Electronic communication: Bringing us closer or rending us apart?

by Benjamin Ford

Our contemporary modern view holds that technological progress is not only good, but that it has absolute positive worth. The philosophy of modernism maintains that we, in accepting our role as modern citizens, have embarked upon an infinite, linear, positive-sloped trajectory guided by the steady hand of technological progress through which our wildest fantasies are realized and the world's ills eradicated. Technology's flaws and deficiencies are unconditionally forgivable in light of its indispensable contribution to the betterment of reality for mankind.

That technology has dramatically improved mankind's standard of living is indisputable, but progress has come with a price. In its totalizing quest to pervade every remote recess of our world, it treats many of our traditional notions of social boundaries with a kind of wanton disregard. Under the artifice of progress technology has invaded our workplaces, schools and homes. It monopolizes our attention, lulling us into complacency with coos of "luxury and convenience, luxury and convenience."

As the pace at which technology develops and disseminates increases, the scope of our society's indoctrination into modernist consciousness expands. We buy unendingly into the idea that newer, better, somehow more technological technology bears the promise of ever-increasing luxury and convenience, and no one is immune from the pull. Conservative old curmudgeons and hip young technophiles fresh from the womb alike scramble to incorporate the latest technology. And what segment of society is more inextricably in tune with mainstream technology than the nation's collegiate masses?

As college students we stand poised at the water's edge, where the breakers of new technology first come crashing down to saturate the shoreline behind us. We are awash in timeless waves of progress, ceaselessly solicited by high-tech corporations, each claiming to have invented the product which holds the key to true happiness. Whether it is the latest mp3 player, the tiniest cell phone, or the all-in-one device on which you can check e-mail, stock quotes, world news, the price of booze, book a cruise, order shoes, or even look up the availability of human spleens on the black market, we college students are sure to have it. The benefits are limitless and the fun inconceivable and we are always categorically advantaged by the acquisition of such technology. Right?

Hyperbole aside, high technology may be offering us more false promises than we would like to believe. We see enough sobering technological disasters - computer viruses, plane crashes, nuclear meltdowns - to have gained a healthy dose of skepticism about the infallibility and wholly beneficial nature of technology. Yet we seem to overlook one of the more subtly subversive elements of the gradual dissolution of real interpersonal relationships.

The internet's rise to prominence throughout the 1990s put it in position to insinuate itself into the planet's daily life. Information suddenly became accessible to a degree undreamt of in previous generations, and many traditional sources of information were rendered obsolete. Why call the local drugstore for hours of operation when its website lists not only the hours, but information about product availability and pricing as well? Why hassle with the postal system when bills can be paid directly online? Why - God forbid - make the arduous journey to the library when a dozen websites have already thoughtfully outlined the key points of the book you've been to assigned to give a report on? Your English teacher won't know the difference, and you never have to leave the comfort of your own home!

Through the internet, masses of people can be addressed instantly, from anywhere in the world. The development of net-based tools for person to person communication provides a corollary to the internet's all-inclusive scope. A variety of tools sprung up to support internet-based electronic mail, chat rooms, message boards, and instant messaging. Whenever someone felt that they just weren't "connected" enough, a new service jumped up to address the issue. People ate it up. Old friends, out of contact for decades, were brought back together. Grandchildren, notoriously occupied with Things of Greater Importance, emailed their grandparents. And college students, the most rabid technology consumers, discovered a fantastically convenient means of cultivating social contacts. Not only did a person no longer have any need to see the person with whom they desired communication, hearing the person was also irrelevant. Never mind that sensory perception, the most basic, innate biological mode of identification, had been discarded, a ravenous desire to converse with electronic, text-based representations of people was inexorable, and electronic communication insinuated itself into our daily lives.

As college students, this is our reality. Electronic technology philanthropically showers us with these gifts, encouraging us to "reach out" and virtually "connect" with others. Yet for all the benefits electronic communication has bestowed, are we, to some extent, confusing "more" with "better"?

A dark side exists to this flowering of e-communication. The more interconnected we become through increasingly innovative technology, the more we simultaneously isolate ourselves from real social interaction. The more time devoted to electronic outlets for social fulfillment, the less for true personal contact, creating an artificial sense of connectedness while, in reality, we grow farther and farther apart.

For those of you who have used some form of on-line instant messaging, how many can honestly say they've maintained at least one electronically-based contact with whom their virtual relationship was closer than their actual relationship? I would guess that there are more people answering "yes" than would like to admit it.

Electronic communication removes the human element of social interaction. It's sort of like intoxication; in both scenarios there is a perceptible disconnect between the individual and reality. Sober, interpersonal contact demands an immediacy of action from the individual; both drunkenness and electronic communication establish a buffer between the individual and that demand. As a consequence, inhibitions are mitigated, and people tend to feel more secure and adventurous. Relationships that might not otherwise be established or maintained in the harsh light of sobriety often flourish in the virtual worlds of the drunkard and the electronic communicator.

But what is so wrong with enjoying the freedom from inhibition granted us by alcohol and the internet? To a degree, nothing. In both cases the natural human predilection for escapism - a tendency one would be hard pressed to deny possessing - finds some satisfaction. And escapism, like much else, is entirely normal and healthy - in moderation. Additionally, as the philosophy of modernism unfailingly reminds us, there is always benefit to be derived from technology, whatever its function. The problem with electronic communication, like alcohol, is that when overused it adversely affects the ability of its user to control it. For a drinker it is recognized as alcoholism; there is no such clear-cut definition for an abuser of electronic communication.

The catch is identifying the "adverse affects" of electronic communication. What one person considers completely healthy and appropriate, another might see as a red flag for antisocial behavior. Yet while in this case the term "adverse" is subjective, there is one fact which anchors the argument; every moment spent communicating on-line by means of an inanimate computer screen is a moment lost that could have been spent in the warmth of another person's presence.

Returning to the idea of escapism, few would honestly say that the world in which we live is a satisfactory place all of the time. Reality can be an ugly thing, from the poverty racking the Third World to the civil strife tearing communities apart in the Middle East or even the simple, nagging disquiet that taints our daily lives. An extra-worldly haven in which we can cast off our anxieties, our imperfections, or perhaps just the numbness of monotony to which we so often fall victim, is always attractive. Humanity's traditional approach to escapism varies, but the pursuit of art remains common to the vast chasms separating cultures and eras. People find solace in music, painting and literature - things that inspire and provoke us. They challenge us to search beneath the surface, to probe the depths of the ideal for which we strive. In doing so, they offer us a respite from mundane reality. Though not unlike the escape we find in electronic communication, a major difference exists.

Unlike art, electronic communication fails to appeal to that quality in us that seeks to create meaning; rather it encourages the instinct that stridently seeks to avoid creating meaning at all costs. It appeals to our laziness. While satisfying our desire for escapism, it fails to challenge us creatively or intellectually. It demands little else from us than that we assume an on-line persona, no matter how vapid or uninspired, to act as our proxy in virtual reality. When we read literature, we are compelled to form an opinion in response to another's argument, or to enter realms of the author's imagination. When we write literature, we do the same for others. On-line conversation, conversely, makes no such demands of us. It disinterestedly allows - perhaps even encourages - the most prosaic, mundane, banal observations and insights. One might argue, "But this is simply human nature. Most people spend most of their time talking about the weather and the state of their parents' health, anyway. How is that a bad thing?" It is hard to argue the we don't spend most of our time saying nothing at all, but if we do so on-line rather than in person, we have put ourselves at a serious disadvantage; we have the human nature part, but we are sorely lacking actual humans.The most perfidious offense of electronic communication is its capacity to exploit our willingness to settle for less. It recognizes our predilection for slothfulness and it pounces, insinuating itself into our lives as a "necessity."

Who among us checks their Facebook or email accounts at least once a day? How about ten times a day? How about a hundred? When did on-line communication cease to be a simple, recreational pursuit and begin anew as a life-consuming force of insipidity? Ask just about any college student today, and they won't have a clear answer for you, but they will tell you that they "need" to check their email, away messages and Facebook the second they sit down in front of their computer. It is both obsessive and compulsive.

And now, for the ultimate irony. Clearly, only one who has himself suffered at the hands of an evil is truly qualified to warn others of its wickedness. And as such, I, your humble author, feel a certain obligation to tell you that throughout the entire writing of this piece, I myself have been compulsively checking the Facebook. I think that new "photo album" feature is really neat.

You should check it out sometime.

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