"Change is not merely necessary to life - it is life."
Alvin Toffler
"I got no problem with change, so long as things stay the same."
My Uncle Tasso
Luddite: (noun) an opponent of new technology; an opponent of technological or industrial change
Author’s note: In 2004, the inestimably talented writer David Foster Wallace penned an essay for Gourmet magazine entitled "Consider the Lobster". In it, he used the Maine Lobster Festival as a prism with which to investigate the plight of the titular guest of honor, the lobster, while discoursing wildly about pain, its nature, and the predicament of those inflicting it while in the seemingly benign act of cooking. Oddly enough, rereading this essay left me identifying more with the lobster than I care to admit in ways that had nothing to do with gastronomy. And though the forces arguably responsible for my pain aren’t literally dropping me in boiling water, I am still left feeling immersed in a hi-tech cauldron that scorches me no less effectively. Bon appétit.
I have just returned from my weekly Luddites Anonymous meeting. That’s the 12-step program that helps rubes like me negotiate life in a world that is awash in technology, its gadgets, and most tellingly, its thrall. This last meeting was especially eventful. We waxed nostalgic about the feeling of superiority we felt when we figured out how to get our VCRs to quit blinking "12:00" and actually tell the correct time. And when the rush of that reverie faded, we moved on to a discussion of some of the great inventions in the world of telecommunications. Innovations like the phone booth.
You may not actually remember the kind of phone booth to which I am referring. Clark Kent allegedly used one to change into his Superman costume, but, practically speaking, I can’t imagine how he successfully performed that feat unless one of his super powers was removing a suit and tie while standing perfectly erect.
The phone booth’s beauty derived from the way it perfectly functioned. It was barely noticeable to the casual observer, for instance. In restaurants and other indoor public places, they were often times located in the back of the establishment or at least off to the side. And if that wasn’t subtle enough, they were recessed into the wall, making it difficult if not impossible to bump into one even if you tried.
But their best trait was that they were dark until you stepped into one and closed the sliding door—that’s when they sprang to life. An overhead light would beam on while a fan would begin to blow to make sure you could breathe comfortably. The fan also served to lay down a little ambient noise, so that in the event you spoke too loudly, no one outside would be able to discern what it was you were talking about.
Beyond their obvious utility, though, phone booths served a dual purpose, one I would argue is of a higher calling: they shielded people outside the booth from having to overhear conversations that were more than likely less than compelling. Thus, they allowed your own banal discussions to continue unabated. There was sonic order where auditory chaos lurked in the wings.
But the phone booth has gone the way of the Fotomat—though technically not extinct, you don’t want to bet any money on finding one. Not surprisingly, these days we Luddites aren’t kidding ourselves about the state of modern culture. Getting into a tug of war with technology, its hi-tech progeny, and its millions of acolytes is a losing proposition. And the exquisitely understated value of a phone booth is lost in the tidal wave of technological advances made in the telecommunications industry. This is a business that goes a long way to increasing the speed at which people communicate, the ways in which they do so, all while diminishing the quality of the act itself. All of which leaves me feeling seared, as I see the quality of life diminish incrementally, day by day, transaction by transaction.
I work at an outdoor restaurant with an oceanside view that would make Poseidon proud. But apparently even that natural beauty can’t compete with the allure of a Blackberry, as I have witnessed countless patrons who chose to blather ad infinitum rather than surrender a moment to the wonder set right in front of them. Now you may argue that people must communicate, and that communication trumps all else, a rationale whose merit runs deep. Unfortunately, that’s not what’s at issue here. The crux of the problem is that technology has essentially refined the image of communicating while gutting the process. And it does so because of communication technology’s most salient side effect—taking us out of whatever moment we are in by stacking moments-to-be on top of one another in such a fashion as to practically make it impossible to fully inform any one instant because of the prospective endless stream of them to come. This only then deposits us in a netherworld where we are fooled into believing we have connected with another person when in reality we have degraded any real connection we may have had with them to begin with.
The point could be made that the kind of toll I am talking about is the cost of living in a world where hi-tech generations are here whether we embrace them or not. And if the only casualty of the war waged between the Luddites and the Technophiles was the occasional missed connection replete with shared glazed looks by all parties involved, I could accept that. But now there is hard evidence that technology’s impact on people performing their jobs within the mass transportation industries has quite possibly contributed to massive accidents resulting in multiple deaths. And if that is acceptable to anyone, then we have really turned a corner—someone stick a fork in us because as a culture, we’re cooked.