"I don't have the time," I wrote (ironically, in an e-mail). Now I wonder whether my friend was shaking his head and chuckling as he read my response or whether he wanted to leave work immediately, drive over, and throttle me.
God knows, I still take some kind of perverse pride in resisting technology, which renders me unqualified to criticize others when they do the same. But another friend has taken the whole technological and scientific revolution personally, and her impassioned arguments have had the opposite and contrary effect of pushing me into an impatient defense of progress.
"It's not even human, this kind of communication," she argued over coffee. The more she spoke, the more adamant she became. And while I lamely offered the "horse and buggy v. automobile" analogy, I soon realized that her concerns go way beyond mere resistance to change. She believes, deeply, that the speed-of-light alteration of our culture is taking us away from our true selves, further and faster than is moral. I'm pretty sure she would say we are losing our souls.
Her passion stopped me. I saw how troubled she is by the world as it is today. This wasn't just another careless rant by a Boomer too old to keep up. My friend is way brighter than I am, conversant in five languages, and gifted in dozens of ways I am not. She uses the internet when she has to. She commits herself to tackling a new area of knowledge every year, usually something about which she has had no previous interest and may even have thought silly (baseball, football, opera). She volunteers dozens of hours a week to the welfare of others, and her paid job is simply an extension of that driving motivation.
Yet it bothers her that we move from one new thing to the next without, as a community of truly human beings, asking ourselves what this change is costing us. She resents the prevailing assumption, throughout American society, that newer is always superior. She is completely baffled by our obsession with youth and our stubborn insistence on staying young. "What? Will we all one day be no more than fake body parts?" she asks in exasperation. "What's the point?"
I admit it: I waver. One day I am ready to tackle whatever challenge the future may bring my way--my aging body, my slower brain, comfort with what I know v. exposure to what I have yet to learn--and to do my best to conquer. The siren song of "every day in every way getting better and better" has its appeal, not the least of which is that it seems to keep me in the game.
The next day I'm on my friend's side. Whatever happened to the gift of growing old gracefully? Whatever happened, in fact, to growing old at all? Now that I have a blog, I feel the pressure to post something on it more than once every six weeks. What kind of fun is self-imposed pressure, as if I didn't already exert plenty? Let my kids roll their eyes when I seek their help navigating the internet. They have no idea that one day, they, too, will feel left behind. Maybe I'll just lay down the burdens of this age and waltz into the future unencumbered.
I know that won't happen. There's no such thing as being unencumbered. Life is full of encumbrances, whether we meet the future with glee or a glower. Even as I mumble glumly about scientific discoveries that cause me to plod to the gym when I'd much rather sit with a book, I am thankful that researchers have discovered unequivocally that I can reduce the risks of life-compromising catastrophes. Even as I scream at the confounding complexity of finding what I'm looking for on my netbook, I am grateful that this little machine keeps me in close proximity to people I love. (My friend recognized the irony when she said to me recently, "When you move away [as my husband and I are doing soon], maybe you and I will "talk" to each other every day again on e-mail, like we did before you came to live here.") Even as I rail against a jet-set society that can't be happy staying home, I am thrilled to know that, in our new city, a cheap, two-hour plane trip is all that stands between me and my children.
Are we losing our souls? Maybe. Certainly we would be wise to acknowledge, as we push on, what bargains we're making with what devils. But I suspect that we're merely trading one set of limitations for another. I don't think it's science or technology that make us less human. We've been plenty good at doing that ourselves through the ages. You know: genocide, national hubris, the seven deadly sins. "Progress" and the newer bells and whistles it brings does not have the power to steal our souls. But the next new thing does have the power to distract us, even seduce us away from watchfulness over our own baser selves and the world's failings. Embrace the past or welcome the future: either way, don't forget to be connected to your own inner self and to those around you.
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