Sociologist and psychotherapist, Sherry Turkle, analyzes the depth of people’s relationships with technology, in particular with computers and robots. The Second Self (1984), Life on the Screen (1995) and Alone Together (2011) make up a trilogy on computers and people, and Reclaiming Conversation (2015) further develops the subject. Her more recent “The Empathy Diaries” (2021) is a reflective memoir, her life story.
In her earliest work, “The Second Self: Computers and the Human Spirit” (1984 – and I have the 20th Anniversary MIT Press Edition of 2004), Turkle describes the computer as a kind of ‘‘double cognitive’’ with which an internal dialogue is established, while in Life on the Screen (1995) she describes the net as a parallel universe. As one of her interviewees states, ‘‘real life is just one more window, and it’s not usually my best one.’’ She reports the results of the ethnographic research based on participant observation and interviews conducted offline, with the aim of understanding which psychological needs are satisfied in the daily connection with virtual environments.
During the 1990s (defined as web version 1.0), Turkle wrote how virtual worlds – or MUDs (an acronym for “Multi-User Dungeons”) – are places for the reconstruction of subjective identity where, in playing at being someone else, one tries to find how one is and how one would like to be. Having a fake identity can be a liberating experience, which offers the possibility of exploring new identities (like the practice of gender swapping) or expressing aspects of an identity that are repressed offline. In Life on the Screen (1995), Turkle highlights the potential negative aspects of this new stage for social actors: by encouraging the process of the ‘‘fragmentation of self’’ started in the modern era, the MUDs increase identity confusion in the weakest, most unstable people, unable to draw a clear line between their real-life identity and that assumed online. The distinction between things considered human and things considered specifically technological is becoming more complicated. The traditional distance between machines and people has become more difficult to maintain: are we living our lives on the screen or in the screen?
The 2000s saw the beginning of the phase of the internet defined Web 2.0 or dynamic Web. It gave rise to an explosion in the phenomenon of social networks and more generally social media. Online interaction was carried out more and more with the real names: the coexistence and integration between the two worlds was completed.
In Alone Together (2011 – and I have the Revised and Expanded Third Edition of 2017), Turkle claims that, while communication technology such as smartphones and social network make interpersonal relationships easier, they reduce human contact, diluting its nature and scope and making us feel emotionally alone. She defines this paradox as connectivity and its discontents. By observing people’s interactions with robots, and by interviewing them about their computers and phones, Turkle charted the ways in which new technologies render older values obsolete. When we replace human caregivers with robots, or talking with texting, we begin by arguing that the replacements are “better than nothing” but end up considering them “better than anything” – cleaner, less risky, less demanding. Paralleling this shift is a growing preference for the virtual over the real. Robots don’t care about people, but Turkle’s subjects were shockingly quick to settle for the feeling of being cared for and, similarly, to prefer the sense of community that social media deliver, because it comes without the hazards and commitments of a real-world community. In her interviews, Turkle observed a deep disappointment with human beings, who are flawed and forgetful, needy and unpredictable, in ways that machines are wired not to be.
More and more in offline situations, both private and public (with family or in a café), even when individuals are physically present, their attention is elsewhere, each of them busy multitasking, connecting online with others far away. One possible consequence of this paradoxical situation is the emergence of a new form of self, the itself, the objectified self.
It is this idea that is central to, and reaffirmed by Turkle in Reclaiming Conversation (2015) where she issues a call to arms. We must act, conscious of the fact that technology steals precious time away from friends and family inhibiting the need for speech. She clarifies that is not necessary to refute or criticise technology, we only have to find a right place for it.
In “Reclaiming Conversation” (2015), Turkle focuses more on the dissatisfaction with technology reported by her interviewees. She takes their dissatisfaction as a hopeful sign, and her book is straightforwardly a call to arms: 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.
Turkle’s argument derives its power from the breadth of her research and the acuity of her psychological insight. The people she interviews have adopted new technologies in pursuit of greater control, only to feel controlled by them. The likably idealized selves that they’ve created with social media leave their real selves all the more isolated. They communicate incessantly but are afraid of face-to-face conversations; they worry, often nostalgically, that they’re missing out on something fundamental.
Turkle’s organizing principle is conversation, because so much of what constitutes humanity is threatened when we replace it with electronic communication. Conversation presupposes solitude, for example, because it’s in solitude – in conversation with ourselves in quiet moments – that we learn to think for ourselves and develop a stable sense of self, which is essential for taking other people as they are. If we are inseparable from our smartphones, Turkle says, we consume other people “in bits and pieces; it is as though we use them as spare parts to support our fragile selves.”
Through the conversational attention of parents, children acquire a sense of enduring connectedness and a habit of talking about their feelings, rather than simply acting on them. Turkle believes that regular family conversations help “inoculate” children against bullying. When you speak to people in person, you’re forced to recognize their full human reality, which is where empathy begins. Studies have shown a steep decline in empathy, as measured by standard psychological tests, among college students of the smartphone generation. And conversation carries the risk of boredom, the condition that smartphones have taught us most to fear, which is also the condition in which patience and imagination are developed.
Turkle examines every aspect of conversation — with the self in solitude, with family and friends, with teachers and romantic partners, with colleagues and clients, with the larger polity — and reports on the electronic erosion of each. She is critical of Facebook, Tinder, MOOCs, compulsive texting, the tyranny of office email, and shallow online social activism. Turkle’s greatest concern is the demise of family conversation. According to Turkle’s young interviewees, the vicious circle works like this: “Parents give their children phones. Children can’t get their parents’ attention away from their phones, so children take refuge in their own devices. Then, parents use their children’s absorption with phones as permission to have their own phones out as much as they wish.”
For Turkle, the onus lies squarely on the parents: “The most realistic way to disrupt this circle is to have parents step up to their responsibilities as mentors.” She acknowledges the difficulties of this, given that parents feel afraid of falling behind their children technologically; that conversation with young children takes patience and practice; and that it’s easier to demonstrate parental love by snapping lots of pictures and posting them to Facebook.
Thee tone of “Reclaiming Conversation” is therapeutic and hortatory. She calls on parents to understand what’s at stake in family conversations — “the development of trust and self-esteem,” “the capacity for empathy, friendship and intimacy” — and to recognize their own vulnerability to the enchantments of tech. “Accept your vulnerability,” she says. “Remove the temptation.”
Writing in The New York Times, Jonathan Franzen concluded that “Reclaiming Conversation” is best appreciated as a sophisticated self-help book. Children develop better, students learn better, and employees perform better when their mentors set good examples and carve out spaces for face-to-face interactions. Less compelling is Turkle’s call for collective action. She believes that we can and must design technology “that demands that we use it with greater intention.” She writes approvingly of a smartphone interface that “instead of encouraging us to stay connected as long as possible, would encourage us to disengage.” But an interface like this would threaten almost every business model in Silicon Valley, where enormous market capitalizations are predicated on keeping consumers riveted to their devices.
Turkle hopes that consumer demand, which has forced the food industry to create healthier products, might eventually force the tech industry to do the same. This is not a helpful analogy, since food companies make money by selling something essential, not by placing targeted advertising in a salad or by mining the data that a person provides while eating it. Further, since platforms that discourage engagement are less profitable, they would have to charge a premium that only affluent, well-educated consumers of the sort that shop at Whole Foods are likely to pay.
Although “Reclaiming Conversation” touches on the politics of privacy and labor-saving robots, Turkle shies from the more radical implications of her findings. When she notes that Steve Jobs forbade tablets and smartphones at the dinner table and encouraged his family to talk about books and history, or when she cites Mozart, Kafka and Picasso on the value of undistracted solitude, she’s describing the habits of highly effective people. These our outliers and their practices and habits are unlikely to diffuse.
The family that is doing well enough to buy and read her new book may learn to limit its exposure to technology and strengthen deep conversations. But what of the great mass of people In his 2015 book “The World Beyond Your Head: On Becoming an Individual in an Age of Distraction,” Matthew B. Crawford contrasts the world of a “peon” airport lounge — saturated in advertising, filled with mesmerizing screens – with the quiet, ad-free world of a business lounge: “To engage in playful, inventive thinking, and possibly create wealth for oneself during those idle hours spent at an airport, requires silence. But other people’s minds, over in the peon lounge (or at the bus stop), can be treated as a resource — a standing reserve of purchasing power.” Silence is now offered as a luxury good. In the business-class lounge at an airport, what you hear is the occasional tinkling of a spoon against china. There are no advertisements on the walls, and no TVs. This silence, more than any other feature of the space, is what makes it feel genuinely luxurious. When you step inside and the automatic airtight doors whoosh shut behind you, the difference is nearly tactile, like slipping out of haircloth into satin. Your brow unfurrows itself, your neck muscles relax; after twenty minutes you no longer feel exhausted. The hassle lifts.
Our digital technologies aren’t politically or social class neutral. The young person who cannot or will not be alone, converse with family, go out with friends, attend a lecture or perform a job without monitoring her smartphone is an emblem of our economy’s leechlike attachment to our very bodies. Digital technology is capitalism in hyperdrive, injecting its logic of consumption and promotion, of monetization and efficiency, into every waking minute.
The rise of “digital democracy” is accompanied by rising levels of income inequality. Maybe the erosion of humane values is a price that most people are willing to pay for the “costless” convenience of Google, the comforts of Facebook and the reliable company of iPhones. The appeal of “Reclaiming Conversation” lies in its evocation of a time, not so long ago, when conversation and privacy and nuanced debate weren’t boutique luxuries.
Turkle’s book can be read as a handbook for the privileged. She’s addressing a middle class in which she herself grew up, invoking a depth of human potential that used to be widespread. But the middle, as we know, is disappearing. With moral certainty, her model of the social world is based on past preferences. In her role as technology critic, she demands that students engage in the unitasking of classroom conversation rather than multitasking through social media, which, given the centrality of media in the everyday lives of always-on millennials, establishes an antipathy to media when it is the primary space of social life.
Turkle’s demand that students close their laptops to avoid distraction is entirely understandable. But it is the positioning of the demand for conversation that is of interest: the assertion of her authority as a professor, a demand for students to acquiesce to a traditional interactional exchange in which the model of classroom intercourse becomes a transaction controlled by the professor. This becomes the egotistical assertion of the demand of the powerful over the less powerful: the professor over the millennial student. It mirrors the world she successfully negotiated as a mother to achieve success for her daughter, a kind of maternal demand scenario in which she asserts her authority. Technology affords opportunities for networks – albeit of weak ties – to be nurtured and for multiple conversations to take place beyond the control of the leader, parent, or professor.