My grandson is human! What an astonishing revelation! Now, I can sleep knowing that he isn’t a polar bear or a duck. My phone relayed this earth-shaking information to me. As a society, have we lost our collective memory? How did we live before our devices filled in the knowledge gaps for us? My photo didn’t capture the action I wanted, but what a relief that it confirmed his species! What has happened to us? Have we forgotten the cumulative knowledge of our ancestors to the point that technology must identify children as human?

Many websites now offer image recognition ReCAPTCHA tests to confirm one’s humanity. They have a grid of photos and ask you to identify all of the same images, such as traffic lights or trees. Will we soon need technology to show us a picture of the requested object, so we may then click the right boxes to assure a machine that we are human? The implications of the loss of collective memory for the future are staggering.

However, before I cause outrage or the panicked mass destruction of cell phones, allow me to explain the circumstances that led to my grandson’s classification. I have an app on my phone that identifies plants, insects, and, apparently, now mammals. When I’m gardening, it’s helpful to know whether something is a weed before I mercilessly destroy it. Sadly, my compost pile bears evidence of some unwise pre-app decisions. In the case of our grandson, I had forgotten that I had previously used the identification app and had neglected to close it. Inadvertently, that’s what I used to take his photo, rather than the camera. Possessing mystifying powers to classify even the most difficult subjects, it immediately tagged my grandson as human.

But an uncomfortable thought troubles me. My father could look at a weed and know immediately that it was a weed. No app necessary. I have enough difficulty keeping desirable plants alive (see Exhibit A below), so retaining an encyclopedic knowledge of information that I can easily acquire through an app seems helpful. But whether that is a good thing is open to question.

My use of apps doesn’t end with plants and bugs (or humans). I have one that records birdsong and identifies the singer, one for grocery flyers, a GPS (essential!), and many more. One day, a tourist asked me where to buy the cheapest gas. My immediate response was, “I have an app for that. I’ll check.” The conversation continued, and he asked something else, and I responded that I had an app for that, too. We laughed, and the memory of that discussion has stayed with me. What will happen to the next generations if mine has already forgotten the collective knowledge of the past?

Maybe that’s why we have museums. They showcase items that would have people of old snickering in disbelief at our unfathomable ignorance. However, our society may soon find itself in a similar situation. Will museum buffs one day view a collection of maps, and in puzzlement, seek an explanation for their use? Or possibly, examine a creative display of plastic lids and fewer containers with the label, “Tupperware: An ancient form of food storage”? It could happen.  

Well, it’s time to go for a walk, and before I return, I’ll check my pedometer app to make sure I’ve reached the desired number of steps. Although I’m concerned about the loss of our ancestors’ accumulated knowledge, the next generation is forming its own collective memory. Along with the wisdom and knowledge it considers worth retaining, undoubtedly, it will include the ubiquitous image of faces glued to phones, checking their apps.