Literacy, Technology, and Civic Engagement: A Retrospective

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Before the Winter semester of 2014, I was vaguely aware that the words “literacy,” “technology,” and “civic engagement” were interrelated. I figured the intersection of these words had something to do with understanding and using new emerging technologies to effect a successful political discourse. However, having been dulled for many years by apathy and indifference, my political awareness heading into this course was unsatisfying. For example, the first “assignment” for Literacy, Technology, and Civic Engagement was to find and share an image we thought represented the confluence of these terms. Now, I have always believed that citizens should have the freedom to live where and how they want; unimpeded by government or any authority of power. The image above was the one I shared, simply as an embodiment of this idea. However, despite the silhouette of Lady Liberty, my professor thought this black-robed woman alluded to the Arab Spring. Admittedly, all I knew about the Arab Spring was that it was a democratic victory aided by social media. From the beginning of this course, then, I was reminded that technology can be a positive force in society. It can motivate individuals to organize, perfect a discourse, and engage in critical issues. But, I was also concerned that my political apathy would hinder my enjoyment of this course. Fortunately, I soon discovered that civic or political engagement did not have to be daunting.

As a History major, I enjoyed the historical backdrop to this course. We looked at how the printing press revolutionized Europe and changed political, economic, and social realities. If the printing press had such a radical effect on Europe, is it not reasonable to suggest that digital literacy has transformed our society in similar ways? David Reinking claimed that it had, because electronic texts have nearly become the standard form of literate production. Almost twenty years ago, Reinking wrote, “the tangible means by which people read and write implies at least the potential for producing a cascade of sociocultural transformations” (Handbook to Literacy and Technology). I was not sure what this meant until later in the course, when I read W. Lance Bennett and Howard Rheingold. Their work, published more recently than Reinking’s, demonstrates that there is a generational gap in terms of social and political identity. Before the advent of participatory social media, individuals would become part of a physical social group, and that group’s values and political ideas would be inculcated into succeeding generations. However, our networked society has caused a consequential drop-out, so to speak, in group identity, where ideas spread from a community leader or an authority figure. This is generally not how things are anymore. As Bennett said, “individuals have become more responsible for the production and management of their own social and political identities” (Changing Citizenship in the Digital Age).

Ever since I became old enough to vote, I determined to become more politically informed and active. Despite trying, however, it seemed like I would never succeed at caring about politics. Popular politics just did not appeal to me, and there never appeared to be a candidate or an issue that I could really sympathize with. After taking Literacy, Technology, and Civic Engagement, however, I realized that this is a common perception among many younger citizens, despite media representations of youth flocking in droves around the Obama campaign. Indeed, most young people are poorly educated in civics, and they willfully ignore politics, turning instead to forms of self-expression and social networking. Others are on the margins of political discourse, aware of a larger political reality, but they are still disaffected by the inauthentic posturing and partisanship of the national stage. These individuals also drop out of the public sphere, and they too become mere media engagées.

Most of all, I think, this course helped me to understand that social media can be used for constructive and empowering purposes. I am now more dedicated to reading social, economic, and political news, forming an opinion, and joining in online discussions with opinion makers. I also have developed a keener sense of what constitutes civic engagement. As I noted, it does not have to be daunting. Individuals can just as easily take something they are interested in or passionate about and apply that to a larger civic issue. For example, as a mountain biker and avid defender of the environment, I can join a mountain biking association that, in tandem with organizations like the local Watershed Council, can fight to preserve trails and keep developers off public land. That is just one example of where a personal interest can become a civic one. Before any of this can happen, of course, individuals have to organize and engage in civic discourse. This has become way more apparent to me after taking this course.

James Burke – “A Matter of Fact”

Earlier this semester, I watched the above episode of The Day the Universe Changed, hosted by James Burke. I am not quite sure why my classmates characterized Burke as having a monotonous and boring style. I thought he was rather engaging, even if he is a stuffy British academe. In other words, he can be rather wry and condescending at times. But if you can get past that facet of his personality, the things he has to say in “A Matter of Fact” are rather erudite and profound, I think. Right away, the premise of “A Matter of Fact” caught my attention and resonated with me. Burke’s argument is threefold: (1) Technology has taken away our memory, (2) Technology has created an artificial way of living, and (3) Technology has cut us off from direct contact with the world. I happen to agree with these statements. I like the way Burke stated that “The natural world has been mechanized, processed, [and] packaged. . . Science and technology have taken away the real thing from everything we do, because five-hundred years ago, something happened that gave us today’s artificial way of living, took away our memories, and cut us off from direct contact with the world.” To a large extent, I agree with Burke’s premise. But I would not be so quick to place the blame in 1440 AD, with the invention of the printing press.

Before the advent of writing, the known world did, one could argue, operate in a much more romantic sense. Burke says that, “People were intimate with every sound and smell in nature.” Of course, life was a lot more uncomfortable then too with poor hygiene and diseases running amok. But the standards by which medieval persons went about their daily business were much different than our own standards today. For those individuals who could not read or write in Latin, nature was their constant interlocutor. The language of the day was circadian and interpersonal; not subject to the stultifying effects of abstraction and personal disconnection wrought by technology. The fact that news and information was shared through art and sound, and troubadours “could repeat a thousand words after hearing them once” is something that – if not slightly exaggerated – is a fantastic indication of what writing has done to dull the working memory. Do not get me wrong though. As a History major, I have studied a bit of medieval history, and the medieval period would have been a horrible time to live in. Not just because of the Black Death either. Sanitation was basically non-existent, and individuals slept with barn animals.

Burke treated the topic of the Black Death with apparent disregard for its victims. For Burke, the event was ultimately a footnote in the overarching theme of his presentation. It may seem irreverent treating the subject of the Black Death as a “passing phase,” when in fact it was the premier event of the Middle Ages; carrying 33% of Europe’s population away to the grave (just during the principal outbreak of the Black Death). But the “benefits” of the plague are usually spoken about in retrospect by economic and social historians. I tend to dislike this view, but it is a necessary evil in describing systems of change, and how institutions – economic, social, and political – were impacted by exogenous factors like weather, famine, disease, and war. Unfortunately, since the printing press came into existence after the Black Death, there are many source critical problems with medieval history. But Burke was focused on systems of change, which required him to deal with the dreary topic in broad, albeit slightly insensitive, strokes.

At any rate, as a History major, Burke’s historical lessons seemed accurate to me, at least in terms of what I have been taught. The printing press was first used for deceptive purposes. Leave it up to the Church to figure out some of the nastiest ways to use the printing press. Indeed, the indulgences were basically a payment that gave people the right to sin. But in principle, Luther’s theses were a sound condemnation of the Church that needed to be heard. However, when talking about the Protestant Reformation, I thought Burke contradicted himself. He said that “Luther gave people something they never had before: the chance to have their say, in safety, to a wide audience, on the printed page.” Clearly, Luther’s literate outpouring did not give people a chance to have an opinion in safety, because a form of State terrorism followed that saw many people burned for heresy. Anyways, after a sloppy period in history, intellectual ideals flourished and humankind became less taken in by superstition, and more interested in Science. But the sum total of all of this was the end of romanticism and the natural ebb and flow of life.

Nothing really disturbed me in this documentary. It was mostly historical lessons that were already buried somewhere in my subconscious mind. I think that Burke was perhaps a little too brazen in his assertion that all things could be traced back to the printing press, like Capitalism, state bureaucracies, technology, etc. These things, of course, required human agency, and the fact that one followed the other is not necessarily contingent on the technology itself. Indeed, these changes depended on human motivations and whims. But the way the documentary ended was perfect, I thought. The “real thing,” which Burke said had vanished at the sight of science and technology, has now become questionable five-hundred years later. We inhabit mostly a world of simulacra now; a world that is “fluid,” “transient,” and almost instantaneously “obsolete.” This is why there is a lot of sentiment in regards to the old world in some fringe movements, and is one of the central themes of postmodern and post-structural writers.

There is a lot of evidence to suggest that, because of technology, we are worse off. The point of the documentary was to show that the invention of writing created a new, profoundly reflexive sense of self. Where once being literate meant committing news and information to working memory, writing made it possible to conveniently forget things, because it was written down to be referred to. One of my classmates brought up a great point, asking “How far will technology develop and how much, as a species, will we lose?” I am scared about the trajectory of our history as well, as technology continues to imprint itself on our minds, and across the environment. While I was watching the documentary, I was juxtaposing the monks transcribing the Bible with people spending most of their lives in cubicles and on computers. Is it really all that different? I mean, there is no sunshine in either place. Indeed, I do think that technology has cut us off from direct contact with the world. I try to be sensitive to the fact that we humans are not the only ones inhabiting this planet. In terms of total species count, we are by no means exclusive. For instance, what has technology done to the extinction of species, or to the degradation of the environment? I think you will find that technology has been incredibly destructive, and continues to be. After all, Capitalism is addicted to growth, and there is a finite amount of space on our globe to exploit resources. So I think the larger eco-social issues are more important than the temporary benefits we perceive from the use of technology.

Notes on a Post-Typographic World

In 1998, David Reinking suggested that we were moving towards a “post-typographic” world. He predicted that written forms of communication would no longer be characterized by typesetting (the technology of molded metal forms and ink) and print (the end result of this mechanical technology). Instead, written forms of communication would eventually become completely electronic. This would seem like a fairly innocuous transition in the history of the written word, except Reinking warns that this phenomenon would carry along with it “broad-ranging consequences for a literate culture” (Reinking xx). There was some equivocation about the term typographic with the advent of laser printers and fax machines, but Reinking distinguishes between typographic text as being print on static, material surfaces, and post-typographic as being digitally-displayed text.

More and more things are becoming increasingly electronic. The introduction to the Handbook of Literacy and Technology mentioned a handful of services and commercial enterprises that had digitized their offerings. Of course, journal publishing in the academic sphere is largely becoming consolidated in favor of digital formats. Walk into just about any library, and what used to be magazines and periodicals are now workstations and Internet lounge areas. By and large, I do not think there has been a very big societal protest against the post-typographical. Other than librarians and people of a certain nostalgic persuasion, I perceive that the post-typographical has been a welcome addition among the masses. Although I am in the nostalgic camp, and agree with Reinking that “Books. . . are cultural icons that anchor the experience of being literate” (Reinking xxii).

Early on in the post-typographic section, Reinking cited a study where other authors have used the term post-typographic to “describe the influence of electronic media in operationalizing postmodern views of meaning or to suggest that writing in electronic media is more rhetorical compared to printed media, where writing is more philosophical” (Reinking xx). I think there is something important to this distinction, because electronic media has become such a global communication platform, which includes the beliefs and opinions of countless others. Print culture, on the other hand, will always be more philosophical, because the tangible book and the written word will always see its author or reader as an autonomous unit. This distinction, and the invariable disconnection of the reader of the printed word from the rhetorical sphere is not a bad thing. In fact, I find it desirable. The philosophical nature of the book is closer to our materiality and embedded nature within the environment. Call me a hippie if you must. But the typographical is much more than that even. A book is immediately divorced from the swaying opinions of others. I think this is a radical distinction and one that deserves more credit.

Even after reading the introduction to the Handbook of Literacy and Technology, I still think it is safe to define literacy very simply as the ability to read and write. This, of course, means that one who is literate is able to communicate with and understand a given language, whether that language is symbolic (the alphabet or a programming language) or pronounced (the ability to speak, prosody and enunciation, etc.). Whether you are reading a book or an Internet article, the activity you are engaging in is still literacy as just defined. True, technology has given us brand new languages and modes of communication to learn. But the concept of literacy is still the same, I think. I mean, what difference is there really (in terms of defining literacy), when reading the word “typographic,” as printed with ink on paper, and reading the word “typographic” as a digital text? It is still the same symbols, and the word looks the same, so the act of being literate of that particular word is the same as well. No doubt, there are multiple levels to literacy, and it might be helpful to think about it in terms of a spectrum. This is why we have different reading levels in school, and on the backs of books for children. So, I do not think the question is “What is literacy?” but, “At what age does one become literate?” This should be an easy question to answer for those in Early Childhood Education. But, like any skill, being literate is something that we can always strengthen through language acquisition and reading comprehension.

To me, it felt like Reinking was deliberately muddling the definition of literacy. Technology does not change the definition of literacy. Technology just changes the ways and means by which we are literate. Reading may be the same, but the use of a given technology changes the definition of literacy in terms of writing. For instance, typing is something most of us take for granted and can do very easily. But typing is fundamentally different from using a pencil and writing words on paper. With a computer, you have to know where the keys lie on the keyboard; and not just the letters, but the keys that help format a given page or multimedia presentation. I think this is what Reinking meant, summarizing Olson (1994), when he says, “resources of writing” are part of a “culturally defined set of tasks and procedures.” Indeed, the resources are no longer just ink or graphite. Still, the definition of literacy is not going to change conceptually, but conditionally. We will have to increasingly learn new modes of communication with emerging technologies, especially if they become standardized forms of communication in society. Personally, I am interested in the cognitive aspects to literacy, and if there are any significant differences in brain mapping between using digital technology versus traditional “technology.”

Shedding Technology for Authenticity

I have the uttermost sympathy for those who choose to push (digital) technology aside in order to better focus on innate human values. But the group called ‘Camp Grounded’ in Alexis Madrigal’s piece in The Atlantic seems incapable of asking real questions about the power of today’s technology over our lives. In fact, their saturnalia in the woods of Northern California sounded so inane that those individuals who participated in it are probably living lives just as shallow and vapid as many tech-addicts. I think this is the central point Madrigal was trying to make. As long as the event was held in good, plain fun, then there really isn’t anything to jeer at (it’s still okay to have fun, right?). But as a serious attempt to reconnect to that part of ourselves which is lost to excessive technology use, Digital Detox and Camp Grounded seems to be misguided and confused.

There are a lot of movements that privilege nature and a return to the “simple life,” but they are neglected by Madrigal in this piece. He focuses primarily on Camp Grounded, but he also alludes to the sustainability movement, and remembers the New Naturalism movement (which isn’t so new anymore). However, Madrigal is keen enough to make the distinction between political movements and social ones. Indeed, in order to be political, a movement must have a formal system or channel of civic engagement, as well as some leverage when it comes to governmental decisions. At the end of the day, Camp Grounded is just a camp, and New Naturalism was just a social movement that dissipated like so much pot smoke. Other ideas aren’t even given consideration (i.e.: Deep Ecology, Neo-Tribalism, Anarcho-Primitivism), perhaps because they are too philosophically radical, and have really no chance of success.

The idea that a simple, more natural way of living would affect more spontaneous human interaction, leading to deeper, more meaningful relationships is questioned by Madrigal. Indeed, he argues that the whole concept “has a baseline problem.” He goes on to explain, giving several quick examples, that human nature itself is characterized by snap-judgments and fascination with petty baubles and worthless trinkets. Even in the woods, sans technology, there is an artificial way of being that hinders the whole concept of living a simple, authentic life. This would be a weak argument unless Madrigal conceded that there were problems with our current society which called for greater awareness of our technological lives. But he does just that. Madrigal writes, “individuals unplugging is not actually an answer to the biggest technological problems of our time.” This quote had the effect of sort of slapping me out of my political stupor, which I have been operating under of late. Reading Madrigal’s piece, I realize that merely unplugging is basically a form of posturing; a political position that carries no impetus for real positive change. Ironically, even being apathetic about politics is itself a political position. Being apathetic is tantamount to declaring that you are perfectly fine with your socioeconomic condition. Likewise, unplugging may be a strong personal choice, but it too suggests that you are okay with the collective insanity of our digital lifestyles. The real force behind Madrigal’s article, then, is the call to assess technology on a societal scale, which requires more than a simple, naive retreat into the woods.

Another organization, Reboot, has similar ideas about unplugging. But instead of hosting a summer camp, Reboot called for a “National Day of Unplugging.” In The Pointlessness of Unplugging, I was struck by Casey N. Cep’s poetic jab at those “vainglorious” individuals who unplug from technology for a while, as a matter of principle, only to return from their experience and blog about it. If it is a matter of principle, returning to technology after declaring a jettisoning of it does indeed smack of a certain hypocriticalness. But I don’t agree with Cep’s idea that experience is essentially the same whether we are using technology or not. Cep writes, “[u]nplugging from devices doesn’t stop us from experiencing our lives through their lenses, frames, and formats.” For someone writing about contradictions, this statement itself seems contradictory. While Cep may not be making an ontological claim, I read this statement as a declaration that our experience is the same whether we are watching a sunset through a high definition television screen, or “in real life,” with eyes unsullied by technology. I understand her viewpoint, though. For Cep, technology is such an integral part of our society that our lives will inevitably be filtered through lenses, frames, and formats. Still, this seems like a fatal acceptance of the way things are. Cep doesn’t seem to mind technology so much, and concludes that “we’d do better to reflect on how we can live [with technology] than to pretend we can live elsewhere.”

Pining for an “elsewhere” seems typical, but it is not such a new behavior, symptomatic of contemporary life. I don’t mean to make equal comparisons with the past and the present. My intention is not to placate the risks of immoderate technology use by suggesting that things aren’t so bad after all. I do feel that digital technology poses risks that will have to be dealt with in the future (growing narcissism, the interplay of texting and driving, etc.).

A final writer, Nathan Jurgenson, writes sarcastically about the issue of authenticity in The Disconnectionists. The questions here are, is the immoderate use of technology inauthentic, and is there a better way of living and being? These are questions that are central to critics of so much digital technology. Jurgenson writes, “the way the concern with digital connection has manifested itself in such profoundly heavy-handed ways suggests in the aggregate something more significant is happening, to make so many of us feel as though our integrity as humans has suddenly been placed at risk.” There are two main concerns that stand at equal distances from each other when it comes to talk about risk. These are the effect of technology on our natural world, and the affect that such effects have on ourselves. Dealing with the topic of the Self, Jurgenson writes with gusto on the subject of authenticity, and what it means to be human with so much technology diffusion changing our social landscape. For Jurgenson, his stance on authenticity is made obvious: “The most obvious problem with grasping at authenticity is that you’ll never catch it.” Steeped in language that is heavily post-structural, The Disconnectionists is an article that comes at new definitions. Ultimately, Jurgenson thinks that today’s digital technologies contain important connecting principles that can lead to important relationships and constructive discourse.

This is what all three of these writers have in common. They seem to implicitly accept technology, but they don’t banish it to the far reaches, in order to extol the virtues of mankinds’ authenticity. For Madrigal, Cep, and Jurgenson, digital technology is a tool to be harnessed for civil, moral, and practical purposes.

Textual Alētheia (ἀλήθεια): A Stance on Literacy Technology

Contrasting Desktops: picture taken by ericalynnwrites

The landscape in which we interact and communicate is continually changing. Today, there are any number of technological “marvels” that pervade nearly every aspect of our lives. Some of these so-called marvels have been around for decades. Others are fairly new, yet are revolutionary enough to change the ways by which we teach successive generations. Literacy technology is transforming readers and writers; and not just children, but also adults who perform quotidian tasks in the workplace. A label we can use to identify this shift is post-typographic. David Reinking coined this term in 1996 to describe the beginnings of an unprecedented sea change in the way texts are created and perceived. He predicted that written forms of communication would no longer be characterized by typesetting (the technology of molded metal forms and ink) and print (the end result of this mechanical process). Instead, written forms of communication would eventually become completely electronic. Certainly, such a transformation conceals a danger, but it is not quite evident or obvious what this danger might be. As the German philosopher Martin Heidegger said: “What is dangerous is not technology. There is no demonry of technology, but rather there is the mystery of its essence” (Heidegger 28). So, while electronic texts become the standard form of literate production, there are questions that loom on the horizon of our technological future. Will the entrenched use of electronic texts draw us inexorably away from our own essential qualities; as humans that have arisen from animate nature?

When I was first learning to read and write, the lessons of literacy were clearly presented to me, and made manifest in my experience. My parents read to me from physical books, and I could reach out and touch the mystical black glyphs that were strangely causing them to speak to me. Before long, I learned that these “glyphs” were actually printed words on paper. A process of identification took place, and I was suddenly made aware of the existence of printed books. What was read to me was an inconsequential part of this discovery, for the utility and purpose of this entity, at once named, was resonant with the values that my parents were inculcating in me. From this mutual exercise came the recognition of more and more words, as well as my gradual ability to speak them. The memories of sitting in the family armchair with my mom or dad and having a book read to me had a profound impact. Now, years later, I understand the importance of having loving parents who are enthusiastic about reading to their children. If they are enthusiastic about reading to us while we are children, then there is a greater chance that we will become enthusiastic readers ourselves. For example, if parents emphasize or stress certain spoken lines, or bellow more masculine characters while chirping more sensitive ones, we start to do the same. Indeed, the act of mimicry when learning a language is very important. It is natural, and it is what we do to spontaneously acquire language. The same principle is practiced when learning to read.

Later, when I was taught how to write in school, the task of committing lettered shapes to memory, and physically copying those shapes down on paper with the lead of a pencil seemed arduous. I disliked holding a pencil the right way, and chose instead to use this “technology” unconventionally, distancing myself from my peers on the question of technology at an early age. Unbeknownst to me, this was a technology, or as Dennis Baron says, “a way of engineering materials in order to accomplish an end” (From Pencils to Pixels). For whatever pencil I used when I was young had been manufactured; a consumer product processed with plant machinery. But in the early nineties, the pencil was, in fact, an old technology that was still being used to teach the basics of literacy. In retrospect, I am grateful to have been taught this way, because the physical act of writing rooted me in the natural process of learning. Likewise, the way I was taught the counterpart to writing was similarly natural. With the aid of a forefinger (or a ruler, pencil, etc.), I blocked out words from my view while being attentive to words that I was trying to study and comprehend. In this way, books became for me like “. . . cultural icons that [anchored] the experience of being literate” (Reinking xxii).

Of course, there are now new ways of learning how to read and write. The definition of literacy has changed conditionally in recent years, and technology has given us brand new languages and modes of communication. For instance, typing is fundamentally different from using a pencil and writing words on paper. With a computer, you have to know where the keys lie on the keyboard (or touchscreen); and not just the letters, but the keys that help format a given page or multimedia presentation. As one scholar put it, literacy now means “the competence to exploit a particular set of cultural resources. . . to use the resources of writing for a culturally defined set of tasks and procedures” (Reinking xiv). Therefore, implementing literacy technologies has become a clarion call for many pedagogues and politicians, who maintain that technology will eliminate illiteracy, as schools look for funding to outfit classrooms.

The Greek words technē and epistēmē were used synonymously to refer to knowing something in the fullest sense. From these, we get our words “technology” and “epistemology.” It would seem, then, that the connection in the minds of societal reformers between technology and literacy is warranted. But, as Bertram C. Bruce notes, “[u]nderlying both the excitement and the unease about technology are deeper issues about literacy and its relation to the physical world, the nature of knowledge, social change, linguistics, aesthetics, and morality” (Critical Issues). These various issues have motivated several stances that one can adopt toward technology. Personally, I occupy a middle ground when it comes to the question concerning literacy technologies. I am somewhere between the Oppositional and Utilitarian viewpoints. In other words, I oppose much of technology for philosophical reasons, but I advocate for Utilitarianism when it is suitable for engaging students in the learning process. My exception is that, where technology can be shown to engage students better than static lesson plans, in the short-term, it should be used as a utility. Most people I talk to on this subject do not see any negative drawbacks to cognitive ability through the use of technology. However, it is my belief that technology rewires the brain, and causes the power of memory to diminish. Indeed, the fast march of technology through the ages has led to increasing levels of abstraction. This is no more evident than in our own day. As Joshua Foer said at a TED conference: “Over the last few millenia, we’ve invented a series of technologies from the alphabet to the scroll, the codex, the printing press, photography, the computer, the smartphone… that have made it progressively easier and easier for us to externalize our memories” (Foer).

The Greeks had another word that was more-or-less synonymous with the aforenamed. This was alētheia, which can be translated as “disclosure” or “truth.” One thing that technology seems to have taken away from our collective memory is the reverence that we once held for our animate surroundings. I believe that taking our primary truths from technologies holds the living world at a distance, which creates a profound loss of meaning. One can argue that we are just creating new meanings, but all I see from this fast march of technology is an estrangement from ourselves, each other, and nature. With technology, human values have been redirected to prize the artificial, and to invest in its ubiquity. Indeed, Henry David Thoreau once wrote about the modern technological improvements of his day, saying: “They are but improved means to an unimproved end” (From Pencils to Pixels). So it is, I believe, with our own contemporary “improvements.” For instance, by 2025, e-books are supposed to comprise 75 percent of total books sold (Houle). Ontologically speaking, what repercussions are there in such a sweeping transformation?

In investigating the post-typographic world, Reinking cited a study where others have used the term post-typographic to “describe the influence of electronic media in operationalizing postmodern views of meaning or to suggest that writing in electronic media is more rhetorical compared to printed media, where writing is more philosophical” (Reinking xx). I think there is something important to this distinction, because electronic media has become a significant global communication platform, and that includes the beliefs and opinions of countless others. Worse, these technologies are affecting a process of homogenization, in which multicultural values are beginning to disintegrate. Print culture, on the other hand, employs a ready philosophical resistance to this process. The tangible book and the written word will always see its author or reader as an autonomous unit. This distinction, and the invariable disconnection of the reader of the printed word from the rhetorical sphere is not a bad thing. In fact, I find it desirable. The printed book is immediately divorced from the swaying opinions of others. Moreover, the philosophical nature of the book is closer to our materiality and embedded nature within the environment. No doubt, the tangible aspects of a physical book blend in well with the other sensuous surroundings in our landscape. There is something very refreshing about taking a physical book – a medium that is both singular and linear – and finding a quiet place to retreat to and read, whether that is on the couch with a blanket, or by a stream under an array of sunshine. These feelings that are embedded in our biological nature do not exist with mediums that display electronic text, because one needs a source of electrical power for that cold, impersonal device that is multi-linear in the sense that you have WIFI Internet access, an operating system, and hundreds of other books on the device (a temptation for the mind to get distracted). In other words, no longer is there just one thing to focus on and enjoy when sitting down to read. Where we once had purpose with the fully disclosed nature of the book (its alētheia), we now have the sporadic nullity of devices that are leading us in contradictory directions.

Careless and uninformed, our relationship to technology is characterized by concealment. Most technology consumers generally do not know how technology works, much less understand the essence of what technology is. At least one thing is certain, though, and that is that technology is a means to an end, and the purpose of technology is to achieve a result. Therefore, people learn enough to use a given piece of technology to achieve their daily, quotidian tasks. But understanding how the essence of technology is changing the essence of what it means to be human is more nebulous. Heidegger maintained that the essence of technology was “coming to presence,” or reveal its ability to “hold sway” over mankind:

“It is precisely in Enframing, which threatens to sweep man away into ordering as the supposed single way of revealing, and so thrusts man into the danger of the surrender of his own free essence – it is precisely in this extreme danger that the innermost indestructible belongingness of man within granting may come to light, provided that we, for our part, begin to pay heed to the coming to presence of technology” (Heidegger 32).

We lose ourselves to technology, and it was Heidegger and Thoreau who thought that, through the course of technology, we would eventually arrive at an understanding of our own essence. For Thoreau, the technology of pencil manufacturing financed his sojourn to Walden Pond, where he wished to live deliberately and discover the essential facts of life. Likewise, Heidegger believed that technology would eventually reveal a vital insight into man’s belongingness to man. Many individuals ignorantly await for that “coming-to-pass,” as Heidegger would say. Others actively seek it out, like Thoreau. Through my own experience in being instructed in literacy, I feel like I have been led along the way to actively seeking it out, rather than waiting for alētheia to come-to-pass.

Works Cited

Baron, Dennis. “From Pencils to Pixels: The Stages of Literacy Technology.” Passions, Pedagogies, and 21st. Century Technologies . Web. 10 Feb. 2014.

Bruce, B.C. (1997). “Literacy technologies: What stance should we take?” Journal of Literacy Research 29(2): 289-309.

Foer, Joshua. “Joshua Foer: Feats of memory anyone can do.” TED, Feb. 2012. Web. 10 Feb. 2014.

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U6PoUg7jXsA&gt;.

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