Today’s Daily Read is relevant to my latest post in the Technology and Its Discontents series in that it discusses the harm we are doing to ourselves through our addictions to our phones and screens. Daniel J. Levitin writes in The Guardian about the detrimental effects of information overload on our brains. In this new era of instant electronic gratification, we have fooled ourselves into thinking that we are getting more done, when in reality, the research shows that we are simply feeding our addiction to dopamine. I already know about the effects of dopamine and wrote about it here; but it’s funny how having knowledge of the harm and seeing how it affects me has still not been enough for me to stop spending so much time with screens. Levitin’s article is a bit lengthy but please don’t let that deter you; five to ten minutes of reading will reward you with some insights that may help you – or at least, inform you. Here’s a tidbit from the article that was new – and also surprising and worrying – to me: “Just having the opportunity to multitask is detrimental to cognitive performance. Glenn Wilson, former visiting professor of psychology at Gresham College, London, calls it info-mania. His research found that being in a situation where you are trying to concentrate on a task, and an email is sitting unread in your inbox, can reduce your effective IQ by 10 points. And although people ascribe many benefits to marijuana, including enhanced creativity and reduced pain and stress, it is well documented that its chief ingredient, cannabinol, activates dedicated cannabinol receptors in the brain and interferes profoundly with memory and with our ability to concentrate on several things at once. Wilson showed that the cognitive losses from multitasking are even greater than the cognitive losses from pot‑smoking.”
Tag: Technology and Its Discontents
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Technology and Its Discontents: Screening Experience
Yesterday (January 18, 2015) I ran in the Carlsbad half-marathon. It was my first half-marathon since late 2010, and while it’s not exactly accurate to say that getting up at the crack of dawn to wait in the cold and then run 13.1 miles is fun, I was looking forward to it. I have never regretted doing a race, whether a triathlon or a running race, and I have enjoyed those experiences as well, even as my body complains and my brain asks why the hell I am paying good money for the dubious “pleasure” of participating in endurance events. Well, here’s why I do it: I like challenging myself. I appreciate knowing that, at 43 years old, I can run long distances at a reasonable pace and not be completely wrecked at the end. I like getting up with the sun and knowing I’ll soon be outside, with like-minded people, experiencing the same challenge. I don’t wear headphones when I race because I want to hear the sound that thousands of footfalls make when the starting gun goes off – it sounds like a steady rain. I also want to hear the snippets of conversation, the cheers of the spectators and the encouragement of the volunteers, and my own labored breathing.
Every person’s experience of the race is unique, and I understand why well over half of the people I saw were wearing headphones as they ran. I always listen to music when I am doing fitness or training runs, because, let’s face it: running is monotonous. The music helps. I make the exception for races because I am energized and entertained by what I hear along the course. So, this rant is not aimed at those who wear headphones during a race. It is, however, aimed at the people who did not actually experience the race; instead, they screened it. This would be the people who had their phones held above their heads, the record button pressed, taking video as they ran across the starting line. This would be the people slinging their arms around their friends, already walking before finishing the first mile, blocking the serious runners behind them, attempting to take a group selfie. This would be the people who were posting pictures to social media or sending texts as they weaved about the course, oblivious to the runners around them. This would be the “runners” stopping for several minutes to pose for photos or take selfies in front of the ocean as the race route passed out of downtown Carlsbad and went along the beach.
I try not to begrudge these people their right to document their experience as they see fit, but the fact is that I do begrudge it, and I do judge it. I won’t argue that it’s right for me to do so; it’s a purely subjective reaction. But I have to be honest and admit that it bugs the shit out of me. I don’t think people who do this sort of thing are experiencing the race so much as they are experiencing their desire to document and share it (and in fact, there is research to show that our obsessive use of camera phones is changing the way our experiences and memories are shaped). I’m sure the same thing happened in the last half-marathon I ran in 2010, but I don’t remember seeing so much of it. And to be clear, I have no problem with pre- or post-race photos or social media updates. But during the race? What this also tells me is that these people aren’t in it to race a half-marathon; they’re in it so they can say they’ve participated in a half-marathon. To me, these are substantively different things. I’ll grant you that I am not racing in the sense that I expect to beat anybody in particular across the finish line; but I am racing in the sense that I have a goal, which is to run to the best of my ability and complete the race with the best time I can accomplish.
I’m sure this must sound incredibly snobbish and arrogant. It probably is. I am working on detaching myself from this reaction because, unless one of these screen-runners gets in my way or runs into me, their actions have no direct impact on me. They can do what they want and they can experience the race any way they choose… but if anything the greatest sense I have is one of sadness that technology has brought us to this: using the screen as a filter for genuine experience. Maybe some memories are better developed in the mind and not on the screen. Maybe some accomplishments should be achieved with our eyes focused on the world in front of us, in full. Maybe the real challenge in not just completing, but racing in an endurance event needs to be found in fully committing to it and not doing it just as a lark to be shared via text or tweet or Instagram mid-race.
I realized even before I crossed the finish line yesterday that I have missed it and I will race again. I know I will see the screen-runners at the next event, too. It will probably bother me less because I’ll be prepared for it, and also because I know it’s not for me to judge how other people choose to experience the race. I know that my reaction to the screens is visceral and emotional rather than rational… but I still wish people would just put down their phones and run.
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Technology and Its Discontents: Getting Quizzed
For the past several months I have noticed a proliferation of quizzes on social media and pop culture websites. There is something about a headline that reads “Find out which Disney princess you are!” that overcomes my inner curmudgeon and makes me want to participate, even though I’m not a fan of Disney and I don’t really care which princess I am. The internet quiz is possessed of an uncanny ability to draw in even the wary, because what could possibly be the harm in finding out which Walking Dead character you are or what your profession should actually be or what mythological beast is your totem animal? It turns out, more harm than I realized.
Even as I was giving in to the siren call of the quiz I found myself questioning why its allure was so strong. I was answering quizzes dealing with topics I knew nothing about – things like which character I am on a TV show I don’t even watch. I told myself that it was ok because I mostly kept my participation hidden from others. I ran across most quizzes on Facebook on the feeds of friends who had taken them. I almost never posted my results, although I would sometimes leave them as a comment for the person who originally posted the quiz. I was slightly embarrassed by how quickly the quizzes would suck me in, and I figured if I didn’t pass them on then I was at least not contributing to their proliferation. As usual, there was an element of “I’m better than this” to my refusal to share my participation; I didn’t want to admit that I was indulging in such a petty use of my time.
I thought my slight embarrassment was the worst consequence of taking these silly quizzes until I ran across an article that revealed information I immediately realized I should already have known: the quizzes are a back door way for marketers to track consumer data. OF COURSE THEY ARE. My literal headslap after reading the article paled in comparison to the anger I felt at myself for being so easily duped. If you are not familiar with these quizzes, they ask seemingly innocent questions in an effort to peg you as, for example, a fictional character or famous author or classic movie. Many of the questions have answers that hint at certain results, so if you are just dying to be identified as Allison from The Breakfast Club, you’ll select the picture of the sandwich made with Cap’n Crunch and Pixie Sticks as your lunch of choice. This all just seems so harmless and fun! But in reality, it is telling the purveyor of the quiz very specific details about you. What is your favorite color? Favorite animal? Favorite breakfast cereal? What bands do you like? Where is your dream vacation destination? What decade do you identify with? How do you dress? What do you read, watch, eat, do for fun? All these questions are things I have encountered on these quizzes, and I can’t believe I didn’t realize on my own that they aren’t harmless at all.
There are plenty of people who think this sort of thing is no big deal, and I suppose to some degree that’s true, but I will not concede that it is without harm. It is manipulation, pure and simple. It’s worse than subliminal because it not only sends a message out to the consumer, it gathers a response that can be used to craft even more manipulative messaging. It absolutely depends on the notion that people don’t realize what they are giving away when they participate. If this was really just about selling us stuff, I’d still be upset by it, but ultimately I think it’s much more than that. Our willing participation in the online world means unwitting participation as harvested data. We all need to bear in mind that on the internet, nothing is truly free. The adage of marketing holds true: if you’re not paying for a product, you are the product. So the next time a quiz pops up, remember: you are giving yourself away for free.
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Technology and Its Discontents: Instant Gratification
Over the past few years, I have been doing more and more shopping online. I have long patronized Amazon for books, especially in the used marketplace, and I have recently had occasion to order non-book items from Amazon as well. Many of the clothes and shoes in my closet have been ordered online, and the lion’s share of the supplies I need for the Rock and Shell Club have been shipped to me from all over the country (and in one memorable, not to be repeated order, China). I appreciate the convenience of finding what I need online and having it delivered directly to me, as many of the items I need are not necessarily available locally; however, I am becoming increasingly concerned about what the Amazon model is doing to us culturally, behaviorally, and economically.
Around March 2012 I read an article in Mother Jones that pulled into focus something I had already started to hear a lot about: the backbreaking labor, low wages, and job insecurity that go into making our instant gratification economy possible. Reading about author Mac McClelland’s experience working in a warehouse subcontracted to Amazon made me seriously question the business model that allows consumers to get their goods within a few days of their order. More so, it made me scrutinize my own behavior, and I found myself asking why I expected to take delivery of my order in just a few days. The simple answer is that the Amazon model has created that expectation – order now, have it tomorrow if you’re willing to pay the price, and in just a few days or a week even if you’re not. Once you become accustomed to things arriving quickly, it creates the expectation that any delay in shipment is bad customer service – hence, Amazon becomes customer service king over your local bookstore or small online shop, which might take a few weeks to deliver the book you order.
To do business this way, Amazon must cut corners wherever possible, which is what leads to the labor conditions in their distribution centers. But consumers, being human, are out-of-sight, out-of-mind creatures, so no thought is given to what is required to make their near-instant gratification possible. That is the nature of business competition – the nature of capitalism. But what I find dismaying about this is not the near-instant gratification for items you may have trouble getting anywhere except online; now consumers are ordering things they could just as easily buy at the local store. This article, in which a man explains that he orders his 40-pound bags of dog food from Amazon because he doesn’t want to be bothered with carrying them through a store, to his car, and into his house, is a case in point. The convenience of home delivery makes it worth it to him to pay for Amazon’s Prime service. For a flat annual fee, delivery is free – delivery of anything Amazon sells, no matter the size or the weight. When I read the article, I felt sadness, contempt, anger, disgust – all those knee-jerk, visceral reactions to what amounts to sheer laziness on the part of this consumer… but is it really laziness, or is it economic hegemony? After all, why not maximize your own time and convenience if it only takes a few dollars a year to have household items delivered straight to your door?
And so we come to the crux of my rant. I think the Amazon model is bad for us. I think instant gratification is bad for us. I think Amazon, and the competition it has engendered, is destroying our ability to be patient, to be thoughtful, to be mindful of all the hidden economic exploitation that is required for us to get what we want NOW. I admit I’m not free of responsibility for my own part in this, but I am doing my part to react against it by finding any outlet other than online for getting the things I want and need. And, if I do make an online purchase, I try to buy directly from the source rather than from Amazon. When possible, I buy from small online businesses, and plan for the possibility that my order may take a week – or more! – to arrive. I re-read the Mother Jones article, and I hope for a time when the pendulum swings and the price of an item, including shipping, truly reflects the cost of doing business this way. And this is not just a monetary cost; it is a social and cultural cost, and it is helping to perpetuate the systematic inequality and labor exploitation that is inherent in the capitalist marketplace.
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Technology and Its Discontents: Alienation
As the industrial age took hold in the late 17th and early 18th centuries and began its saturation of the globe, a curious phenomenon began to take place. People who had once labored for themselves – doing what they needed to do to support themselves, their families, and their communities – began laboring for others. They quit their simpler lives and moved to bigger towns, then cities, seeking and finding employment in factories, assembly lines, and sweatshops, laboring to produce things over which they had no ownership. The logical outcome of a capitalist world system began to spread and solidify, requiring that people work for others to support themselves, but have no ownership of the fruits of their labor. Yes, these laborers were paid for their work, but unlike when people engaged in farming, hunting, small trades such as blacksmithing, horseshoeing, wheel-wrighting, candle and soap making, carpentry, and all the simple but vital labors for which people could once get paid, the only thing this new class of laborer owned was themselves. All they could sell was their labor.
This is the microcosm of what is called industrial alienation. It’s what happens when all people can sell is themselves, and they have no ownership of the means of production. They become a commodity, no different than the raw materials used in manufacturing the things they are paid to make. In the modern world system of capitalism, most people can only sell themselves for the money they need to support themselves and survive. To an enormous extent in the Western industrialized world, this has meant that nearly everybody has forgotten how to survive in the way our ancestors did – by knowing actually how to find and produce food and shelter. Labor has become so extraordinarily specialized in this brave new world that most people no longer have any connection with the basics of survival. Even worse, we have become alienated not just from what we do, but from our very purpose for living. Why are we here? What is the point? Do I even matter? These are not questions asked in cultures where people are still able to support themselves with the knowledge of actual, physical, animal survival. That, itself, is the point: survival. In the face of securing it for yourself and your group, there is no need, no room, for existential questions. Those questions are created by alienation.
This is a winding road to some thoughts about technology. Humans have always sought to answer the basic question of why we are here, probably since the dawn of the species, and have found a variety of answers (often in the supernatural and religion). Now, though, I think technology is filling the hole of our alienation. Specifically, we are filling our existential emptiness with social media. Posting, Tweeting, sharing, Instagramming – they all provide a sense that we matter. They give us a way to be acknowledged (or so we think) by others. They remind us: I exist. The urge, the compulsion, is so strong that we will risk our relationships, our jobs, our educations, our safety or even our lives to fulfill it by doing all those things while driving, or walking, or cycling, or eating, or watching TV, or at the movies, at work, at school, at a football game, at a wedding, a funeral, anytime, everywhere. Yesterday I could have mowed down a woman glued to her phone, scrolling endlessly, as she walked obliviously down the center aisle of a parking lot. I have sat with friends while they pretend to be engaging with me, but they are staring, staring, staring at the phone. I have been accosted with pictures, videos, websites, texts that the other person insisted I see. And, I have done most of those things myself. I understand.
Humans are extraordinarily social primates. It is no surprise to me at all that social media has exploded into a frenzy of self-referential attention seeking. Humans are also status-seeking animals, and the feedback we crave from our social sharing is highly addictive. It is a constant lure for us to try to elevate or affirm our status amongst our peers. But as with anything, there can be too much. Just as the buzz of alcohol can make us feel attractive, funny, and smart, so can the buzz of our relentless technological distractions make us feel noticed, important, and liked (if not loved). But the alcohol buzz wears off, and so does the brief high we receive from seeing who has responded to our online presence. Alcohol can become an addiction, and so can technology. It is not a good way to fill the hole left by our alienation.
I am not immune to the lure of technology, but I am thinking deeply about it and making some decisions about how much I am willing to let it intrude upon my life. I understand that there are also positive aspects to our use of phones and computers, et al (for example, the fact that I can write and share these thoughts). But at the moment I am deeply uneasy, and I am making a conscious effort to concentrate on the world outside the screens.
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Technology and Its Discontents: Planned Obsolescence
Last Sunday a friend and I took a trip to visit the Antique Gas and Steam Engine Museum in Vista. I have been tremendously enjoying the process of learning to use my new camera, and the museum provided an abundance of wonderful subjects. Yet, as I wandered amongst the rusting hulks of old tractors, engines, trucks, and farm equipment, I felt a pang of unease. The museum is a testament to obsolete or aging technology, and some of the machines have been lovingly cared for or meticulously restored so that visitors can appreciate the technology of days gone by. In many cases, the old machinery did not look that different from what is in use today, but small, incremental changes over time led to the abandonment of the old in favor of the new. In other cases, as with the steam engines, radical new technologies led to the complete obsolescence of previous innovations.
George Bernard Shaw said “The reasonable man adapts himself to the world; the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore all progress depends on the unreasonable man.” When I came across this quote I shuddered. To me it speaks directly to the human desire to shape the world in his image. It is steeped in a theological ideology of man’s supremacy over and domination of the world. It does not see humans as the animals they are, destined to adapt – or not – to their environment. As I noted in a previous post, human adaptation takes the form of wanting things to be easier, faster, and better, and this idea was amply illustrated at the museum. What was wrong with the machines that had been abandoned for better (and there’s a word that needs a critical unpacking) models? I’m not arguing that innovation is necessarily a bad thing; but when we consider how our ability to do more things more easily has changed the world and our ability to survive in it in greater and greater numbers with a greater and greater impact, it’s worth thinking about whether it’s necessarily a good thing.
Taking a turn towards more modern technologies, I find myself wondering when we will have museums filled with obsolete televisions, computers, and cellphones. I realize we have antique communicative technologies in museums already; radio has been around for more than a century, and so have telegraphs and telephones. Television is not far behind, and computers are nearing the half-century mark. But unlike the technologies of old, which seemed to change and innovate relatively slowly, computers in particular are changing so fast that what you buy today is practically obsolete tomorrow. This is not an accident. Humans seem unable to leave well enough alone and adapt to what they already have. Shaw’s remark about progress is pertinent, except that I don’t think it’s the unreasonable man alone who is responsible for Shaw’s so-called progress. Instead, it is human nature itself, because it wants faster, easier, better… and ultimately, higher status technologies even if we don’t actually need them. We are being relentlessly manipulated and trained into believing that we must have the next big thing, and nowhere is this more apparent to me than in cellphones and computers.
I don’t want this to turn into a rant about advertising, but I am so angry and distressed at the commercials I have seen recently that attest to this planned obsolescence phenomenon. One is for Cox Communications and features a recurring, annoying dad character who races around boasting of his blazing fast internet speed and his ability to watch streaming movies and TV everywhere he goes. In a scene where he walks down a staircase, eyes glued to his computer tablet, I found myself wishing the commercial’s punchline would be dad tripping and tumbling to his death from a broken neck. Alas, that wouldn’t sell many subscriptions to Cox. Another commercial, for AT&T, states that they are offering a new plan wherein customers can Upgrade to a New Phone Every Year! With No Activation Fee! And No New Phone Upcharge! All I could think when I saw that one was “holy shit, we are doomed.” I recently met an old friend for dinner, and he was using a cell phone he’d had for 13 years… and it still works. It doesn’t text, or have more than a rudimentary screen, or a (what used to be so cool) flip cover; it’s just a phone. And guess what? We were able to use it to communicate. I found myself feeling a mixture of envy and nostalgia for his decision to stick with the basics.
What are we doing to ourselves with this attachment to newer, better, faster? What are the ultimate long-term consequences of “progress”? Is it really better that we have increased the earth’s human carrying capacity to billions? Or is our insatiable need to take what’s not really obsolete, or even necessary, and trade up for something better going to lead to a crash? In a way, by refusing to adapt to the world as it is, we are planning our own, ultimate obsolescence.