Technology and the Character of Contemporary Life

A summary of:
Borgmann, A. (1984). Technology and the Character of Contemporary Life: A Philosophical Inquiry. The University of Chicago Press: Chicago, IL.

“…it is widely admitted that there is a problem of orientation in the technologically advanced countries…. Science may be a necessary condition of disorientation. But to repeat an earlier point, it is not the task of science, in its central sense as a body of laws and theories, to ascertain the conditions that are prominent and abiding and allow us to be at home in the world. Disorientation is the result, at least approximately, of a certain way in which we take up with reality, and the loss of the traditional points of reference may not be experienced as debilitating at all” (79).

Borgmann suggests that the ills of society may in fact be more intimately linked with technology – or more aptly, the mindset that comes along with technology – than we have thought. One of the sources of this illness might be that technology forces us to abstract; these abstractions lead to alienation (in the Marxist sense). He argues that theoria – the (Aristotelian) calm and resourceful vision of the world – is eclipsed by the rise of the modern period (6). He clearly argues that while technology and science are often considered two aspects of the same enterprise, this is fatally misleading (15). What is the nature of the technology mindset? – that “the deplorable chaos of the contemporary world results from our failure to carry the scientific enterprise to its conclusion by explaining and shaping human behavior according to the best available scientific knowledge” (28). Scientific progress is always couched as liberation from, not liberation for (29) (think of Fromm). Hans Jonas argues that “modern science has not only withdrawn its support of established world views but promoted their dissolution and the establishment of an alternative vision. The world’s cosmic architecture is denied and replaced by the infinite manifold of one homogenous substrate. Manipulation and novelty are integral parts of this promotion, and it has technology as an inevitable if not immediate consequence. Technology ceaselessly transforms the world along abstract and artificial lines” (29). And some argue that technology’s power is threatening to our well-being: “For Schumacher it is a matter of simple inspection that technology is not only morally objectionable but leads to psychological stresses which threaten to tear the fabric of society” (145).

The author defines technology “as the characteristic way in which we today take up with the world” (35). He argues that this mindset originated in the Enlightenment. The promise of technology is firstly to relieve us from burdens, and to make us comfortable (41): “‘Relief became possible from the drudgery of threshing wheat, digging dirt, carrying water, breaking rocks, sawing wood, washing clothes, and, indoors, spinning and weaving and sewing; many of the laborious tasks of living were being made easier by the middle of the 19th century. Relief from toil does not necessarily mean a better higher life; nevertheless, any attempt to get at the meaning of American technology must give a prominent place to machines that have lifted burdens from the shoulders of millions of individual beings’” (Ferguson: 37). This is what Szerszynski would call the promise of infinitude. And of course it is a fallacy: : “One may be concerned whether technology can hope to be successful on its own terms, whether liberation in one place will not impose new burdens in another. This is Wiesner’s concern when he says: ‘In this enormously complex world, each large-scale technological advance has costs, side effects often unanticipated’” (38-9). Here we see Szerszynski’s dynameis. And furthermore, technology does not actually seem to make us happier: “It turns out that avowed happiness appears to decline as technological affluence rises” (124).

The promise of technology “guilds and veils the shaping of the modern world” (39) in this way: “The promise presents the character of the technological enterprise in broad and ambiguous outline, i.e., as the general procurement of liberty and prosperity in the principled and effective manner that is derived from modern science. Thus it keeps our aspirations present and out of focus at the same time” (39). In fact, our new aspirations become the values of technology: that the world be rendered unto us in a way that is “instantaneous, ubiquitous, safe, and easy” (41).

Borgmann makes a point about the necessity of technology to conceal its means, to present itself (falsely) as an unmediated experience (Ryan) to the user: Technology’s effect is insidious: “The concealment of the machinery and the disburdening character of the device go hand in hand. If the machinery were forcefully present, it would eo ipso make claims on our faculties. If claims are felt to be onerous and are therefore removed, then so is the machinery. A commodity is truly available when it can be enjoyed as a mere end, unencumbered by means” (44). This is why Stuart Walker’s work is so radical. When he makes a metronome, for example, by literally binding a battery to a rock so that it is exposed, he is asking us to question how we feel about the pollution of nature by technology; and if we don’t like what we see, not simply cover it up by concealing it in a battery case, but do something about it.

Much of what Borgmann writes about has to do with Marxist concepts like alienation and fetishization. He writes that, “Devices…dissolve the coherent and engaging character of the pretechnological world of things. In a device, the relatedness of the world is replaced by a machinery, but the machinery is concealed, and the commodities, which are made available by a device, are enjoyed without the encumbrance of or the engagement with a context” (47). And also, people are unwilling or unable to repair their technological devices, which leads to waste. And wastefulness is the necessary byproduct of making things carefree (47).

An important term for Borgmann is the ‘device paradigm’ (49). This can be seen when “Commodities and their consumption constitute the professed goal of the technological enterprise” (48). This breeds commodity fetishism, where people “‘search for satisfaction of their needs in the jungle of commodities’ (William Leiss)” (54).

The other really important idea in Borgmann’s work is that of reverse adaptation, defined by Winner as “the adjustment of human ends to match the character of the available means” (60); and as Borgmann writes, “Winner’s notion of reverse adaptation implies that in technology means sometimes determine ends and thus people become enslaved by their servant” (61). In this mode, Winner writes, “Abstract general ends – health, safety, comfort, nutrition, shelter, mobility, happiness, and so forth – become highly instrument-specific. The desire to move about becomes the desire to possess an automobile; the need to communicate becomes the necessity of having telephone service; the need to eat becomes a need for a refrigerator, stove, and convenient supermarket” (62).

And again, this comes back to Ellul’s ideas about the idolization of la technique: Borgmann writes, “Commodities allow no engagement and atrophy the fullness of our capacities…. In paraphrasing Ellul, Winner remarks: ‘The original ends have atrophied; society has accepted the power of technique in all areas of life; social decisions are now based upon the validity of instrumental modes of evaluation; the ends are restricted to suit the requirements of techniques of performance and of measurement’” (62).

In part three, Borgmann attempts to address how we can make changes. One necessary step is to insert humility into our technological development: to listen to nature and learn from it that we must “accept and to limit technology in a principled and sensible way” (195-6?). And another must is that we make a social commitment to changing the character of technology: “the more strongly we sense and the more clearly we understand the coherence and the character of technology, the more evident it becomes to us that technology must be countered by an equally patterned and social commitment, i.e., by a practice” (208). He explains further: “Countering technology through a practice is to take account of our susceptibility to technological distraction, and it is also to engage the peculiarly human strength of comprehension, i.e., the power to take in the world in its extent and significance and to respond through an enduring commitment. Practically a focal practice comes into being through resoluteness, either an explicit resolution where one vows regularly to engage in a focal activity from this day on or in a more implicit resolve that is nurtured by a focal thing in favorable circumstances and matures into a settled custom” (210).

For Borgmann, the antidote to our current technological fetishism is to turn away from producing commodities and begin creating “focal things”: “They are concrete, tangible, and deep, admitting of no functional equivalents; they have a tradition, structure, and rhythm of their own. They are unprocurable and finally beyond our control. They engage us in the fullness of our capacities. And they thrive in a technological setting. A focal practice, generally, is the resolute and regular dedication to a focal thing. It sponsors discipline and skill which are exercised in a unity of achievement and enjoyment, of mind, body, and the world, of myself and others, and in a social union” (219). And “one may hope that focal practices will lead to a deepening of charity and compassion. Focal practices provide a profounder commerce with reality and bring us closer to that intensity of experience where the world engages one painfully in hunger, disease, and confinement. A focal practice also discloses fellow human beings more fully and may make us more sensitive to the plight of those persons whose integrity is violated or suppressed. In short, a life of engagement may dispel the astounding callousness that insulates the citizens of the technological societies from the well-known misery in much of the world” (225).

Borgmann’s notions are bolstered by examples of people having spiritual engagements with technologies, such as Robert Pirsig, author of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.

“…Pirsig suggests that peace of mind can be found in the midst of technology by carefully attending to a technological object such as a motorcycle. The suggestion is made explicit in the great promise of the book: ‘The Buddha, the Godhead, resides quite as comfortably in the circuits of a digital computer or the gears of a cycle transmission as he does at the top of a mountain or in the petals of a flower.’ What makes the pronouncement so attractive is its promise of reconciling nostalgia and technology. It tells us that we can find a world of peace and serenity and be at home not just in God’s pristine and vanishing creation but in the midst of our own creations which surround us daily” (160-1).

The lesson from this book, for Borgmann, is: “To attain harmony with technology…, we must take up the practice of maintaining and caring for the technological objects about is. This instruction responds in a positive way to the disengagement and disfranchisement that beset typical technological culture” (161). This is a matter of really engaging with technologies on a deeper level (“If we are to challenge the rule of technology, we can do so only through the practice of engagement’ (207)); caring for them (“A call for caring makes sense only within a reform proposal that recognizes and fruitfully counters the technological tendency to disburden and disengage us from the care of things” (161)).

Anyone who bemoans the current state of technological development risks being labeled a Luddite. Borgmann nips these criticisms in the bud with the following (long) explanation:

“The reform of technology that has been suggested so far would prune back the excesses of technology and restrict it to a supporting role. That suggestion does not stem from ill will toward technology but from the experience that there are forces that rightfully claim our engagement and truly grace our lives and from the concomitant experience that to procure these things technologically is to eviscerate them; finally, it springs from the experience that that joys that technology is able to furnish seem to have a parasitic and voracious character: they require as a contrast pretechnological limits and contours, and they seem to draw vitality from the firmness of pretechnological life by devouring and displacing it. But the focal things and practices that we have considered in Chapters 23 and 24 are not pretechnological, i.e., mere remnants of an earlier culture. Nor are they antitechnological, i.e., practices that defy or reject technology. Rather they unfold their significance in an affirmative and intelligent acceptance of technology. We may call them matatechnological things and practices. As such they provide an enduring counterposition to technology. They provide a contrast against which the experience of specifically technological liberty and prosperity remains alive and appreciated. Not only do focal concerns attain their proper splendor in the context of technology; the context of technology too is restored to the dignity of its original promise through the focal concerns at its center” (247-8).

So here, finally, we arrive at our target: “I want to insist that the destiny of the focal things, the one thing that matters should one emerge at length, is the fulcrum of change. We should measure the significance of the developments about us by the degree to which focal concerns are beginning to flourish openly or continue to live in hiding. All other changes will be variants of technological concerns” (248-9).