New, New Things; Old Rules
Technology’s hidden effects on relationships
This past week, I came across several articles in the New York Times and elsewhere about the negative effects of technology on our morality. In “Motherhood, Screened Off” the case is made about the hidden, furtive life we now lead. Susan Dominus writes, “it is that loss of transparency, more than anything, that makes me nostalgic for the pre-iPhone life.” The article goes on to say that years ago, “all was overt: There was much shared experience and little uncertainty. Now, by contrast, among our closest friends and family members, we operate furtively without even trying to, for no reason other than that we are using a nearly omnipresent, highly convenient tool, the specific use of which is almost never apparent.” Dominus talked mainly about the effects of this hidden world on families and children in particular. But the same could be said about the effects of living in a “secret world” on other relationships — partnerships in particular — where the key to intimacy is open communication. The smartphone effectively shuts out the other party, and so do numerous apps that connect us to the world, only leaving out those most likely to perceive our behavior: those closest to us, vying for our attention and access to intimate details of our lives.
Sherry Turkle’s new book “Reclaiming Conversation” was reviewed by Jonathan Franzen this past week. Turkle is a psychologist who studies our relationship with technology. The article is about technology having ushered us forward without stopping to remind us to take along our morality, “Our rapturous submission to digital technology has led to an atrophying of human capacities like empathy and self-reflection, and the time has come to reassert ourselves, behave like adults and put technology in its place.”
You might argue that whether or not we have certain morals is a personal matter. Sure. But, I would hazard a guess that even moral people make dubious decisions on the internet because the morality of the internet has never been explicitly discussed.
If, for instance, a guy knocks on my door every week looking to chat with me, my partner would be really upset. But, on the other hand, if a guy sends me messages on facebook, I might ignore them or might forget to tell my partner. When no one else is looking to monitor my morality, it becomes easier for me to be lazy. Not because I am immoral, but because I can hide behind the more amorphous idea that “eh, who cares, it happened online”. This double standard for the internet eventually erodes the notion of what is right and wrong. In a world where the moral rules are the same online and offline, I should treat the messages the same as I would a knock on the door. This distancing of online interactions is heinous to interpersonal accountability because the guy in the scenario does not know where I stand, and in a way nor do I (and same for my partner). In one fell swoop, I have blurred the issue for three people. And, ultimately, if my partner finds out, I will have a lot of explaining to do. Treating my online interactions as actual real-life interactions means that I get to maintain my own moral personhood by being accountable to myself and others.
Of course this is just one infraction in the scheme of things. If morality is the self-reflective capacity to tell the brutal truth about your failings and then take the right path, then it is the obligation of every thinking person to struggle to be better, think better, and do a better job of living — regardless of the medium. Technology does not figure into it. If you’re flummoxed by the devices, then take a step back and think about the basics: accountability, truth, honor, personal relationships. Often, the answer to “how should I behave?” will be inherent in the response to “how would I want to be treated?”
We live in an era of strange intimacy with strangers. We put our photos online: of our children, our food, our weekend, our night out. Years ago, we would have to be invited to someone’s home, and then, after dinner, the photo album would come out, and we’d sit around awkwardly looking at pictures together. But back then, there was some gesture of conviviality, some shared happiness we were witnessing. Now, we look at people’s photos secretly. On our screens, we ogle other people’s children and pets while they are not looking.
This distance also removes accountability. Sitting on a couch, I can tell my friend “Please no more photos of your cat’s birthday cake!” But online, I have the perception that I cannot. If you care enough about the relationship, you speak up about your boundaries. The people we now see online are not friends we care about — let’s be honest. If we truly cared, we would knock on their doors and wait until after dinner to see the photo album. But we are still trapped in the old ways of thinking about friendship, which is that we dare not unfriend them, because then we would be kicked out of the cave and a lion would eat us. But that’s not the case. We should feel no hesitation to ‘unfriend’ someone if the material being posted is questionable to our sense of boundaries.
More threatening than a lion is the withering of our ability to speak up and to truly share properly within the decent boundaries of camaraderie; and, conversely, to share openly in relationships with the truth that intimacy requires. If we do not first heed our own morality, then we will never treat each other — or the technology with the respect it deserves. The value of technology lies with the benefit to mankind — not puerile entertainment or mind-numbing apps which delete our very humanity. If we do not see the difference for ourselves, no one will call us up to tell us.
And technology asks us to count things in numbers (of likes, of friends, of hits, or views), it asks us to derive meaning from things which have no meaning whatsoever. It feeds our lower senses. It knocks us off the nobler path of being inventive, ingenious creatures. For those who say there is “no harm” in it, need only be more honest with themselves, or ask someone sitting close by how it makes them feel. Turkle writes in a New York Times op-ed this past week that “Every technology asks us to confront human values. This is a good thing, because it causes us to reaffirm what they are.”
Don’t get me wrong. I used to love the idea of hiding behind a text message instead of making a tough phone call — and a myriad other social facilities that tech allows. But the small duplicity of these quasi-human interactions weighed heavily on my soul. Lately, I have surrounded myself with people who do pick up the phone and who encourage face-to-face conversations. As a therapist, I practice this level of honesty every day, and I encourage it in my clients. I am ever thankful for this lesson because when I struggle to tell the truth, I feel truly free afterwards. I have never regretted the truth, but always felt guilty about a lie, no matter how small. The truth asks us to tap into our story as humans: “I was late to our date because I couldn’t figure out what to wear. I wanted to impress you.” Wow. This truth is disarming and revealing. Or what about “Yea, I got a text from that guy. And I want to bring it up so that we can talk about it and figure out what to do.” Again, the power of the humanity in these sentences is more effective than any lie could be. The truth helps people connect. Lies destroy. Tech makes it easier to give in to our deep desire to dissimulate and be sneaky and preserve the illusion of our honor. But if we work hard to resist the lure of tech moral infractions, the truth is still more attractive and more splendid — and it will help you maintain your relationships.
Sanaa Hyder is a psychotherapist practicing in NYC. To learn more about her, visit www.sanaahyder.com
