Showing posts with label metaphor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label metaphor. Show all posts

February 21, 2012

Lewis Mumford (1895-1990)

As a theorist, Mumford is no better or worse than any other commentator on technology, past or present.  I don't know whether it's good or bad that he had so many job titles: sociologist, historian, philosopher, student of architect, literary critic.  It's good that he had access to so many varied fields of study - Mr Inter-disciplinary personified.  Knowledge from one domain can enrich and provide a new perspective in another.  But it's bad in the sense that it seems he flitted from one area to another, with a finger in every pie.  Couldn't he stick at one subject and become an expert in that?

Mumford's writing can provide some useful background to my research in the sense that he lived through the period under investigation.  Whereas his ideas are certainly not representative, they do give a taste of contemporary notions on technology.  He expresses some novel (to us) thoughts on communication in his Technics and Civilization (1934).  Telecommunications meant that an individual acquired more and more contacts, which also made increasing demands on that person's time and attention.  Nothing new here.  But these demands, Mumford asserts, result in a weakening of "reflective thought and deliberate action."  More time chatting on the phone means less time available for reading, writing and drawing.  Isn't this true though of all/most forms of communications technology?  Television, laptops, iPhones, internet all divert our attention away from reading/writing/drawing.  I'm not sure how widespread television was in 1930s America, but certainly the telephone and radio were then the only devices capable of distracting middle-class Americans.

Mumford believed the telephone was overused and that people made calls for "personal intercourse" too frequently.  Instead, he recommended that lots of short calls could be easily condensed into a short written note.  A hand-written note requires less time and effort (!) and consumes less "nervous energy."  I'm not sure if Mumford is a bit behind his times with this concern about nervous energy.  With the appearance of each technical innovation, doomsayers foresaw catastrophe for the human race.  Racing along in the first steam train (or bicycle, or motor car) was bad for the heart and nervous system.  Telephone operators suffered from nervous exhaustion and hysteria because they had to answer so many calls per hour and had subscribers yelling in their ears.  The ringing of the telephone bell during dinner was bad for the digestion and delayed the postprandial brandy.  And so on and so forth.  The appearance of a new technology will always have its fanatic supporters and detractors.  But I would have thought that such ideas about telephone communication would be long extinct by the 1930s.  


Mumford also complains of an overuse of inventions, even when there is no real need for them.  (If they are there, then why not use them?)  He gives the example of the phonograph.  People stopped learning to play the violin, he claims, and listened to the phonograph instead.  I don't know on what he bases this assertion, nor how he can equate the two activities.  He implies that a live music performance is better than the "passive" activity of listening to records.  In this respect he does have a point.  But how many of us are able to perform Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, say, or get Guns n' Roses to perform November Rain live in our living rooms when the mood takes us?  This is the era of mass production.  Ready-made products are being manufactured in greater number and the hard sell is in full force.  Families are buying factory-produced jam - it's easier and quicker than making your own.  The same holds true for making music.


In 1959 Mumford wrote an appraisal of Technics and Civilization, in which he resorts to a gendered image of various technologies.  Technics with dynamic tools and machines, and "artificial extensions" (read: protuberances) of limbs, hands, teeth are masculine.  On the other hand, containers of various kinds (read: receptacles for aforementioned protuberances) e.g. cisterns, irrigation canals, barns, reservoirs, are passive and feminine.  They store potential energy and further "chemical, biological, and social reactions."  I'm sure that with Mumford's background in literary criticism, he was well aware of the impact this binary opposition would impart.

Can it be that Mumford was alone in adhering to this gendered vision of technology?  Maybe not, and if I can find others who voice similar attitudes then perhaps I can make the sweeping statement that 'people in the interwar years believed in 'male' and 'female' technologies.'  But in locating these others, I fear I am being guilty of having a theory and looking for evidence to support it. 

June 8, 2011

Just a copper wire

New York, 1888

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

UNDER A TELEPHONE POLE

I am a copper wire slung in the air,
Slim against the sun I make not even a clear line of shadow.
Night and day I keep singing--humming and thrumming:
It is love and war and money; it is the fighting and the
     tears, the work and want,
Death and laughter of men and women passing through
     me, carrier of your speech,
In the rain and the wet dripping, in the dawn and the
     shine drying,

               A copper wire.

Carl Sandburg composed this short poem in 1916.  In just a few brief lines, he manages to capture the pure simplicity of telephony - one single copper wire strung up in the street, which carries all of human experience: life and death, love and hate.  Conveying human speech, the wire itself speaks with its (his? her?) own voice in the first person to us directly.

And what a refreshing change to read something from this era that talks of "men and women" and not the bland, generic "Mankind" or "Man."  Of course, when contemporaries wrote of mankind, especially in the context of telecommunications, they usually inferred men, excluding women.  Sandburg redresses the balance by including women as telephone users.

Incidentally, his mention of wires being exposed to the elements brings to mind those epic old photographs of telephone wires collapsing in snow storms.  Derricks perched on rooftops throughout urban centres were easily felled when the wind was strong.  They were loaded with wires (one for each subscriber) and engineers had to start from scratch when the whole structure came down.
 

February 20, 2011

Wired

"Every journal is like a wire carrying a psychological current which winds its way intricately across and through the country, and it is continually crossed and recrossed by thousands of other wires."
R. A. Scott-James, The Influence of the Press.  London: 1913.

Scott-James was describing the news network of journals and newspapers that spread across the country, which was feeding a voracious reading public.  The use of wires as a trope to describe the connectedness of society seems to be gaining ground.  Not surprising since Britain's towns and country roads were very quickly covered with overhead wires that darkened the skies.  The difference between the 'before' and 'after' scenes would have been very stark.

More to the point, the network of communications is anthropomorphised.  Wires or cables are the nerves of the city, carrying electrical impulses with messages, impressions, emotions.  If a person's central nervous system is damaged, he will be reduced to a vegetable state.  If a city's network of wires comes down, the city is crippled and everything comes to a halt.  Tens of thousands of Brooklyn residents found this out the hard way in 1975 when a fire in a New York telephone exchange burned their connections.  The chaos in telephone service was second only to that caused by the 9/11 attack.

As a visual device, wires dominate in Nevinson's Amongst the nerves of the world, painted in 1930.  Telephone wires dissect the air above Fleet Street into angular blocks, St Paul's is visible in the background.  I like the dichotomy inherent in the wires: they connect and unite people and places, yet at the same time cut and separate the scene into smaller, disparate sections.  A truly modern element, this ambiguous 'same, but different.'  The painting shows not only the nerves of the urban body, but also all the other flows of communications: lines of buses and cars running up and down Fleet Street, flanked by streams of pedestrians.  The painting is exhibited by the Museum of London, together with other works by Nevinson.  Enjoy!
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Digital Telephone Book by Elizabeth Chairopoulou is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.