Allow me to share a recollection from a time preceding the launch of the original iPhone.
A train strike left me stranded in Luxembourg City en route to France. What was I to do? I had no acquaintances, no contacts, no local map, and a very limited grasp of French. At a youth hostel, I encountered a 19-year-old Canadian, my age. After some conversation, we resolved to seek out a discotheque.
Lacking internet access, we couldn’t locate “the finest” discotheque, nor could we consult online reviews to determine where we might have the definitive “experience.” We felt somewhat disoriented, but then I suddenly spotted a sign that seemed to point us in the right direction. It appeared to advertise a disco named “One of a Kind” (or so my rudimentary French skills led me to believe). Thus, we began to follow it.
Soon after, we saw another, identical sign, then yet another. These markers guided us further into the city’s depths. As we wandered, our discussion deepened considerably. We navigated through alleyways and lesser-used routes. We approached strangers for directions and initiated conversations wherever we went. We discussed our strained relationships with our parents, our fervent interests, and our aspirations for the future. We didn’t forge lifelong friendships instantly. However, what we serendipitously discovered was significant. It alleviated some of our loneliness and sense of aimlessness. It provided us with encouragement to persist.
Approximately an hour into our quest, we came across two signs, each seemingly promoting the “One of a Kind” discotheque, yet they faced each other directly across an intersection. It was then we understood this wasn’t an ad for a club; it was a standard street sign. “Sens Unique” translates to “One Way.” We shared a laugh, located a restaurant, and relished a mutually enjoyable dinner. We never reached the disco, but it hardly mattered.
This story comes to mind as we witness the arrival of yet another iPhone (the seventeenth iteration!), largely because such an occurrence would be highly improbable today. My Canadian companion and I would have simply searched for “disco in Luxembourg.” We would have assessed the advantages of various clubs based on our position in the city. It’s possible we might have disagreed on our preferred venue and gone our separate ways to our chosen spots. Regardless, the lighthearted dinner that followed would never have occurred, and my Canadian acquaintance would have remained just that—a stranger.
There are those who might contend that a smartphone-enabled version of that evening would have been superior. These individuals might assert that humanity has progressed, guided by a technological marvel carried in our pockets. We would never have to experience getting lost again!
However, I believe there’s a considerably more somber perspective on this perceived miracle. Unintentionally, the smartphone has eradicated our inclination to roam, become disoriented, and subsequently discover ourselves.
The act of wandering and getting lost is fundamental to the human condition, deeply ingrained within us. For 290,000 out of the 300,000 years humans have existed on Earth, our primary mode was wandering. Our prehistoric forebears traversed many miles daily, at times hunting for food, other times seeking a sheltered spot to rest. Yet, sometimes, it was simply to journey across land and observe. To be actively moving, with one’s head held high, senses alert to unexpected discoveries, constituted our inherent mode of existence.
Nevertheless, capitalism is unwilling to tolerate “unproductive” time and space. Consequently, the iPhone has emerged. It’s a gadget that compels us to gaze downward, overlooking subtle shifts in illumination. Then there’s its companion device, the AirPod, an auditory blindfold that promotes the disregard of the Earth’s subtle sounds. And possibly most insidiously, Apple and Google Maps exist, seemingly collaborating to consume both our time and our physical space simultaneously.
One no longer embarks on a journey simply by chance. Instead, a destination is selected, and the path is deliberately followed. The journey itself becomes commercialized; eateries are recommended rather than stumbled upon, and green spaces are digitally mapped out instead of being discovered organically through our meanderings.
This confinement of our physical exploration is now reflected in contemporary capitalist technology’s recent restriction of our intellectual pathways. If one were to seek a mental parallel to the body’s factory, it would undoubtedly be the “search” function, which is progressively embedded into mental inquiries as conceived by ChatGPT.
One no longer meanders through books, authors, or ideas, serendipitously discovering much more than the initial object of search. Now, you simply input your query and receive “THE definitive answer.”
Does this not bypass our innate curiosity? Embracing the enigma of an unresolved query could be life’s most profound offering. Is not immersing oneself in profound contemplation, seeking that elusive solution, integral to the journey of acquiring wisdom?
For individuals who have engaged in meditation for any considerable period, this truth is apparent. During meditation, one doesn’t simply input “peace” into their mind and expect a search result to deliver it. Instead, in meditation, the mental struggle, the seemingly futile pursuit of diversion, and the subsequent challenging path back to a state of focus constitute the entire purpose.
The journey of seeking serves as the fertile ground where tranquility blossoms. Circumventing it is simply ineffective.
Herein, I believe, our opposable thumbs have led us to an impasse. Rather than allowing our legs to guide us without purpose, with our minds analyzing each stride, our thumbs formulate overly simplistic questions, to which our smartphones readily provide equally simplistic answers.
British writer Douglas Adams aptly satirized this form of questioning decades prior in his work, “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy,” where the supercomputer Deep Thought is tasked with uncovering “the meaning of life, the universe and everything.” After 7.5 million years of computation, the computer ascertains the answer to be . . . “forty two.” According to Adams’ narrative, Earth itself is revealed to be the sole instrument capable of yielding the meaning we pursue.
Historian G.M. Trevelyan once stated, “I have two doctors, my left leg and my right.” For us to forge a future that learns from our history, I propose we adopt Trevelyan’s declaration as guidance.
We must walk. More critically, however, we must wander. This includes both physical movement through space and mental exploration. To wander without a specific aim, without observation, without the desire for material gain, and without the expectation that such a journey would serve any purpose beyond nurturing our spiritual liberty.