By Sajith Pallippuram, Managing Director, Bindwel

Why the future of intelligent machines and printed books may depend on what they don’t know about us.

For decades, we have celebrated technological progress by making machines smarter. More automation, more connectivity, more intelligence and more personalisation have generally been seen as steps in the right direction.

But I have been developing a somewhat contrarian thought. Could there come a time when we deliberately start looking for devices that are less intelligent? Or, more precisely, devices that know less about us?

Could we eventually see the emergence of what I would call the Dumb Device Movement?

This may sound like an odd proposition at a time when artificial intelligence is beginning to transform almost every aspect of our lives. Yet I wonder whether the early signs of such a movement are already visible, including in our own industry.

The factory of the future — but whose intelligence?

In the machinery manufacturing business, we have been discussing Industry 4.0, smart factories and connected equipment for years. Yet I increasingly encounter an interesting contradiction. Customers want more intelligent machines, but some are becoming less enthusiastic about allowing those machines to communicate continuously with their suppliers.

This made me wonder whether something similar might eventually happen in our personal lives. Could the next technological movement actually be towards devices that know less about us?For years, we have discussed Industry 4.0, smart manufacturing, connected factories and machines that communicate continuously with their manufacturers. The proposition is compelling. A machine manufacturer can remotely monitor equipment, diagnose problems, predict component failures, recommend maintenance and help customers improve productivity.

These are genuine advantages, particularly in industries where machine downtime can be expensive. Yet, in our own experience as machinery manufacturers, we increasingly encounter customers reluctant to allow their equipment to remain continuously connected to the supplier.

Their concerns are not necessarily about technology itself. They concern information. Why should a machine supplier know how many books I produce every day? Why should it know my machine utilisation, production volumes, operating hours, downtime or the frequency with which certain components are replaced?

The manufacturer may genuinely want this information to improve service. But the same data could also reveal valuable commercial information about the customer’s business.

It could help the supplier anticipate spare-parts demand, understand production patterns, identify opportunities to sell additional equipment or gain insights into the customer’s operating economics.

From the customer’s perspective, this raises a fundamental question. – I have purchased the machine. Why should the manufacturer continue to have access to intelligence about my business?

There is an interesting contradiction here.

A printing company may enthusiastically invest in sophisticated automation, intelligent controls and advanced production management systems while simultaneously refusing to share its machine data with the equipment supplier.

Perhaps the customer is not resisting intelligence at all. Perhaps the customer is resisting the loss of control over that intelligence.

This distinction could become increasingly important as we design the next generation of printing and finishing equipment.

The factory of the future may not necessarily be the factory where every machine is permanently connected to its supplier. It may be one where the customer decides what information remains within the factory, what is shared and with whom. At Bindwel, we believe smart production should work this way: the customer decides what data leaves the factory.

When machines begin to understand us

Now consider what is happening outside the factory. 

Our smartphones already know a great deal about us. What we watch, what we read, where we travel, what we buy and how we spend our time. 

As AI develops, this understanding could become far more sophisticated. 

Devices may increasingly interpret facial expressions, identify emotional responses and anticipate preferences before we consciously express them. 

Imagine a reading device that knows exactly what kind of books you enjoy.

It knows how quickly you read, which passages interest you, where you lose concentration and what makes you abandon a book halfway through.

An AI system could use this information to recommend your next book. Eventually, it might even generate a book specifically for you, adjusting the narrative to suit your interests and sustain your attention.

From a technological perspective, this would be remarkable.

But I wonder whether something important might be lost.

Traditionally, reading has been an encounter between the mind of an author and the imagination of a reader.

We discover unfamiliar ideas, disagree with arguments, encounter unexpected characters and sometimes struggle with thoughts that challenge our own.

What happens when the content we consume is increasingly designed around what an algorithm already knows we enjoy? Will we still discover the unexpected? Or will we gradually become prisoners of our own preferences?

At what point does technology stop serving our choices and begin shaping them?

The peculiar intelligence of a printed book

This brings me to something very familiar to all of us in the printing industry.

The printed book.

A printed book is, technologically speaking, a remarkably dumb device.

It doesn’t know who is reading it.

It doesn’t know whether you enjoyed the first chapter, skipped a few pages, smiled at a passage or abandoned it altogether. It does not even know which page gets a dog ear 🙂

It cannot measure your attention, analyse your emotional response or recommend what you should read next. And perhaps that is precisely its strength.

The printed book presents its contents without attempting to understand or influence the reader through continuous feedback.

It allows us to interpret, imagine, fantasise, disagree and reflect without being observed.

There is no algorithm adjusting the story to keep us engaged. No recommendation engine deciding what should come next. No data being collected about our reading behaviour.

The book simply exists, waiting for the reader to engage with it.

We have traditionally promoted printed books for their tactile qualities, permanence, collectability and the emotional experience of reading on paper.

Perhaps, in an AI-driven world, we will discover another important attribute.

A printed book offers an entirely private relationship between the reader and an idea.

This could become a far more valuable quality than we currently appreciate.

Could simplicity become a luxury?

The argument extends beyond books.

A traditional radio does not know whether anyone is listening. Even a TV, before you plugged in a people meter to measure TRP – did not understand the channeles you liked. 

A mechanical wristwatch does not know where its owner has travelled.

A fountain pen does not record what its user writes.

These products perform their functions without attempting to build a profile of the person using them.

Today, we often associate premium technology with more intelligence, more sensors and more connectivity.

Could the reverse become true for certain products? Could we eventually see consumers paying a premium for devices that do not collect information, do not analyse behaviour and do not continuously anticipate their needs?

Perhaps privacy will become a premium feature.

Perhaps simplicity will become a luxury.

Perhaps a product that knows nothing about its user will become more desirable than one that knows everything.

This is what I mean by the Dumb Device Movement.

It would not necessarily represent a rejection of technological progress. Rather, it could be a conscious decision to preserve certain experiences outside the reach of continuous digital observation.

Will we begin protecting our independence?

There is also a larger philosophical question.

As AI becomes increasingly capable of mimicking human intelligence, understanding our behaviour and anticipating our needs, will we gradually surrender some of our independent thinking?

If machines recommend what we should read, what we should watch, what we should buy and perhaps even what we should think about, how much of our curiosity and unpredictability will remain?

Human beings do not develop merely by consuming what they already enjoy.  We develop through uncertainty, mistakes, disagreement, unfamiliar experiences and unexpected discoveries.

Perhaps we will eventually want to preserve spaces where technology does not attempt to understand us. Spaces where our behaviour is not measured, our preferences are not continuously analysed and our next action is not predicted.

For some, that might mean switching off connected devices.

For others, it might mean returning to analogue experiences.

And for many, it could mean demanding greater control over how intelligent technologies collect and use information.

The same instinct may explain why a factory owner resists sharing production data with a machine supplier and why a reader might prefer a printed book to an AI-personalised reading experience.

Both may simply want to retain control over something that belongs to them.

One over business information.

The other over personal experience.

The future of the dumb device

I do not believe artificial intelligence will disappear, nor would I wish it to. Its potential contribution to manufacturing, science, medicine, education and human progress is extraordinary.

The same is true of digital production. Faster, more automated book production makes books more accessible and more affordable. But the book that comes out of the machine still knows nothing about its reader. The intelligence belongs in how we make it, not in watching who reads it.

But I am not convinced that every product, every machine and every human experience necessarily needs to become connected, monitored and personalised.

For generations, we have asked how much more intelligent our machines can become. Perhaps the next generation will begin asking a different question.

How intelligent do we really want our machines to be? And how much do we want them to know about us?

For the printing industry, this question has an interesting relevance. 

We manufacture one of the oldest information products in the world: the printed book. A product that communicates knowledge, imagination and ideas without collecting a single piece of information about its reader.

In a world where almost everything is becoming smarter, perhaps we should not underestimate the value of that simplicity.

The greatest luxury in an AI-driven world may eventually be the freedom to remain unobserved.

And choosing a dumb device might turn out to be a rather intelligent decision.

— Sajith Pallippuram, Managing Director, Bindwel

Further reading: Reading Lives and Reading Identities, Cambridge University Press.