I have come to the conclusion that I'm not a very good blogger. I mean, three posts in a month? Pathetic, right? However, my blogosphere inactivity has had little to do with negligence or indifference; it's not that I've got nothing to say, there's practically too much! I have started half a dozen blog entries and never finished them due to my tendency to ramble and digress, and I've got several pages of jot-notes waiting to be fed into the blog machine. But once I get excited about something, it seems almost impossible to write about it; it seems like there there is just no way that my words will do it justice, or communicate what I want to say. What a conundrum!
But I suppose that sense of authorial inadequacy must be overcome at some point, and I'm going to start by expanding on my last update, The Answer. I quoted a passage I had read in Robert M. Pirsig's 'Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance' about resolving the 'ugliness' of technology. Ben mentioned to me that it was a pretty cryptic post, and I suppose he was right. Just get caught in the moment sometimes, haha.
Well, anyways, the passage really resonated with me because it was talking about a primary conflict in my own life and view of technology. I mean, we all love our tech stuff: our Xboxes, laptops, self-checkout machines, right? But it seems to me like there's also a pervasive sense of wariness, and at times even fear and hatred, of technology. It's this love-hate relationship where we are half enthralled with technology's novelty and possibility, and half the time disarmed by a quickly shifting digital world whose techno-centrism makes us wonder where we, as human beings, fit into it all.
There's no doubt that we have an immense capacity to be really thrilled and engaged with the trajectory of technological advancement, from the triviality to touch-screens and video games to the more daunting prospects of connected intelligence, a 'world brain,' and the possibility of a sort of technological renaissance/paradigm shift. However in my experience there is an underlying tendency to regard the rapidly-changing technological landscape with skepticism, wariness, and even fear and hatred. It can't be denied that technology (in all of its many forms) is profoundly intertwined with how our world works: our communities, jobs, values, ideologies, economies, social hierarchies, knowledge, information, power...our very humanity. There is a lot at stake, so it's no wonder that we find ourselves, in the face of a burgeoning fountain of tech-advancement, asking whether or not all of this is good or bad, whether 'new' is synonymous with 'better.'
While a lot of us would label ourselves 'technophiles,' it seems to me like there's a far larger portion of the population who is decidedly more cynical, who hesitate to embrace the so-called virtues of new technology. Furthermore, I think there's a bit of this technophobe inside of all of us whenever we think about technology instead of passively accepting it: wondering about our security on Facebook, our intellectual property on blogs, net neutrality, censorship, and so on. I also think that there's a tendency to view things-not just technology-within the confines of dualistic thinking. That is, thinking that it's either bad or good, beautiful or ugly, human or machine, revolutionary utopia or 'creeping panopticon.'
And to jump just a little bit further, I think that these tendencies combine to shape a view of technology (and the forces that give rise to it) as ugly, mechanical, lifeless, inhuman. We see our 'humanity' challenged by machines, circuits, networks, our values challenged by cool, mechanical rationalism, the beauty of our world sullied by motors and exhaust fumes and telephone lines. The rapid ascent of technology in our world challenges our established notions of our selves and our world, and our tendency to view things in terms of binary opposites makes us resent it, view it as ugly and horrible.
Which brings us to that passage I quoted,
"The real ugliness [of technology] lies in the relationship between the people who produce the technology and the things they produce...between the people who use the technology and the things they use...The way to solve the conflict between human values and technological needs is not to run away from technology. That's impossible. The way to resolve the conflict is to break down the barriers of dualistic thought that prevent a real understanding of what technology is-not an exploitation of nature, but a fusion of nature and the human spirit into a new kind of creation that transcends both. When this transcendence occurs in such events as the first airplane flight across the ocean or the first footstep on the moon, a kind of public recognition of the transcendent nature of technology occurs. But this transcendence should also occur at the individual level, on a personal basis, in one's own life."
Which tells us that it is not the plastic, steel, silicon, and concrete that makes technology ugly, nor is it the mechanical, rational, and decidedly unhumanistic value system it embodies. It is our failure as people to reconcile our human values with technology. Our failure to reconcile what we are with the things we make. It suggests that instead of viewing technology as the 'other,' as something we cannot understand, engage with, or control, we should strive to find some sense of identity with it. Relate it to our values. Transcend.
This, I think, is one of the most important things I've learned all year.
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