DeShallowing and the Web

Image: Έλενα Λαγαρία via flickr

Over the course of the past several months, I have been reading a book that has helped me unpack a notion that has been haunting me for quite a few years, namely: how to make sense of and live thoughtfully into the ever-connected virtual age. Nicholas Carr's The Shallows posits that the web is not a singularly neutral tool but instead a vessel that is reshaping the human brain. In this work Carr thoughtfully illustrates how the internet has facilitated a reshaping of the human brain, tying in lessons from neuroscience, communication and behavioral psychology. 

In The Shallows Carr challenges his readers to question the true pros and cons of an ever-connected culture. Having read Carr's "Is Google Making Us Stupid?" and his subsequent writings on the topic in times past, I was curious to explore the phenomena that he refers to as "shallow reading" and its consequences for daily life. I was particularly drawn to the thesis of this book when I perused his June 2010 interview with The Atlantic. States Carr:

What I started noticing around 2007 was that I seemed to be losing my ability to concentrate. Not just when I was sitting at a computer. Even when the computer was off and I tried to read a book, to sustain a single train of thought, I found it difficult.

This, more than anything, is why I purchased Carr's book and why it has had such a huge impact upon me. As a knowledge worker in the 21st century economy, what I am often valued for more than anything is my ability to connect ideas and churn out content at lightening speeds. However, the time that I have spent scouring the web has significantly dumbed down my ability to concentrate on a given task for more than a few minutes, and I no longer find it easy to sit down and read entire books or lengthy articles.  

I often find myself skimming and scanning, and not just when it comes to reading. I do the same thing in conversation-my mind bursts out ideas from a million different directions and the practice of sustaining an intelligent discussion about a single subject over the course of multiple hours has become incredibly difficult. In social interactions, I bounce quickly from topic to topic, and also sometimes person to person in efforts to pull in as many ideas as possible. Yet, this "bouncing" approach to interacting with the world has left me feeling somewhat fragmented and scatterbrained. Thus, I have found Carr's book quite timely, and sought ways to remedy my own ailments. 

Not surprisingly, Carr is not the only person discussing this topic today. In fact, it seems to be a subject of growing interest amongst a variety of intellectuals, and even those within Generation Y. For instance, in a piece for the New York Review of Books Zadie Smith weaves a compelling discussion regarding the Facebook generation, Mark Zuckerburg, and human nature. I found the latter half of Smith's article particularly enlightening. Starting on its second page, Smith quotes Jaron Lanier, author of You Are Not a Gadget:

Different media designs stimulate different potentials in human nature. We shouldn’t seek to make the pack mentality as efficient as possible. We should instead seek to inspire the phenomenon of individual intelligence.

Here, Smith begins to tie in similar threads as Carr in a rather striking way. Both argue against the grain that upholds technology as a neutral vessel. Interestingly, though, Smith highlights less the fact that the web is facilitating a certain type of brain activity and more that the web in its current state is advocating a particular type of philosophy. In Facebook founder Mark Zuckerburg's case, this philosophy is one that promotes a complete freedom of information and declares war upon privacy. Yet, the great irony of the "social graph mentality" is that nothing is ever free and that the price users pay for their use of Facebook is multifold: use of their personal information for marketing purposes, rapid exposure to cleverly targeted advertising campaigns, a digestion of one's personality into a series of small boxes that can never supersede the significance of tacit knowledge. Perhaps further, Facebook promotes a replacement of deep connection with a shallowness that is in many ways similar to Carr's notion of shallow reading. Comments Smith:

When a human being becomes a set of data on a website like Facebook, he or she is reduced. Everything shrinks. Individual character. Friendships. Language. Sensibility. In a way it’s a transcendent experience: we lose our bodies, our messy feelings, our desires, our fears. It reminds me that those of us who turn in disgust from what we consider an overinflated liberal-bourgeois sense of self should be careful what we wish for: our denuded networked selves don’t look more free, they just look more owned.

This, I believe, is the very argument at the heart of Carr's book. Yet, the question of the hour is not so much "what is the web doing to us?" as it is "how do we cope effectively?" While i'm not the biggest fan of completely removing oneself from the social web (although i've done it recently to develop some better boundaries), I am also well aware of its limitations. Quite honestly, I find myself both intrigued by the possibilities and frightened by the magnitude of the social web in its current state. 

Speaking of coping, a few months ago, I read about a group of brain researchers who went on a trip out West to discover what effect technology has upon brain function. The catch with this particular trip was that the researchers were not supposed to check email, make calls, or connect to the web during their day-to-day. Instead, they were asked to be fully present, and therefore fully engaged in, the moments at hand. The results of this odd study were somewhat scattered, and mostly qualitative, but they unequivocally suggested that taking a break from technology was important for optimal brain activity.

Like these researchers, I recently embarked upon a brain experiment of my own. The task: listen to a CD from start to finish in its entirety, no screens nearby, no books or magazines at my side, and no other activities allowed besides thinking, listening, and writing a response to the music. The results from my study were astounding. At the beginning of my chosen album, I found it hard to concentrate, and was desperately itching to get up and do something else. The idea of sitting restfully for nearly an hour on end without engaging in some other form of activity seemed incredibly daunting. And yet, by the end of my time “resting” with the music I felt incredibly refreshed.

After the success of my first experiment, I began another, much larger experiment: a respite from the social web to regroup, reenergize, and refocus. This experiment is ongoing and it has had multiple, wide-reaching impacts upon my thought processes and day-to-day activities. In removing my personality from the hands of technology, in some ways I feel that I have re-found it. Simultaneously, though, I have missed my web of so called friends, or at the very least ready access to content whenever I want it. I want to believe that I am more than a bee in the hive that is forming online, but yet there is something about this growing mass that is alluring.

Truth be told, Facebook does a better job managing my content from different channels than anything i've ever come across, particularly related to articles/readings of interest. Yet, this content comes at a price: the price of my personal privacy and my time. By allowing my "likes" to be tracked and mined, I gain access to more targeted information that is, at the very least, closer to what i'm looking for. However, the deluge of relevant content coming my way, while interesting, can become overwhelming. Time and energy once spent reading print media must now be used scanning web sources and communication that was once mostly aural is now mostly visual. When using the social web, my eyes can grow tired of browsing and my mind sometimes races too fast for its own good. Its an odd give-take that I have not totally wrapped my head around. 

My experiment has taught me that both Smith and Carr may be onto something: that a certain amount of deshallowing will be necessary if we are to move beyond the dull hum of minds tuned perfectly to the beat of the web. What I’ve learned so far is that the answer to the shallowness than can result from web-centrism may lie less in completely removing ourselves than in learning how to discipline ourselves to use these tools thoughtfully and limitedly. T.S. Eliot once said in reference to the radio: "It is a medium of entertainment which permits millions of people to listen to the same joke at the same time, and yet remain lonesome." Interestingly, the same holds true of the web. It is a medium whereby millions of people can instantly connect with one another yet lack the elements of tacit relationship with word and world that facilitate a deep and authentic kind of knowing. To truly know and be known, we must learn to live in the messy lifeblood of physical relationship with the world and with others. For this, there is no digital substitute.