I came across Rebecca Solnit’s essay Finding Time today, probably via twitter. I don’t remember who linked to it, and now it has been in a open browser tab too long for me to reconstruct the path. It starts off great:
THE FOUR HORSEMEN OF MY APOCALYPSE are called Efficiency, Convenience, Profitability, and Security, and in their names, crimes against poetry, pleasure, sociability, and the very largeness of the world are daily, hourly, constantly carried out. These marauding horsemen are deployed by technophiles, advertisers, and profiteers to assault the nameless pleasures and meanings that knit together our lives and expand our horizons.
It’s from three years ago. In web time, this makes it it old. It was written before Facebook got really big, before just about anyone outside of SXSW attendees knew what twitter was. Before the new normal or great reset or whatever we’re calling the present time now.
So, the sky has been falling for awhile.
… I talk to a book editor whoâ€™s trying to articulate what goes missing when you go to Amazon.com for books: the absence of the opportunities for browsing, for finding what you donâ€™t know youâ€™re looking for or canâ€™t describe in a key-word search. A digital storefront can lead you to your goal if you know exactly how to spell it, but it shows you next to nothing on the way; it prevents your world from getting significantly or surprisingly larger. The virtual version rips out the heart of the thing, shrink-wraps it, sticks a barcode on, and throws the rest away. This horseman is called Efficiency. He is followed by the horseman called Profitability. Along with Convenience, they trample underfoot the subtle encounters that suffuse a life with meaning.
Thing is, the web doesn’t have to work this way. Even Amazon.com doesn’t work this way: you look up a book, and you find links to other books people who have bought that book also bought, you find reviews some of which have pointers to yet more books, you see lists with even more books you weren’t looking for that this book is somehow in someone’s mind connected to. The web is a serendipity engine.
Amazon.com doesn’t prevent my world from getting significantly or surprisingly larger, any more than a trip to McNally Jackson (my latest bookstore crush) guarantees it. It’s about my mindset, about my being open to new experiences and ideas. It’s about willingness to open my eyes and look around me — online, inside, or outside.
Virtual versions don’t have to rip out the heart of the thing. I’ll confess, the shrink-wrapped barcoded lifeless version makes me think more of big box stores and their crappy fluorescent lighting than tapping away on my beloved machine in my living room does, even if I wind up getting something wonderful delivered to my door in a cardboard box as a result.
So while I want to agree with Solnit that we have a need to find time, to slow down and let ourselves think, I don’t blame technology for the times I fail do so.
… the same problem applies to most of the technological changes we embrace and many of the material and spatial ones. The gains are simple and we know the adjectives: convenient, efficient, safe, fast, predictable, productive. All good things for a machine, but lost in the list is the language to argue that we are not machines and our lives include all sorts of subtleties — epiphanies, alliances, associations, meanings, purposes, pleasures — that engineers cannot design, factories cannot build, computers cannot measure, and marketers will not sell. What we cannot describe vanishes into the ether, and so what begins as a problem of language ends as one of the broadest tragedies of our lives.
The best things in life… aren’t easy to describe. They aren’t packaged and sold to us, we aren’t urged to use credit to acquire them right now, whether or not we can actually afford them. I agree with Solnit on this point; I’d even agree we live a world that has devoted amazing amounts of energy to giving us for the words for things we don’t need while making it difficult (but not impossible) to find the language to talk about the things we do need.
But it isn’t technology that makes this hard to do. We can choose what’s easy and fast even if it isn’t what’s best or even good enough, and sometimes we do. We can choose to act out of greed or fear, and sometimes we do. Sometimes we don’t, and maybe we don’t talk about the struggle often enough. We don’t invest the time in finding the words, in sharing the words, in hearing how they sound.
But we could.