The Second Eclectic

Technology changes how we relate to God and each other

How Cars Created the Megachurch



I'm excited to have a new article up over at Christianity Today's PARSE blog, titled "How Cars Created the Megachurch." Here's an excerpt.


     To choose a church at all, then, we tend to turn inward and reflect on our own wants and needs. “What do I really want in a church? What am I looking to get from it?” This strategy isn’t necessarily selfish; it’s practical. But besides being practical, the strategy also becomes habitual. And like any habit, it shapes the kind of people we become.

     Well-meaning writers shame us for church hopping and church shopping, and they tell us to “stop dating the church.” But accusing church shoppers of simply being selfish oversimplifies the problem. It places all the blame on the individual. Is this really accurate? Is it constructive? What if selfishness is simply a necessary strategy for reaching decisions in an age of abundance.

     The abundance of choices and the absence of limitations is the blessing and the curse of the car. And church shopping may not be a problem of character.

     It may just be a problem of cars.

Read the rest here.



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Tesla Introduces “New Safety Features and Autopilot,”
but also New Risks


Tesla may very well be the most forward-thinking car maker on the planet. Their sexy designs and fully electric motors make driving a Tesla the ultimate status symbol. Here in Illinois, every license plate has a number somewhere between 1-2000 and suffixed with “EL,” which I can only assume means “electric.” And the numbers probably mean that the state is counting each Tesla one by one. Deservedly so.

This week Tesla announced their newest design, the Dual Motor Model S, which they claim is “the fastest accelerating four-door production car of all time.” Sweet. But they buried the lead on this story: “New Safety Features and Autopilot.” Here’s what they said on their blog:
Our system is called Autopilot because it’s similar to systems that pilots use to increase comfort and safety when conditions are clear. Tesla’s Autopilot is a way to relieve drivers of the most boring and potentially dangerous aspects of road travel – but the driver is still responsible for, and ultimately in control of, the car. The Autopilot hardware opens up some exciting long term possibilities.
Now I’m a fan of Tesla, which may be obvious, but the promise of “exciting long-term possibilities” doesn’t fool me. Tesla, like most tech companies, is presenting their technology with uncritical optimism, presenting only the benefits of Autopilot. Consumers, however, would be wise to consider both sides.

Tesla promises that Autopilot could increase “comfort and safety” and “relieve drivers” of boredom and the “potentially dangerous aspects” of driving.” But only “when conditions are clear.” Yet, safety is only half the story.

Tesla likens their Autopilot to “systems that pilots use.” However, autopilot isn’t entirely smooth sailing either. Nicholas Carr points to recent studies about problems that pilots are facing:
Pilots’ “automation addiction” has eroded their flying skills to the point that they sometimes don’t know how to recover from stalls and other mid-flight problems, say pilots and safety officials. The weakened skills have contributed to hundreds of deaths in airline crashes in the last five years. . . .
As the Dual Motor Model S merges with traffic, these same risks entering our roads and highways. Yes, they promise to relieve boredom and potential dangers, but they also incur new risks at the same time. Tesla’s Autopilot feature will present us with new problems. And yet.

“The driver is still responsible for . . . the car.” In case there is any doubt, Tesla wants to make that clear. And they want to assure you that you are “ultimately in control.” Yet, how can you be responsible for a car’s performance when you didn’t program the car’s software?

Tesla’s computer software is evaluating the road and making driving decisions without you. The person behind the wheel isn’t deciding. Just like airline pilots, why should you be paying attention when they are out of your control?

So who is responsible when an accident occurs? Tesla certainly wants it to be you. Why? Because if the car crashes, they don’t want to be held liable. Liability is too costly for them. But with more and more automation in automobiles, liability is a question that the courts may have to resolve.

The courts or, possibly, you.

If drivers take the time to really consider what Tesla is offering, the public may decide they’re not buying it. Despite the “exciting long term possibilities,” the long-term risks of “automation addiction” may simply not be worth the cost. The costs may simply be too high, no matter what the sticker price is.

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Is technology shaping the future of church?

Is technology shaping the church of the future? Christianity Today recently published a review of the book Slow Church. I scrambled for a highlighter when I reached the end of this paragraph:
Slow Church joins a host of movements inspired by the Slow Food revolt begun in the 1980s, a global coalition that resists the industrialization of all aspects of food. Not all churches have been seduced by what Smith and Pattison call “Franchise faith” or “McDonaldization.” Still, the authors say, at least some fast-food, consumer-culture values—an obsession with efficiency, calculability, predictability, and control—have unwittingly crept into many houses of worship. (italics mine)
When I read this, I thought, Those aren’t consumer-culture values; they’re technological ones. The authors overlooked the real culprit—technology. Cars, buses, and airplanes help us travel farther faster—efficiency. The Apple Watch numbers our heartbeats and counts our calories—calculability—and promises to help us to synchronize our lives to others'—predictability. Food becomes filled with preservatives and chemicals we can’t even pronounce, all in the name of control. The Slow Food movement, which the authors allude to, understood this.

The Slow Food movement perceptively recognized technology’s role. They reacted to the “industrialization” of food. Industrialization is simply another term for “technologization.” And if we’re going to talk Slow Church, then pastors need to be equally perceptive.

Like the proponents of Slow Food, pastors and ministry leaders should pay attention to how their own methods and strategies are tech driven. How are they looking for efficiencies, calculability, predictability, and control? Often it starts with “stewardship.”

Church leaders often embrace new technology in an effort to be “good stewards” of scarce church resources. Scarcity is real, and stewardship is admirable. It has the appearance of faithfulness too. But real faithfulness may also involve trusting in God’s abundance. The loaves and fish remind us of this. When our churches are lacking resources, increasing our efficiency should not be our knee-jerk reaction. If it is, have we stopped depending on God’s abundant provision? Do we only need God when we’ve reached the limits of our technology?

Technology’s values seek more and more to put control in the hands of humans. We want to lock things down. But when have efficiency, calculability, predictability, and control ever been signs of God’s Spirit? Rather, I’ve found that living by his Spirit often involves being available, interruptible, patient, and dependent on God. The more technology we have, the less faith we need.

As we surround ourselves with more and more technology—this tablet, that smartphone—we come to expect efficiency and control. We grow accustomed to them. We become experts in them. We base our lives around them. They become daily, hourly habits. And these habits shape us—heart, mind, and body. These technologies disciple us.

I’m far afield from that brief paragraph I first highlighted. My point is this: The “consumer-culture” label is a bogeyman. Worse: It’s a nebulous generalization that leaves us feeling helpless. Blaming consumer culture doesn’t help anyone. Technology gives us something concrete to consider, even if it hurts.

When we recognize that these consumer values are actually technology-driven, we can begin to see the options we have. Churches can begin to take a hard look at the technology it’s using: communication management tools, tithing kiosks, attendance tracking, child-safety system, multisite solutions. Are they efforts at good stewardship or ways to circumvent the Spirit?

Some may read this and wonder, Well, what exactly is he suggesting? Abandoning these systems? We couldn’t do church without them. And I think that’s partly my point.

Our beliefs about what church is—our ecclesiology—is powerfully influences by the technologies we use to “do church.” And those same technology systems not only influence how we think about church now, but also shape—and limit—how we imagine the church of the future.

We do not need to go back to some idyllic church of days gone by. Although that’s not even an option at this point; we depend so much on our devices. Technology has foreclosed as many possibilities as it has opened. The fact that we can’t imagine church without technology should give us pause.

Until we really grasp how technology is shaping our churches today, we will lack an imagination wide enough to follow the Spirit into the future.

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How Technology is like Marijuana


I was recently talking with some friends from Colorado when the topic of legalized marijuana came up. Since Illinois, where I live, is considering similar measures, we were talking about the benefits and consequences of Colorado’s shift.

We’ve all heard about “medical marijuana.” The biggest benefit to commend marijuana is that. In the name of health benefits and pain relief, marijuana advocates have made the case that it should be legalized for a certain, albeit narrow, portion of the population. It will improve their lives and relieve their pain, in some cases severe pain. And no one can really disagree with that. Nor do we need to. However, opponents of legalized marijuana, even if it’s for other reasons, end up looking like heartless brutes who have no compassion for chronic sufferers.

Add to this a second benefit: money. Apparently, by legalizing marijuana and taxing those sales, Colorado’s government has raked in the cash. This cash, they say, can be invested back into schools and roads and more. Who doesn’t want to improve their kids’ education? The benefits. How will Illinois ever resist? I submit, it will not.

Of course, then there’s the consequences. Most people will agree that legalizing pot will probably have some downsides to. However, what those consequences are and how severe is yet to be determined. In most people’s minds, it’s only a matter of time.

As my friends and I talked about this, I realized that marijuana and technology actually have quite a bit in common. In terms of money, the similarity is obvious. Just like the state of Colorado, companies and individuals stand to make a lot of money from the use and development of new technologies. That’s why Silicon Valley has the deepest pockets in the world. Technology can make them rich, and they’ll willingly pursue new opportunities to expand it. But technology is also like marijuana when it comes to health benefits.

Often times, new and extreme technologies are Trojaned in using the guise of healthcare. Take brain-computer interfaces, as an example. This is bleeding-edge technology, but also potentially world-changing.

How are tech companies justifying the development of BCIs? By using it for medical uses. They’re seeking to help paralyzed people function again. These people have had traumatic spinal cord injuries and BCIs offer them the opportunity to regain some level of mobility and independence. Just like marijuana in Colorado, technologies are promoting themselves as godsends for healthcare.

The next step, in all this, would be to point out that, just like marijuana, technology also has long-term, unforeseen consequences. But here, you’ll run into resistance. People will begin coming to technology’s defense.

Few people are willing to consider that technology could have potential downsides. They simply can’t imagine that a technology that helps paralyzed people could actually cause problems down the road. Besides, if the BCI will help people in need, the reasoning goes, then it’s worth the cost. For anyone willing to question this, marijuana’s “heartless brutes” become technology’s “Luddites.” In both cases, the public chooses the immediate and tangible benefits, while ignoring, or never considering, what the long-term and less visible consequences might be.

Sticking our heads in the sand when it comes to technology, though, isn’t a new approach. Take the keyboard, for example. Its predecessor, the typewriter, was first invented and promoted as a technology for deaf-mutes. Rasmus Malling-Hansen, a Danish minister and inventor in the mid-1800s, created the earliest working models typewriters. The invention “was meant to compensate for physiological deficiencies” (rosa B) . Of course, despite it’s noble intentions, the typewriter and keyboard rapidly expanded into the lives of people who had no such handicap at all.

The same dynamic is certainly true for marijuana, and may someday also be true for brain-computer interfaces. What kind of world will we live in when everyone uses them? The question is as crazy as the idea once was of every person having a computer. But today, not only do we have personal computers, but mobile devices that are always connected to the Internet. In the past decade, the world change has shifted before our eyes in astounding ways.

The point is that, like marijuana, technology certainly offers benefits. But we cannot let the benefits cause us to overlook or ignore the consequences. And like marijuana, technology’s negative consequences will not be as immediate or visible, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there.

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Love Letters and the Unabomber

“Can technology be redeemed?” 

Orthodox Christians hold that the world is broken. But relatively few Christians consider how this brokenness extends to the technologies we use everyday. If they do, they’ll eventually begin to wonder, “Can technology be redeemed?” The answer, it seems, would be Yes. But, if we try to explain how, it gets tricky.

Most Christians tend to argue that redeeming technology means using technology for good and not ill. It means achieving positive outcomes and not negative ones. It means harnessing nuclear energy to power our homes, not to bomb our enemies. It means using the Internet to spread the Gospel, not pornography. This strategy is right and good—using technology for good and not ill—and it may in fact be part of what “redeeming technology” could look like. However, it cannot stop there. A more holistic approach must include a deeper understanding of technology’s impact.

Whether we use the Internet for the Gospel or for porn, we are still using the same technology. Apart from whatever outcomes we achieve, the practice itself changes us and our societies.

Take email for example. At one time, you sent letters by post. You could write love letters, or you could be the Unabomber. Good outcomes and bad. But it was the same technology. Now you use email instead, and you can likewise send love letters or computer viruses. Again, both good and bad.

But surely you’ve noticed that the letters we send have changed too. Some say the quality has gone down. What do we mean by quality? It could partly be quality of writing. It could also be quality of subject matter.

But it’s not merely a matter of quality. In quantity, the number of letters has increased. And this quantity may be linked to quality. Because we have more emails to write, we have less time to devote to each letter. We don’t have time to re-read them or edit them. Just type stream of consciousness and click Send.

And in terms of quality of subject matter, part of it may have to do with the immediacy of email. There’s no more waiting for news to arrive. No delays in information. With postal mail, you might update a friend about significant events since your last letter. With email, little thought is given to recent news anymore—only what is at hand is mentioned, if at all.

Thus, the practicesof letter-writing changed the contentof the letters we write. More letters means less time to write. More frequent letters means less time for worthwhile to accumulate. (The same dynamics are at work in the 24-hour cable news.)

Or consider group emails. With postal mail, an email thread would have been virtually impossible—to the point that no one really did it.

So even though we see email as the direct descendant of postal mail, their qualities are actually very different. They are hardly related at all. The style has changed. The content has changed. The sending and receiving has changed. All this before even getting to love letters and computer viruses. There’s a lot to talk about before we can even use words like “good” and “bad” to describe technology’s outcomes.

When we look at out habits first, we are better able to answer the real questions of good and bad. Is it good that we can “reply all” to one email thread? Is it good that we can forward a private letter with one impulsive click? Is it good that our letters are shorter, less thought out, less newsworthy? Is it good that our letters are always typed and never handwritten?

Those questions are harder to answer clearly. The changes are sort of good and also sort of bad. We kind of like these changes. And we kind of regret them. All in all, our society is changing for better and also for worse because of these changes. And these changes are changes in our habits, first and foremost, and our habits are changing because of our new technologies. So the Christian idea of “redeeming technology” isn’t as straightforward as we initially had hoped. It’s not a question of love letters versus the Unabomber. That’s only a lazy glance at the question. It does not look at the deeper habits and social impacts of the daily use of technology.


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The Colonel and the Bishop

“Colonel Mustard, in the Dining Room, with the Candlestick.” The game is familiar. But for most of us when we see a candlestick, the first thing that comes to mind is not a “bludgeon.” Candlesticks were made not only to elevate a lighted candle but to provide the light safely. Only in the hands of a person like Colonel Mustard does the candlestick become a weapon.

When Jurgenson took aim at the “The IRL Fetish,” he was criticizing the colonels of the world who pick up “offline” and wield it to bludgeon others. After I posted “The ‘Offline’ Debate: Finding the Same Register,” I was pleased that Nathan Jurgenson affirmed my reading of him. As with Jugenson’s “offline,” the Colonel’s candlestick is socially constructed, but it becomes a weapon only when someone like Colonel Mustard picks it up.

The colonels of the world are what Jurgenson later dubbed “the disconnectionists.” But there is some hope: He admitted that not all of us are colonels. Not all of us feel smug and self-righteous when we “go offline.” But to what does Jurgenson attribute such hope?

With my reading on the right track, I want to engage a bit more directly with Jurgenson’s strategy, and speak in his register. I want to confront the power-play problem that develops in social constructs like “offline,” “heterosexuality,” and “cool.” And, yes, candlesticks.

First, I want to affirm that they are indeed social constructs and that they are used to make power plays. I appreciate Jurgenson’s naming them and calling us to account for how we use them. We need to recognize our social constructs, especially when they are being used as weapons.

That said, I do not think Jurgenson’s apparent solution—to simply dismantle social constructs—can actually solve the problem. It is not a basis for hope. Jurgenson believes that everything, even Nature, is socially constructed (an argument I see the logic of). Thus, as with “offline,” he sees all social constructs as inherent weapons of power. Given this line of thinking, his solution is to dismantle all social constructs. Remove the candlestick, prevent the murder. And this seems to be exactly what Jurgenson is aiming for.

That’s why, in another article also published by The New Inquiry, Jurgenson writes, “[Labeling] the digital [as] virtual . . . is one more strategy to renew the reification of old social categories like the self, gender, sexuality, race and other fictions made concrete.” He sees these “social categories” as reinforcing people’s claims to power. Deconstructing them is Jurgenson’s attempt to eliminate those claims by disarming them of their weapons.

But what does that solution leave Jurgenson with? If everything is socially constructed, what is left when he’s finished?

Removing the candlestick doesn’t simply “prevent the murder.” It precludes the murder. Jurgenson wants to dismantle weapons, believing it will make oppression impossible (or more difficult). In the end, though, dismantling all social constructs removes all possibilities. This won’t simply preclude inequality and injustice and oppression. It will also precludes choice and, finally, freedom.

C.S. Lewis, in his book, Abolition of Man, tackles the belief that deconstructing everything will be good for us. His closing remarks of the book are, I think, quite relevant to Jurgenson, who wants to dismantle, or “see through,” every social construct. Lewis writes,
“But you cannot go on ‘explaining away’ for ever: you will find that you have explained explanation itself away. You cannot go on ‘seeing through’ things for ever. The whole point of seeing through something is to see something through it. It is good that the window should be transparent, because the street or garden beyond it is opaque. How if you saw through the garden too? It is no use trying to ‘see through’ first principles. If you see through everything, then everything is transparent. But a wholly transparent world is an invisible world. To ‘see through’ all things is the same as not to see.”
Jurgenson’s effort to dismantle social constructs in order to eliminate power plays results finally in chaos or anarchy. Deconstructing “. . . self, gender, sexuality, race and other fictions made concrete,” he said. Without these so-called “fictions made concrete,” there is no culture or humanity left that is worth having.

So, while I agree with Jurgenson that social constructs like “offline” should not be used as power plays over others, I disagree that deconstructing them solves the problem of power. As Tim Keller writes, “If you say that all truth-claims are power plays, then so is your statement” (The Reason for God, 38). The power plays are problematic, yes, but deconstruction doesn’t fix them. Instead, I think there’s a better way forward—one that reappropriates them and uses them to serve others.

The Colonel represents one way of using candlesticks—as weapons of power. For an alternative vision, consider the candlesticks in the hands of Victor Hugo’s bishop.

When the powerfully-built convict Jean Valjean arrives in the doorway of Monsigneur Bienvenu, the elderly bishop welcomes the menacing figure in. The bishop’s home, he tells the convict, “is the house of Christ. It does not ask any comer whether he has a name, but whether he has an affliction. You are suffering,” the bishop observes, “you are hungry and thirsty; be welcome.” Valjean eats at the bishop’s table using real silverware on real silver plates. Then silver candlesticks are bought out to light the table. Later, when the bishop shows Valjean to his sleeping quarters, each of them takes a candlestick to light their path.

After a few hours’ sleep, Valjean wakes up in the middle of the night, and, tempted, he deigns to steal the silver plates and then escapes into the early morning’s darkness. When French gendarmes apprehend him, they return the convict to the bishop’s house. Having already been alerted to the theft, the bishop receives the men with the shackled Valjean between them.
“‘Ah, there you are!’ said he, looking toward Jean Valjean. ‘I am glad to see you. But I gave you the candlesticks also, which are silver like the rest, and would bring two hundred francs. Why did you not take them along with your plates?’”
To the Bishop as well as to Valjean, the candlesticks are indeed socially-constructed objects of great value and status. But the bishop freely gives all this power and honor to Valjean. He uses the power that is socially constructed around the candlesticks to empower Valjean, not to oppress him.

Conclusion

Like the Colonel and the Bishop, we have a choice as to what we do with “offline.” Do we use it as a power play and murder others? Or do we use it to serve and empower others? For both the Colonel and the Bishop, the candlesticks were socially constructed objects endowed with immense power. Like any socially constructed object, they could be used for evil or for good. And we have a choice.

Whether we like it or not, “offline” is a new candlestick. We can’t return to life before “offline.” We must make our way in a world where it exists. Jurgenson is right to name it as a weapon, just as we are right to despise the Colonel for murdering others. Jurgenson does a great service in bringing “offline” to light in this way. But now, the solution is not to try and dismantle it. Only eliminating the Internet could achieve that. Now, the way forward is to ask ourselves, “What will we do with ‘offline’?” Will we wield it like the Colonel, or will we offer it like the Bishop?



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The "Offline" Debate: Finding the Same Register

With the advent of the Internet, “offline” has become a new category of perception and experience. Nathan Jurgenson, however, took issue with the category: “Offline” and its closely related “IRL” (or “In Real Life” for the uninitiated) is a fetish, he argued, positioned as the moral high ground by “the disconnectionists.” He argued that the category was not “real,” useful, or distinct from “online.” In essence, he claims that the idea of “offline” is just as socially constructed as, say, the concept of “cool.” It is whatever people agree that it is, but some people have it, and some people don’t. And the haves hold it over the have nots.

If you’re unfamiliar with the debate, or need a refresher, I’ve summarized below one major thread. From there I analyze the context and goals of the debate, hopefully providing a more fruitful discussion going forward.


The Debate: “Offline”

Round One
Nathan Jurgenson started off with “The IRL Fetish” in which he argued that people have become obsessed with disconnecting from the Internet and electronic devices, and that in doing so, their “offline” experiences are more “real” than “online” ones. Jurgenson perceptively points out that even when we are “offline,” our lives, perceptions, and choices are still informed by the existence of the web and its devices. (We go camping, knowing that we will later post the photos to Facebook. Thus, camping remains informed by the Internet’s existence—so we are not truly “offline.” We exist in the same world where the Internet does, and we know it.)

Jurgenson further seems to suggest that we who are “offline” adopt a smug, self-righteous elitism in being “real.” In other words, this “digital dualism” of “online/offline” becomes a tool of power that some people hold over other people.

The debate began when Nick Carr responded with “The line between offline and online”. In it, he attacks Jurgenson’s apparent claim that the Internet has made us appreciate “offline” even more by contrast. Carr retorts that there have been many who appreciated “offline” before the Internet existed—appreciated it as much as we do today, Carr would venture. Carr goes on to attack Jurgenson’s further claim that this “appreciating” is actually “fetishizing.”

Even so, both Carr and Jurgenson seem to agree that the “offline” is saturated with the “online.” You can’t go camping without Facebook in the back of your mind. Some of what you do while camping becomes some of the content posted on Facebook. The question is, Are “online” and “offline” distinct at all? If they compose two circles, are they a Venn diagram, or do they completely overlap as one circle?

With these sides taken, Michael Sacasas chimed in with “In Search of the Real”. He teases out the distinction between Life Before “Online” versus Life After “Online.” Life Before we had the Internet was a world where we didn’t know we were “offline.” Life After the Internet is a world where, when we are “offline,” we can’t not know it. So, although going camping looks and feels very similar Before and After, they are not the same. Before is a world where Facebook doesn’t exist; After is a world where it does.

Sacasas’s point, I believe, is that when we choose to “unplug,” we mistakenly believe that we are choosing Life Before “Online.” Thus, we believe, based on that illusion, that when we unplug, we have the right to be smug, self-righteous, and elitist. And to this Jurgenson is, in effect, saying, “Life Before ‘Online’ doesn’t exist anymore, so you don’t have any right to claim superiority.”

Round Two
Round Two started when Carr picked up the thread again 7 months later with “Digital dualism denialism”. There, he zeroes in on another of Jurgenson’s essays, where Jurgenson delineates four positions: (1) strong and (2) mild “digital dualism” and (3) strong and (4) mild “augmented reality.” Both strong (1 and 3) positions are straw men, and Jurgenson ultimately sides with “mild augmented reality.” Carr perceptively distills the two mild positions down to a single distinction: Are the digital and physical “different worlds” or are they “one reality.” In other words: Do they make a Venn diagram or a single circle? And depending on your answer, does anyone have the right to feel self-righteous or not? Carr challenges the notion that everyone who “unplugs” feels self-righteous about doing so.

Besides airing this critique, Carr accepts the IRL phenomenon at face value: “people really do feel a difference and even a conflict between their online experience and their offline experience,” he writes. “They’re expressing something important about themselves and their lives.” Carr believes that accepting the perceived difference at face value and exploring it would be much more interesting, but that Jurgenson’s critique, by collapsing online and offline into a single circle, prevents us from exploring the differences. Carr laments this, seeing the exploration as having potential to produce valuable philosophy and art. He concludes by arguing that even Jurgenson’s “augmentation” position assumes a Venn diagram.

Jurgenson offers a number of clarifications in “Responding to Carr’s Digital Dualism”. (First) “Reality has always been augmented.” In other words, Life Before “Online” was already Life After the Printing Press. And Life Before the Printing Press was already Life After Writing. And so on. There were always things to “unplug” from, always reasons for self-righteousness and power. (Second) Jurgenson agrees that not everyone who “unplugs” automatically feels superior. (Third) “the digital and physical are not the same . . . but both Facebook and the coffee shop inhabit one reality.” So, no Venn diagram for Jurgenson. Contra Carr, he sees a single circle.

Even though he admits the (Second) clarification, Jurgenson maintains his criticism of people who use “offline” as a power play just like the “cool” kids did. Perpetuating the belief that we can really be “offline” allows us “to claim that one’s own disconnection makes one more real.” The idea of “the real” is something that one can claim to “have access to” and feel superior for having. “Offline” people then wield this abusively against others.

After this, a fourth voice, Tyler Bickford, chimed in with “The digital dualism of ‘digital dualism’ critics”. Bickford’s analysis is the densest, but he was also the one who illuminated for me Jurgenson’s emphasis on power. As the adage goes, “Whoever makes the rules wins the game,” and so also whoever decides what is “real” (supposedly “offline”) gains the upper hand. By calling “offline” more “real” than “online,” people “unplug” and smugly judge those who don’t.

Bickford argues that Jurgenson’s “mild augmented reality” solution still reinforces the dualisms he wants to dismantle, the same point that Carr made: a Venn diagram. For Bickford, “the solution here is to stop talking about ‘reality’ altogether.” His alternative is “rather than ‘the digital’ and ‘the physical,’ can’t we just have ‘lots of different stuff’?” Deconstructing categories into “lots of different stuff,” Bickford seems to believe, will resolve the power plays at work, or at least blunt their force. If there aren’t “cool” kids but instead, just a lot of different people, then there are no outsiders.

Jurgenson responded.

The hubbub petered out finally with Sacasas’s “Online/Offline/No Line”. There, Sacasas admits that the points of disagreement aren’t exactly clear. (My summary should show that there does actually seem to be a good bit of agreement, and that where there is disagreement, opponents are talking past each other.) Sacasas sympathizes with Bickford’s desire to simply deal with “lots of different stuff,” but he also recognizes that an “undifferentiated blob” isn’t very helpful either: “There are realities against which our language, concepts, and knowledge claims rub, and within this reality there are distinctions.” (Although I wonder how Jurgenson and Bickford feel about Sacasas’s deployment of “reality” here.) From here, Sacasas returns to the categories of “online” and “offline” and calls them “meaningful” labels for the “difference” that Carr believes “people really do feel.”



The Weapon: “Offline”

After “reviewing the literature” such as it is, I follow Bickford’s reading: Jurgenson seems more concerned with power and oppression than he is with “online” versus “offline” as social constructs. Jurgenson could have just as easily have used other socially constructed weapons. For example, “homosexuality” versus “heterosexuality” could have been his social constructs of choice (which he will do); some people deem one orientation to be better than the other and use the distinction as a weapon to benefit themselves and dominate the other. (In fact, that argument is made here.)

We need to distinguish Jurgenson’s goal from his means. The “offline” question is merely a means to his end. His end goal is to prevent people from claiming power and abusing others. The weapon, as he sees it, is the belief in the “offline.” If Jurgenson can deconstruct “offline,” then he can remove that weapon from the arsenal. He can stop people from claiming that alleged power and abusing others.

Carr and Sacasas are not attacking Jurgenson’s ends. I don’t even see them recognizing his ends. But they are attacking his means. And so when Jurgenson hears them attacking his means, I think he hears them attacking his ends. However, I do not think that is their intent at all.

Yet, even with his means, Carr and Jurgenson seem to be talking past one another: Carr is talking about “offline” in the context of experience, but Jurgenson seems to be talking about “offline” in the context of perception. (Although, perception is rightly a subset of experience.)

Jurgenson argues that the Internet factors into your perceptions even when you are logged off. You account for the Internet even when you go camping. It’s presence is assumed for when you return from camping. In terms of perception, we are never “offline.” We can’t go back. We are all online now.

Conclusion

In order for Carr and Jurgenson to converse productively, the context and the goal need to be clearly understood. Jurgenson is talking about “offline” in the context of perception, and his goal is to deconstruct “offline” as a path to power. Carr is talking about “offline” in the context of experience, and his goal is to use “offline” to describe lived experience in meaningful ways. These are very different contexts and goals, very different registers. Once they can start speaking in the same register, the conversation might finally bear some fruit.



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