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<p>
This is Chapter 9 of <i>The Future Does Not Compute: Transcending the
Machines in Our Midst</i>, by <a href="">Stephen L. Talbott</a>. Copyright 1995 O'Reilly
& Associates. All rights reserved. You may freely redistribute this
chapter in its entirety for noncommercial purposes. For information about
the author's online newsletter, NETFUTURE: Technology and Human
</p><p>
Referring to our wired planet as a "global village" makes about as
much sense as calling multinational companies "global craft shops":
it works fine so long as you attach meaning only to the first word of
the phrase. In the case of "global village," however, nearly all the
emotional freight is delivered by the second word. Given how few of
us can claim any direct experience of a traditional village culture,
one wonders what it is we're really saying.
</p><p>
No one can doubt that the world's wiring reflects the imperatives of
business. To a first approximation, the global village <i>is</i> the
global "craft shop" -- which only adds to the perplexity, since the
patterns of community we have built into our corporations are not
widely felt to be villagelike.
</p><p>
On the other hand, we have fed for some years now on certain images of
electronic, transnational, people-to-people contact. A few well-
publicized faxes and Internet messages from Tienanmen Square and
coup-threatened Russia greatly encouraged our already eager
sentiments. Somehow we can't help ourselves: all this opportunity to
pass messages around just <i>must</i> lead to an era of peace and
neighborly understanding. At the very least, we cannot deny that the
communication itself is a good thing!
</p><p>
There are strange juxtapositions here. Many of those societies in
which the village has until now remained central -- societies where
networking is as easy as saying hello to a neighbor -- are busily
dissolving themselves in the cauldron of their own unrepressed fury,
villager pitted mercilessly against villager. Surely <i>this</i> is
not the community we wish to globalize! Where then, one asks,
<i>is</i> our model? Perhaps it is merely a ghastly sense for the
ironic that prompts us to hail the birth of the global village just as
villages around the world are self-destructing. But the unwelcome
thought nags: could it be that what we so eagerly embrace, unawares,
are the powers of dissolution themselves?</p>
<h2>Legacy of the colonial village </h2>
<p>
The current ethnic strife forces at least one self-evident lesson upon
us: there are ways to bring diverse peoples together -- to give them
common institutions, a common currency for cultural exchange, common
purposes and undertakings on the world scene -- while yet failing
utterly to bridge hellish chasms dividing human being from human
being. It is not just that the Soviet experiment and the colonization
of Africa failed -- as they did even in their most benign
manifestations. More than that, they were gigantic incubators for
future misunderstanding and strife. And no one can doubt that the
transcultural nature of the experiments -- the tendency to globalize
and rationalize human interaction without a proper foundation within
the depths of the human being, without a true meeting of persons
across the superficially breached cultural barriers -- has contributed
to the massive regional disasters that have afflicted former colonies
in recent decades. In this context, the global village looks all too
much like a convenient means for universalizing the conflicts already
so evident in the "colonial village."
</p>
<p>
You may wish to dismiss ethnic hatreds as resulting from the very sort
of oppressive domination our global networks will hereafter make
impossible. The political power of the fax and all that. I don't
doubt that particular styles of domination <i>may</i> eventually pass
from history's stage -- or even that electronic communication may play
a part in the passing. What concerns me is the likelihood of our
expressing within a new social and technological landscape the same
spiritual vacuity that gave rise to the old tyrannies.
</p>
<p>
Can we claim to have composed the elusive melody that brings neighbor
into harmony with neighbor? Whatever that melody may be, it was
woefully unsung in the villages of Bosnia, where the people had long
been able to talk to each other unimpeded. The grounds are tenuous
indeed for thinking that proper electronic links were the critical,
missing elements in villages subsequently shattered by the shrill
dissonance of a hatred long inaudible even to its owners.</p>
<h3>Giving in marriage </h3>
<p>
These observations may seem overwrought in the context of the
Internet. That, in fact, is precisely what worries me. In dealing
with the titillating prospects of a new electronic culture, we
naturally find ourselves talking about human beings who have become
manageable abstractions of themselves. Sharing information and
cooperating in purely technical undertakings too easily figures, in
the electronically adapted imagination, as "village paradise
regained." Yet the global peace and understanding of this levitated
discourse are only pale shadows of the peace-giving powers we must
summon if we are to assist the transformation of an all-too-real
village where the inhabitants rape, mutilate, and kill their
neighbors. Moreover, the widespread substitution of an abstract,
"information-rich" discourse for a more muscular and humanly
<i>present</i> interaction may be very much part of the formula for
mutual alienation, the consequences of which we are now seeing in the
world.
</p>
<p>
I am not saying it is impossible to express deep human concern to
another person in an email message. There's no need to tell me how
you met your spouse over the Net, or how you participated in a
successful, electronic fund drive for a charity. I know about these
things and am glad for them. So, too, people were happily given in
marriage throughout Bosnia, until a year or two ago. But to leave
matters there is to refuse to probe the subtle weave of shaping forces
from which an unexpected future may crystallize.
</p>
<p>
A global electronic culture can, in one sense or another, bring about
a union of peoples. The question is whether this union only offers a
less visible -- and therefore more insidious -- communal dissociation
than was effected by the failed political unions of the past.
Recognizing such things is painfully difficult; how many Yugoslavs in
1990 could have looked into their own hearts and the hearts of their
neighbors and descried the conflagration to come? And it may be
precisely <i>this</i> sort of recognition that an online culture
suppresses more effectively than any external authority possibly
could. Many indeed -- by their own testimony -- have seized upon the
Net as an opportunity, not to face what they are, but to live out
their fantasies.</p>
<h2>Technology transfer </h2>
<p>
The global village is by all accounts a technological creation. Many
would-be village architects are inspired by the endless potentials
they discern in a satellite dish planted among thatched-roof houses.
This techno-romantic image calls up visions of information sharing and
cooperation, grassroots power, and utopian social change.
</p>
<p>
What it ignores is the monolithic and violently assimilative character
of the resulting cultural bridges. Jerry Mander and many others have
given us a hair-raising account of the effects of technological
imperialism upon native peoples around the world. <a href="#fn1" name="fn1.0">/1/</a> A global village that leaves no place for native
or alternative cultures seems uncomfortably like the old colonialism
in a new guise. But this statement requires some elaboration.</p>
<h3>Sources of satisfaction </h3>
<p>
We in the West have distilled the abstract essence of logic and
mathematics from our former worlds of interest (for example, from the
behavior of the night sky). Unfortunately, we have proven less adept
at recovering the possibilities of meaning in the original subject
matter once we have conformed our thoughts to its abstract distillate.
The light of mathematics may have descended into our minds from the
circling stars, but how many students of mathematics still look to the
night sky with wonder?
</p>
<p>
Our loss becomes an acute problem for others when we apply our now
disembodied rationality (often in the form of computer programs such
as expert systems) to the concrete needs of developing nations. This
rationality, detached as it is even from our own former sources of
meaning, is doubly alien to the people we would help. And what
meaning we do invest in software and technology remains, for the most
part, unconscious.
</p>
<p>
Doris M. Schoenhoff, in <i>The Barefoot Expert</i>, points out that
expertise -- the kind we export to other nations -- is always
"embedded in a community and can never be totally extracted from or
become a replacement for that community. <a href="#fn2"
name="fn2.0">/2/</a> When we attempt the abstraction and apply the
result across cultural boundaries, the logic and assumptions of our
technology can prove bitterly corrosive. Worse, the kind of community
from which Western technical systems commonly arise is, for the most
part, <i>non</i>community -- typified by the purely technical, one-
dimensional, commercially motivated, and wholly rationalized
environments of corporate research and development organizations.
</p>
<p>
Within our own society, even food is subject to technological
manipulation. We can produce various artificial foods, supposedly
nourishing, and the inevitable temptation is to bring such products to
bear upon the problems of hunger in the world. But this meets
surprising resistance. As Jacques Ellul puts it,</p>
<blockquote> We must not think that people who are the victims of
famine will eat anything. Western people might, since they no longer
have any beliefs or traditions or sense of the sacred. But not
others. We have thus to destroy the whole social structure, for food
is one of the structures of society.
</blockquote>
<a href="#fn3" name="fn3.0">/3/</a>
<p>
What has for us become a merely technical problem may well remain for
other cultures an intricate nexus of profound meanings. The wonderful
rationality of our solutions easily destroys the only things that
really count. "It is discomforting," writes Denis Goulet,</p>
<blockquote> for a sophisticated technical expert from a rich country
to learn that men who live on the margin of subsistence and daily
flirt with death and insecurity are sometimes capable of greater
happiness, wisdom, and human communion than he is, notwithstanding his
knowledge, wealth, and technical superiority.
</blockquote>
<a href="#fn4" name="fn4.0">/4/</a>
<p>
This is not to justify the continued existence of poverty, but only to
point toward the inner world from which alone meaning can arise. When
technology arbitrarily destroys inner worlds, its logically compelling
aspect begins to look like a grotesque, mechanical sneer. And given
the aggressively self-driven, uncontrollable nature of Western
technology today, it almost certainly <i>will</i> destroy the inner
world -- which is to say, the culture -- of the recipient societies.
It will likely do so much more rapidly, even, than it has been
uprooting the culture of the originating nations.</p>
<h3>Technology in place of culture </h3>
<p>
Schoenhoff remarks that what we export today is no longer simply the
various products of Western expertise. "Western expertise itself has
become the [exported] technology" -- for example, in the form of
expert systems. <a href="#fn5" name="fn5.0">/5/</a> But this holds
true for much more than expert systems. The entire technical
infrastructure, including the computer networks upon which everything
is increasingly founded, enforces an imperial "wisdom" of its own.
Ellul speaks, for example, about the centralizing character of even
the most distributed networks. It is a centralization without need of
a center: a governing logic, a systematic requirement for
interaction, a necessary rationalization of all the parts within a
huge, incomprehensible, but perfectly coherent and compelling
totality. This rationalization is just "in the nature of things."
The uncounted fragments of logic continually being added to the system
through millions of separate processes that no one can fully
comprehend or even know about -- all these demand their own, mutual
rationalization, and we ourselves are unavoidably pulled along by the
grand pattern. <a href="#fn6" name="fn6.0">/6/</a>
</p>
<p>
In this sense, even if in no other, the global village is a kind of
global totalitarianism. And one thing it asks of us is clear: in
attacking any local problem we must yield first of all, not to the
meanings inherent in the problem, but to the constraining necessity of
the global system itself. The village farmers in Nepal may not feel
any need of a satellite dish, but they will receive one nevertheless;
it is a prerequisite for "development."
</p><p>
But, as I have already pointed out, this willy-nilly imposition of
technology destroys the fabric of meaning by which communities are
knit together. Our bafflement over conflicts in the global village
reflects a forgetfulness of the fact that human life can be sustained
only within a sea of meaning, not a network of information. When we
disrupt this meaning with our detached logic and unrooted information,
we cast the villagers into the same void that <i>we</i> have been able
to endure only by filling it with endless diversions. Not everyone
has access to our diversions -- and many of those who do are not so
quickly willing to sell their souls for inane stimulations. Religious
fanaticism -- to pick one alternative -- may prove more meaningful.</p>
<h3>Philistine technology </h3><p>
Our rush to wire the world will some day be seen to have spawned a
suffering as great as that caused by this century's most ruthless
dictators. There is no doubt about what we are up to. Our quest for
a global village <i>begins</i> with the implementation of physical
networks and accompanying technology. Then, of course, the local
communities must adapt to this global, culture-destroying machine they
have suddenly come up against. This sequence is vivid proof that the
global village has absolutely nothing to do with culture, value, or
meaning -- nothing to do with the traditional significance of
community, with democratic values, or with anything else that grows up
from the healthy depths of the human being. It is, purely and simply,
the extension of a technical and commercial logic implicit in the
wires already laid down.
</p><p>
If we really wanted a global village, we would <i>start</i> with the
local culture, learn to live in it, share in it, appreciate it, begin
to recognize what is highest in it -- what expresses its noblest and
most universal ideals -- and encourage <i>from within the culture</i>
the development and fulfillment of these ideals. Only in this way can
<i>any</i> culture enlarge itself.
</p><p>
Technological change should be introduced only so far as it serves the
natural, consciously chosen evolution of a people. "What is
important," says Schoenhoff, "is that development, including
technological and economic development, must proceed from a vision of
the human person and the purpose of life and not simply from a theory
of production and consumption <a href="#fn7" name="fn7.0">/7/</a> --
not even, I might add, from a theory of the production and consumption
of the empty commodity we now call "information." In a healthy
society, technology would emerge from the cultural matrix; it would
not arbitrarily destroy that matrix.
</p>
<p>
We can hardly play a positive role in the development of other
cultures without first ennobling our own behavior to the point where
we are no longer content to exploit those cultures for a strictly
economic benefit. The real "meaning" of the world's wiring is in fact
little more than the exploitation of commercial opportunities -- the
purest philistinism -- in which nearly all of us are implicated.
Enabling cultures around the globe to transform themselves from within
is hardly part of the picture.
</p>
<p>
When cultures collapse instead of transcending themselves through
their own best elements, only chaos can ensue. This is the whirlwind
we have been reaping for some time. The current, furious attempts to
assimilate every society to the inhuman imperatives of the information
age will only intensify the maelstrom.</p>
<h2>The lie </h2><p>
It wasn't long ago when we smiled to ourselves at the reports of
Russians and Chinese buying up blue jeans and dancing to rock music.
Somehow we knew that this meant we were winning. No doubt our
confidence was justified -- and all the more as we penetrate our
"enemies" by means of commercial television, cinema, and, finally, the
fully integrated logic and the virtually real images of a brave new
world. And yet, we are only now beginning to sense, with a restless
foreboding, the slowly emergent effects of these images upon our own
culture. What if it turns out that "winning" is the worst possible
outcome?
</p><p>
The obvious lie should already have alerted us to the dangers. A
culture that has largely succeeded in eradicating the last traces of
its own village life turns around and -- by appealing to a yet further
extension of the eradicating technology -- encourages itself with
Edenic images of a global village. This is Doublespeak. The
television, having helped to barricade the villager behind the walls
of his own home, will not now convert the world into a village simply
by enabling him to watch the bombs as they rain upon Baghdad. Nor
will we suddenly be delivered from ourselves by making the television
interactive and investing it with computing power. (Interactivity
allows, among other things, the hand to guide the bomb to its target.)
In none of this do we see a healing of the terms of human exchange.
Nor do we see evidence of escape from the inexorable, despotic logic
already responsible for the fortification and isolation of our own
inner-city "villages."
</p>
<h2>References </h2>
<p> <a name="fn1" href="#fn1.0">1</a>. Mander, 1991. Also see chapter 5, "On Being Responsible for Earth."</p>
<p> <a name="fn2" href="#fn2.0">2</a>. Schoenhoff, 1993: 115.</p>
<p> <a name="fn3" href="#fn3.0">3</a>. Ellul, 1990: 53.</p>
<p> <a name="fn4" href="#fn4.0">4</a>. Quoted in Schoenhoff, 1993: 80.</p>
<p> <a name="fn5" href="#fn5.0">5</a>. Schoenhoff, 1993: 75.</p>
<p> <a name="fn6" href="#fn6.0">6</a>. Ellul, 1990: 162-63.</p>
<p> <a name="fn7" href="#fn7.0">7</a>. Schoenhoff, 1993: 82-83.</p>
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