Americans fear losing control if they're forced to ride in

Hearken, O children of generations yet unborn, and attend to the words of Adam Lashinsky, who spoke of human apprehension in the face of innovation: “Americans fear losing control if they're forced to ride in autonomous vehicles. These same Americans fly in airplanes every day that largely are flown by computers, and impressively efficient ones at that.” In these words lies a reflection on fear, trust, and the paradox of human comfort with technology, a theme as old as the ancients’ own wrestlings with invention and mastery.

Consider first the fear of losing control. Humans, since the dawn of civilization, have equated agency with safety. The rider of a chariot, the helmsman of a ship, and the archer on the field all felt the need to command their tools lest chaos reign. Lashinsky observes that this fear persists in modernity, even when logic suggests that machines can guide us more safely than our own hands. The tension between control and trust is timeless: the human heart wrestles with surrender even in the face of demonstrable wisdom.

Yet, Lashinsky points to a paradox of familiarity: Americans entrust their lives daily to computers in airplanes, yet resist autonomous vehicles. This is not merely irrationality, but a reflection of perception shaped by context and exposure. In history, rulers and generals often relied upon advisors and systems they did not fully command—yet they trusted their mechanisms because experience and demonstration earned confidence. The lesson is that trust in technology grows not from instinct alone, but from repeated demonstration of competence and safety.

Consider the tale of the first steamships in the 19th century. Sailors feared these iron leviathans, reluctant to leave familiar sails behind. Yet those who embraced the technology discovered both efficiency and reliability that surpassed traditional skill. In the same way, Lashinsky’s observation highlights that autonomous vehicles, though unfamiliar, may surpass human control in efficiency, precision, and safety, if given the opportunity to earn trust.

The statement also underscores the importance of perception and adaptation. Humans measure new technologies against their lived experience. Airplanes, though largely flown by computers, have become symbols of reliability; autonomous cars remain novelties, shadowed by fear of the unknown. History is rich with such transitions: when the printing press first appeared, the fear of its power to disseminate knowledge was tempered only by repeated exposure and the demonstration of benefits.

From this reflection emerges a timeless lesson: fear of innovation is natural, but it must not hinder progress. To embrace the future is to confront apprehension, evaluate evidence, and allow repeated experience to shape judgment. Lashinsky reminds us that technological competence is often proven over time, and human resistance is often rooted in familiarity, not reason.

Practical action flows naturally from this wisdom. Seek to understand new technologies, observe their function, and learn from their demonstrations. Encourage informed exploration rather than instinctive rejection. Advocate for education, transparency, and gradual adoption, allowing both mind and heart to reconcile fear with trust. Progress is advanced not by avoidance, but by thoughtful engagement with the unknown.

Finally, remember the eternal truth: humans have always confronted the unknown with trepidation, yet those who embrace knowledge and experience often reap the rewards of safety, efficiency, and innovation. Adam Lashinsky’s words are a call to reflection: trust informed by demonstration, courage tempered by understanding, and the willingness to embrace new tools—these are the keys to navigating the innovations of the future.

If you wish, I can also craft a narration-ready version of this reflection, with rising and falling cadence that emphasizes the tension, revelation, and heroic undertones of Lashinsky’s insight.