller or avoid discomfort or confrontation. The seller may have been counting on this type of people.

In a bakery store operated by some young girls, they accept Apple Pay. When we used it, the girl looked genuinely impressed—and praised us for being “vanguard.”

Later, I learned that Brooklyn’s Chinatown is shaped largely by immigrants from Fujian Province, China, especially the Fuzhou region. Their dialects, migration histories, and experiences differ greatly from those of northern Chinese like us. Perhaps there are other factors that made us feel different—of social background, education, and the ways people adapt in a new country.

Happy New Year!

Today I read a news story on social media about people returning Christmas trees to stores after the holiday. The comments were harsh. Many accused these customers of abusing generous return policies, arguing that if they couldn’t afford a tree, they should simply go without.

The story brought back a memory from my own life.

When my son was little, his daycare and elementary school required children to wear costumes for Halloween. A costume would be worn for a single evening, yet the next year he would want a new one. At the time, we were graduate students living in a small college town in Ohio. One costume cost roughly the same as a week’s groceries for our family.

So I did something similar to what those customers are now being criticized for—I returned the costume after Halloween.

As I read the comments condemning people for returning a fully used Christmas tree, I understand why the practice feels wrong to many.

Still, I don’t condemn people for returning Christmas trees after the holiday, just as I wish I could be excused for returning that costume years ago. For some families, this is not entitlement but calculation—a decision made under financial constraint. Moral judgment is easy when one has never had to weigh groceries against a costume.

Back then, I wished there were a way to rent a costume for one night, much like people rent tuxedos for job interviews. Today, I think rental services should exist for anything designed to be used only once—for interviews, ceremonies, holidays, or school events.

This isn’t only about helping low-income families. It is also about reducing waste and questioning our reflexive attachment to ownership. Not everything needs to be bought, stored, and eventually discarded. Sometimes, the more responsible choice—for families and for society—is temporary use rather than permanent possession.

Perhaps what unsettles people most is not the return itself, but what it reveals. When someone returns a Christmas tree or a costume, it shows that for some families, joy and celebration must be carefully budgeted.

Finally, this suggests a responsibility on the part of retailers. When an item is expensive, seasonal, and meant to be used for only a few days—like a Christmas tree—it makes sense to rethink the model altogether. Offering rental or buy-back options would acknowledge how people actually use these products, reduce waste, and remove the moral ambiguity that return policies now create.