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153 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1946
The trend of our exact sciences is not toward purely intellectual knowledge. On the contrary, it has been sharply opposed to the way Parmenides strove after knowledge; it is typically analytical, inductive, dividing. Thus, causality and, in its train, functionalism push to the fore, and all individuality is lost. Thus too, all things mechanical predominate, and with them that brutal optimism and conceit of civilization which characterize the course of the technological age; until eventually the point is reached where a man is broken by his blind lust for power, is punished, and thereby forced to change his way of thinking.
A machine is dead although it never lived. It is dead because its motions are subject to functionalism throughout. And there can be deadness of the same kind in a living man, a deadness that never had life and therefore cannot die, but can only disintegrate, vanish, or erode. Such a human being has dead spots, dead parts, dead sections in him. He shows a lifelessness that is manifest even in the midst of activity. His youth is without vigor, his age synthetic; maturity is lacking. No physiognomist can fail to notice such things. As there are mechanical motions, so there are mechanical faces. A man is dead inasmuch as his expressions and movements reveal functionalism of the type which can be observed served in machines.
To see things in their whole context cannot be learned, no more than one can learn rhythm or the periodicity from which all rhythm stems. Correlations and contexts are noticed only by those minds which think in universal and reverent terms, minds which therefore reject all pillage and exploitation.
Technical progress and the formation of masses are simultaneous; they are most closely coordinated. They are in fact inseparable. Far from resisting the struggle for technical perfection, the masses, on the contrary, further this drive. They welcome it; they fit themselves obediently into the automatism of technical operations. The mass is the most useful, the most pliant material of the technician. Without the mass the technician could not carry out his plans. Masses come nearest to the technician's ideal of human material, the more mechanically mobile they become and the easier they can be organized. ...Characteristic of the formation of masses is that it proceeds artificially, that is, by an influx from without. Another characteristic is that both the rise and the fall of masses are fomented by conditions beyond their control. Masses, in other words, can neither sustain themselves nor can they replace genetic losses by their own vitality; generally speaking their vitality-consumption increases in proportion to their numerical growth.
Man has become mobile, more mobile than he ever was. This mobility is a sign of progressive mass formation, which means the same as technical progress. It is one of technology's characteristics that it releases man from all non-rational bonds, only to subjugate him more closely to the framework of rational relations. The increasing mobility of man is related to the inroads of organization and apparatus into human life; as we get mobile, we also get mobilized. And in the same proportion man becomes mentally mobile – that is wide open to the invasions of ideologies.
Technical knowledge is no more bound to an individual technician than functional factory operations are bound to an individual workman. Because the technician has no opinions or convictions of his own outside of his specialty, he needs the crutches of some vulgarized faith as peddled by the demagogue. Technical knowledge is accessible to anyone who wants it; it also can be pilfered, stolen, spied out, and it can be shipped to any point on the globe. Nor will it, like wine or tea, deteriorate in transport, for it lacks all quality; it is a knowledge without loftiness.
Since this problem belongs in our analysis we must ask, whence comes the growing influence and importance of the actor in our modern world? The actor – of the cinema, for instance – is part and parcel of some huge organization which manufactures lifelike dreams with a highly technical apparatus. Since the technological impoverishment of life creates a popular craving for a dream-world and since these dreams are being mass-produced in dream factories, it follows that the influence of the actor grows in step with the progress of technology. This also becomes manifest in other realms of the make-believe, such as the growing influence of advertising and propaganda. Mass production of photographs is another correlated field. It is no accident that the actor is the most photographed man, the man whose picture meets one everywhere, so that the impression arises that to be photographed is the actor's main occupation, that he must constantly prostitute himself. For we are obviously dealing here with an act of prostitution.
It seems that in the formation of a world empire the destruction of the free farmer is an inevitable step. For only after the farmer – earthbound, immobile, and opposed to change – has been eliminated, do the political ideas assume that space-devouring strength that may truly be called imperial. Imperialism and formation of the masses go hand in hand.
What we call Olympic games in memory of antiquity are highly technical sports to which flock the specialists from all countries. There is a difference between the man for whom hunting or swimming, fishing or rowing are natural pursuits, parts of his life, and the man who practices hunting, swimming, fishing, or rowing as a sport. The latter obviously is a technician who has developed to perfection the mechanical side of his activity. The equipment of the modern sportsman alone indicates this. To get an impression of the growing mechanization, we need only look at the tools used in sports, all those elaborate fishing rods and reels, all those scientific golf balls and clubs, the stop watches, time clocks, measuring devices, starting machines, and so on. In the exact timings of motions and split-second recordings of modern sports we find again that organization and control of the consumption of time that characterize technology. And is not the sportsman's lingo a language of typically mechanical hardness?
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Even in these the individual turns himself into a machine, a fighting or record-breaking machine, whose every motion is controlled and checked by machinery until it becomes mechanical. Consequently sportsmen today are becoming professionals, who make a profitable business of their special talents.
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A man who starts to jump and run for the sheer joy of jumping and running and who stops when the mood has left him is entirely different from the man who enters an athletic event in which, under guidance of technical rules and with the use of time clocks and measuring apparatus, he jumps and runs in an attempt to break a record. The high pleasure that swimming and diving give us is due to the touch of water, its crystal freshness, its coolness, purity, transparency, and gentle yielding. This delight, obviously, is of no significance in contests where professional swimmers perform. For the purpose of such contests is to find out which swimmer has the most perfect technique and consequently reaches the goal faster than the rest. Training for record-breaking is essentially an intensification of will power aimed at complete mastery over the body which has to obey mechanically. Such an effort may be quite useful and effective. But the more the training for, and the breaking of, records become ends in themselves, the more sterile they grow.
A comparison suggests itself between the sportsman and the ascetic, who is also a professional, though in quite a different sense. The training of the sportsman has an ascetic trait, and through all sports we find a certain puritanism, a strict hygiene of physical habits, which controls sleep, nutrition, and sex life from the viewpoint of efficiency. Sportsmen are not a group of people who exuberantly express their abundance of vital energy, but a tribe of strict professionals who rigidly economize their every ounce of strength, lest they waste a single motion of their money-making, fame-making physique.
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And just as in the field of sports we already noted the lack of free improvisation, so in amusements, too, all free improvisation and spontaneity are lost as they become mechanized. Increasingly our amusements are becoming a business subject to technical organization. It appears that man has lost the faculty of amusing and entertaining himself, that for his enjoyment some apparatus is indispensable – and this means that even our spare time must needs be filled with automatic regulation. The modern idea of recreation is the relaxation that follows the tension of mechanical work.
A stage play in contrast may be performed as often as you wish, yet each performance is different from all others, whereas all showings of a movie are mechanically identical. The stage play is constantly varied by the performance of the actors, while the screen play remains rigid and unchanged. Because the screen play is so rigid, it cannot be endured without music.
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Moreover, we discover the screen drama's comical side, that unintentional comedy which is the stamp of all the melodramas and horror pictures of the early days of the films, and makes them ludicrous. All screen drama seems to become comical as time goes by.
The effectiveness of mechanical motion as a narcotic can, indeed, be observed everywhere. The wide-awake atmosphere of our cities is permeated with a trancelike quality. That atmosphere is a blend of intense awareness and of dream-life. The consciousness of a chauffeur, a traffic cop, a subway motorman is awake, but only in a small sector that is surrounded by blackouts and dreamlike, visionary ideas. Such a mind has a functional wakefulness that is focused upon the functions of the machine under its control. But the more one-sidedly this consciousness concentrates, the narrower it becomes. It is amazing how little the pedestrians in a large city really observe, particularly in the great traffic centers where all attention has to be centered upon traffic and its rules. The pedestrian is watchful because he is constantly menaced by the automatically moving streams of traffic. But at the same time this flowing stream has a soporific effect, so that we easily become panicky if this functional flow is interrupted in some way.
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In connection with this, we find that sensation of utter unreality, that absent-mindedness produced by the absolute artificiality of the surroundings, which seizes man in the large cities so often and so suddenly. There also is that sensation of being submerged, an impression which to good observers becomes increasingly manifest. Life moves deep in the chasms of our city streets as if seen through a diver's helmet, and looking through the big panes of offices and restaurants, we seem to be looking into an aquarium. This queer and not at all pleasant impression is caused by the automatism of motion, by the vision of mechanically sliding reflexes reminiscent of the reflexes of amphibians. Even to us who are their builders, our modern cities are as uncanny and as foreign as those great cities of past ages of which only a memory has come down to us. Supposing a man of some such bygone era, a man who has no idea of our technology, would come into our cities; supposing we should ask him: "What powers do you think have built all this?" Chances are that his answer would be: "Very mighty, very evil demons."
For the idea of unending progress is absurd and inane, because the infinite motion that it presupposes is contradictory. It is exactly the rapidity and forcefulness of technical rationalization which indicate that we are approaching a finale, an ultimate stage of technology where everything technical attains the same degree of perfection long since achieved in the tools of handicrafts. Perhaps the moment when this will come about is not far off, but it would be idle to speculate on this.
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This sapping and mining is bound to produce losses which must become increasingly unbearable. The devastations of this pillage are not limited to the exhaustion of mines, of oil wells and other resources. Neither this nor the reckless exhaustion of the topsoil which spreads erosion and the sinking of water tables will be decisive in themselves, although –in America, for instance – these warning signals are already looming big.
The situation of the worker is signalized by his dependence on machinery and organization. It is signalized by the absence of reserves on which he could fall back. He is reduced to the sale of his bare working capacity, and he must sell it unceasingly and unstintingly if he wants to live. He has no funds to guarantee him peace of mind, leisure, or even an extended vacation. This already existing pattern of so-called normal civilian life simply gets incorporated into the pattern of total war. In it all human and material resources are drafted, mobilized, and brought into action. Plainly, there is a reverse side to this process, namely, the total consumption caused by total war. Such a war is by no means a spontaneous, voluntary mass uprising where enthusiasm makes up for primitive technical equipment. It is a struggle between technically highly developed organizations which show all the mechanical, automatic features characteristic of an advanced stage of technology. That is why the most important goal of modern war is to smash the technical potential of the opponent.
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This equation forces all modern states, with relentlessly increasing mechanical compulsion, to support, speed up, and push to the utmost the drive for technical perfection. For its own self-preservation, the modern state has to promote, and subject everything possible to, technical automatism. Since the technical potential is decisive in war, it is actually a form of armament. Technical progress now drops the economic mask it had been wearing in the early days of technical organization.
But it is inconceivable that, in the event of war, the state would refrain from using to the full its technical potential. The incessant pointing to this potential, the propagandist efforts to make it look formidable and terrifying, are parts of modern political tactics even in so-called peace. It also becomes clear why states depart more and more from the old law of nations which requested a formal declaration of war. The stigma of being termed "aggressor" is too far outweighed by the advantage of high preparedness coupled with surprise attack made possible by the technical potential.
The worker fails to see that he himself is equally guilty of exploitation since he works hand in hand with technological progress and advocates it.
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As a result, he remains captive to the technical apparatus and its organization; his situation remains unchanged. He is bound to be subject to exploitation as long as he himself advocates and supports exploitation.
In theory, dead time appeared to be an infinite, immeasurable quantity. But when it entered into conflict with the biological time of human life, when our life time became enslaved by mechanical time, that spelled the end of all leisure, the end of all human time. In this way, too, the whole globe was shrinking; all of a sudden there seemed to be no living space where once it seemed to be without limit.
Our modern engines are not powered directly by solar heat. Perhaps it is significant that the many attempts made to harness the sun's energy directly for the production of steam, for instance, have so far failed. What our technology robs and exploits is the stores where solar energy slumbers in transmuted forms, like coal and oil which are saturated with solar fire. The fire of the smithy, the first fire of technology thus stems from the earth. Alchemy later symbolized the spirit of that fire in the "salamander." It is earth-fire from which and with which technology starts out.
"The automatism in which man is trained and drilled day in and day out not only inures him to perform without a will of his own his mechanical operations; it also breaks down certain resistances in his personality by depriving him, under guise of a new order, of that self-reliance which alone can halt the inroads of chaos. The mechanization of life is the mill which grinds the individual down into atomized masses. Where human beings are concerned, the whole organization of technology achieves nothing but the acceleration of this grinding down of the individual into the mass" (111).