Many of us were early enthusiasts of digital things. Watching the internet go from basic communications (1989–1995) to the web to a commercial bazaar (1995–2005) was a beautiful unfolding of the market economy in action, fusing human ingenuity with public service.
It certainly caused me to become a fan, even uncritically so. The major players in the industry seemed to have a disruptive and libertarian ethos about them. They were the entrepreneurs of emancipation and would do no evil, just as they promised.
That now seems like ages ago. The hopes have been dashed in so many ways. We have piles of ironclad proof that the Deep State is deeply embedded in all the major companies now. The technology is deployed for surveillance and control. Backdoors are everywhere. We are now monitored, data mined, and profiled at every turn, and we are expected to pay for the privilege.
Looking back, I recall having a slight doubt when Google started sending me free hardware: mini-Homes to put all over my living quarters and to give to my friends. This was a miracle technology that would play all music and tell all truth but they were giving it away. Still, I was all for it... until the last few years. Something went wrong. Many things went wrong.
Now it seems pretty apparent what was going on. These are listening devices, obviously. They are data collection devices too. The Stasi had to hide its devices in wall sockets and light switches. We put them on display and speak to them as if they are friends. They are in fact hardly that at all.
All these companies backed lockdowns and participated in schemes to censor and deplatform anyone who disagreed. They went all in on masking and then mandatory shots, while allowing their technology to be used to push out dissident voices. In short, the great emancipators became part of the regime. It was a bait-and-switch out of our worst nightmares.
How quickly everything has changed. Now we cannot go anywhere without our surveillance devices on us. We still call them “phones” but they are no better than state-issued ankle bracelets. The prisoners look forward to the day when they can take those off but the general population actually pays these companies for the privilege of wearing them. It’s a rather brilliant strategy. Bring the forces of capitalism to the cause of tyranny and you have the ultimate answer to keeping the people in check.
I was watching a movie from 1995 two nights ago, and people were using payphones on the streets. They would put in quarters and make calls. I don’t think those things even exist today. Maybe you will find some in rural areas but I seriously doubt that they work anymore. This has all happened in a very short period of time. Now if you want to call someone, you have little choice but to be part of the matrix.
These days, even your local laundromat is phasing out physical quarters. Now you have to download another app to add to the 325 you already have running. So here we are: if you want clean clothes, you have to participate in the digitization of life else you are back to tubs and the clothesline.
Neither UPS nor FedEx will allow you to mail something without flashing your government ID and they fully expect only cards and text notifications. You certainly cannot travel anymore without your passport or RealID. Not even an old fashioned driver’s license works nowadays. Can you ride buses anymore without an app? I’m not certain but I’m sure that’s coming to an end too.
It astonishes me how much my enthusiasm of the past has turned to the sadness of the present. I was once a big champion of Uber and Lyft but that was before they drove all the cabs out of business and massively raised prices. Now going anywhere seems like it costs $40 at least, and the company and not the driver gets most of it.
Obviously I’m all for markets and innovation but these ride share companies quickly became the new monopolists to displace the old ones. It makes me long for the crabby guy in the municipal yellow cab who only accepted cash.
I’m not sure if you are there yet but I’m doing whatever I can to unplug from the internet in whatever way possible. It hardly ever is, sadly. But sometimes it is. When it happens, there is a feeling of mercy and joy that floods you completely. It makes me deeply grateful for whatever remnants of the physical world are still remaining.
You probably experience this at your house of worship and that is wonderful. It’s one of the few physical communities we have remaining in our lives. Certainly pop music concerts don’t qualify anymore: being at a Taylor Swift concert is like being in the metaverse. Everything about the experience depends on techno razzle-dazzle. You are merely a non-playable character holding a light stick and shouting lyrics along with the rest of the mob.
So let’s talk about the symphony. Have you been recently? It is such a joy, such a perfect embodiment of the old world come to life in our own hyper-digitized times.
The musicians file in with their instruments, all of which are bowed, blown, plucked, pressed, or pounded—some actual physical motion of a human person interacting with a tool that some version of which has been around for a thousand years. It takes tremendous talent of course, since, contrary to myth, there is no such thing as a naturally gifted musician.
The other night at the symphony, I was trying to do a calculation of how many hours of practice were represented on stage. Let’s say you practice 20 hours a week for 20 years. That’s 20,800 hours, which is a low estimate of what it takes to play in a professional symphony. There are 100 players on stage, so add two zeros: 2,080,000 hours or 237 years of work on display just for you to experience over 2 hours for which you pay maybe $75, not to mention the composers, teachers, publishers, critics, studios, and so much more. So we are talking in the multiple tens of millions of time, money, and effort to make all this possible.
Let’s just say there is more going on here than merely clicking a stupid button on a phone.
And what do we hear? There are steel and gut strings put into a vibration by the push and pull of horse hair on a stick. There are brass instruments given life by a mouthpiece buzzed by the lips and the slides and valves changing the length of tubing in the horn to produce a different series of harmonic relationships. There are wooden instruments with single and double reeds that vibrate with the human breath and produce glorious sounds. And there are the percussion instruments from keyboards struck with mallets to bells hanging on racks to tympanies pounded with sticks, not to mention harps and crashing cymbals.
A great composer has all these to choose from in constructing a powerful soundscape but merely on paper. It’s just dots of ink that make no sound. The players make it come to life.
Then it all unfolds in front of us for our eyes and ears, and the result is the Beethoven 5th or the Mahler 4th or Copeland’s Appalachian Spring or any number of genius works written over half a millennium, ready for our enrichment. The conductor provides the tempos and interpretation so that every performance is different from every other performance.
Mercifully, it all happens without digits, servers, processors, pixels, cell towers, CGI, AI, or anything else. The other night at the symphony, it might as well have been 1830 with the only difference being electric lighting and indoor temperature control. I became mentally lost in wave after wave of nostalgia for a world gone by. At least in those two hours, I was invited to believe that this world is not entirely lost to us. You can still go and experience something real and authentic, something that is a result of hard work, artistic creativity, and true love.
All of this is being drained from our daily experiences with the hegemony of the digital. It’s all happened so fast. The great turning from delight to dread over the digitization of everything seems to have happened so recently, perhaps just in the past 5 or so years. I don’t necessarily want to turn back the clock but I crave a more humane and true world of genuine accomplishment and connection that the symphony provides.
I never thought I would someday look upon the Amish and admit that they might have had a point all along. But we don’t have to go that far. In your local symphony hall, you might find that warmth, authenticity, and evidence of true civilization that you seek. Try it out. See what you think. I will tell you this: it certainly brought me joy, and even gave me hope that not all is lost in the digital tsunami of state-controlled everything. Zuckerberg can try to the end of his days, but the Metaverse will never be able to recreate this.
