Via Alan Jacobs, I came across an essay by Frank Furedi titled, “Age of Distraction: Why the idea digital devices are destroying our concentration and memory is a myth.”
One would expect that an essay so titled would go on to demonstrate by carefully reasoned arguments and by the deployment of relevant evidence that the claim in question was indeed a myth. One would be disappointed.
“If all the recent reports of memory loss and diminishing attention spans are to be believed,” Furedi notes sardonically, “it is unlikely that you will get to the end of this essay.” Perhaps he was banking on it and hoping you would simply take him at his word.
Furedi opens by acknowledging that every time he meets with educators, he is invariably confronted with the lament that we live in an age of distraction. In paragraph after subsequent paragraph, Furedi references study after study that appear to confirm the educators’ fears. He then references a spate of recent books that raise similar concerns about our use of digital devices. It’s a curious rhetorical strategy. The attentive reader may be forgiven for thinking that maybe the title was an error perpetrated by a careless editor. More likely, of course, we suspect that we are being set up. Furedi will surely show us why all of this evidence and each of these critics should be dismissed.
He does not. Rather, he merely asserts that new technology is “unlikely” to be the cause of our disordered attention:
Whatever one makes of the current claims about the effects of our supposed Age of Distraction, it should be evident that their cause is unlikely to be the workings of new technology. The experience of the past indicates that most of the troubles attributed to the internet and digital technology have served as topics of concern in previous centuries. Contributions on the current challenges facing readers recycle an age-old mantra that there is too much choice, too much information and too much change. It is far more likely that our current predicament is not the availability of powerful and exciting new technologies of communication, but an uncertainty about what to communicate.
Jacobs, who has written a little gem of a book bearing the title The Pleasures of Reading in an Age of Distraction, rightly skewered Furedi:
Furedi does not offer any evidence for what he belives is the “far more likely” explanation for “our current predicament.” He just says that his view is more likely. He does not explain what he thinks “our current predicament” is. He disbelieves the studies suggesting that human concentration and memory are affected by the use of digital devices, but he does not say why he disbelieves them: he offers no reasons for doubting their conclusions. He notes that rhetorically similar comments have been made about other technologies in the past, but does not inquire whether those earlier comments were right or wrong, nor does he explain how critiques of some past technologies are relevant to the assessment of other technologies today. He has written a good many words here without showing any curosity about the truth, and without providing evidence to support a single one of his claims. Perhaps he was too distracted to do the job properly.
Insofar as there is any kind of argument in Furedi’s essay, it is this: “The truth is, 21st century society may fear distraction and that our attention span is diminishing, but so did our ancestors.” So what? Even if we were to establish that prior concerns were indeed meaningfully analogous, what exactly would this prove?
I’ve commented on this non-argument a time or two because it occurs so frequently in discussions about technology, frequently enough to qualify as a Borg Complex symptom and as the second bit of unsolicited advice I’ve offered to tech writers: “Do not cite apparent historical parallels to contemporary concerns about technology as if they invalidated those concerns. That people before us experienced similar problems does not mean that they magically cease being problems today.”
It is not, to be clear, that the historical parallels are irrelevant or useless. It is only that the precise nature of their relevance is not obvious. Some work needs to be done in order to establish their relevance in the first place, to show that the parallels are not merely apparent. Then, more than a little work needs to be done in order to establish the significance of their relevance. One cannot simply posit the historical parallels and leave it at that as if their significance was plain to see.
Laying all of this to one side, however, Furedi did raise a question that we would do well to consider: “The question that is rarely posed by advocates of the distraction thesis is: what are people distracted from?”
Very often, of course, the answer is the deep reading of challenging texts. That said, Furedi’s question brings to mind an oft-cited observation by Hannah Arendt regarding the promise of automation:
It is a society of laborers which is about to be liberated from the fetters of labor, and this society does no longer know of those other higher and more meaningful activities for the sake of which this freedom would deserve to be won . . . . What we are confronted with is the prospect of a society of laborers without labor, that is, without the only activity left to them. Surely, nothing could be worse.
If we were suddenly able to achieve the kind of attentiveness the loss or lack of which critics, past and present, have lamented, would we know how to direct it or what to do with it? Upon what objects would we lavish this hard won resource?
We generally value leisure for leisure’s sake, and it is a diminished notion of leisure at that. In another age, as Arendt knew, leisure was not an end but rather the state that allowed the fortunate few to pursue some higher, noble purpose. Not incidentally, that purpose, or better that constellation of purposes might be best understood as varieties of the vita contemplativa–the contemplative life in either its classical, Christian, or Eastern manifestations, which would have been the raison d’être of both leisure and attention.
Here is the question I’m left with at this point: Is our distractedness not only an effect of our technological environment but also a consequence of the absence of a normative telos that might give our attention something at which to aim? Or, to put it another way, is distractedness the natural state of the liberated will that refuses to be captured by goods external to itself? If so, then it appears that distractedness may be understood as the natural state of the aimless soul, free to attend to whatever it will but with no compelling reason to attend for very long to anything in particular.
Follow up here: Attention and the Moral Life.