Technology exists to make our daily lives easier. That has been the whole motivation behind every technological advance in history. The revolutions in agriculture, transportation, manufacturing and information were all brought about because of the fantastic increases in productivity they offered -- that is, they made it possible for us to do more in less time.
The impact of technology on our lives has never been clearer than it is today. We all live in greater splendor every day than the most fabulously wealthy ancient prince, and every hour we unthinkingly manipulate forces that would have sent our forefathers into an ecstasy of religious terror. And yet for all the time and genius that has been devoted to our advance, it still isn't any easier to do our homework.
I mean, look at it this way. On an average Sunday, you might fling some books into a bag and tromp down toward the library in hopes of catching up on some of the four weeks of work you have yet to do. Or maybe that's just me. Hmm.
Anyway, imagine that you're sitting in one of those comfortably over-stuffed armchairs next to Greenberry's in Alderman. This is a library, dedicated to the gathering of knowledge, purposed since time immemorial primarily as a place for desperate college students to wander to in the wee small hours of examination eve. These chairs seem comfortable enough to study in for many hours without lulling you into sleep. You are surrounded by people holding entertaining and intellectual conversations, with enough caffeine available a few feet away to power even the most disastrously fatigued of us for hours.
Soon though, this pleasant illusion begins to fade, and the harsh reality beneath is exposed. Your cell phone might ring. Probably will, considering the improbable number of cell phone minutes we all use. In the event that your cell phone somehow does not ring (implying either that you have no friends or that you have taken that most drastic of steps and put it on silent), it is a certainty that someone else's will, reminding you of the worlds of distraction that lie only a few buttons away.
We worked for practically all our civilized history to perfect communication, but did any of those craftsmen and inventors of genius ever imagine that all their work would end up as a silvery accessory to the outfit of the archetypal procrastinator? But then, as you raise your head to stretch after studying for a few minutes, the compelling glitter of the rows of computers catches your eye, seducing with the siren call of ESPN and CNN, the soft song of bloggers and Mulberry.
It seems that the computer is an almost irresistible temptation for all of us.
We are the information generation (called by some observers, "Generation Digital"), raised on an overflowing cup of constant pixilated entertainment and never fully weaned from the inexhaustible stimulations of the billion competing universes of the Internet. Much has been written in these pages about the terrible power of thefacebook.com and e-mail, tempting us away from our best intentions with the primroses of conversation and information and the peculiarly inexplicable fascination of joining groups as improbable as "I Hate Adina For Hating Dea" (the extraordinary card-swiper at O-Hill, of whom I will no doubt write much more in future columns).
To me, these digital distractions are representative of our dependence on the maternal embrace of the vast warm seas of data that are held away from us only by keystrokes. It becomes very difficult to understand solitude when one has no clear concept of aloneness. It is even more difficult to be alone when I can sit down between classes and read an Armenian in Paris blogging about Bush's links to Martian oil magnates.
The advent of the wireless Internet has only exacerbated this problem. In past years, I imagine, those who fought this terrible war between work and online temptations could escape by fleeing to the back of the stacks in Alderman or the bottom floors of Clemons. There, they could be free of the dreadful shackles that tied their laptops to wider and more interesting worlds.
But do the students of today have so simple an escape? Oh no, of course not. We have no bolt hole through which to flee from the demons that promise us freedom from boredom. Even on the silent floor of Clemons (one of the scariest places in the world), we are just as vulnerable to the enticements of the Web as anywhere else. We can never escape. If I try to take notes on my laptop, I am guaranteed to work at one-fifth optimal speed, at best.
Humans are a pretty extraordinary bunch. We have bent the world to our wills and crafted machines capable of doing things that less advanced cultures would have attributed to the gods or to the forces of evil. We have tamed the seas and the skies, we have made global communication almost an afterthought, we have turned carbon to diamond, we have taken the teeth out of disease and diluted the venom of catastrophe.
Still though, it is no easier today for any of us to focus on the simplest of academic assignments than it was for the most ancient of Babylonian schoolboys distracted by the motion of the clouds. So, my friends, what we have to ask ourselves is this: Has technology really made our lives easier at all?
Connor Sullivan can be reached atsullivan@cavalierdaily.com
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