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The question, “Does technology make us smarter and more connected or stunt our minds and friendships?” presents us with something of a false choice. It assumes the potential for evil resides within a material object when, in reality, the potential for evil lies within us.

As the National Rifle Association likes to remind us: “Guns don’t kill people. People kill people.” Likewise, that smartphone can’t force you to stare at it for hours and work (or amuse) yourself like a robot. It only gives you an excuse for lack of self-discipline.

So instead of discussing the surface question, let’s focus on something more attuned to the human condition, what people really mean when considering the question at hand: Can humans really handle technology? Is it too much for us?

Clearly, for some people, the answer is “yes”: some 23 percent of American students are reportedly addicted to the Internet. Electronics definitely make it easier to indulge our worst impulses, even less-than-salacious ones like timewasting and gossip. It allows governments and companies access to vast and intimate details about our daily lives. But then, perhaps, technology only reveals to us what might otherwise remain hidden about our deepest impulses and proclivities.

As America learned with Prohibition, however, the way to conquer substance abuse is not by controlling the substance, but by controlling ourselves. Sometimes government can do this, sometimes it cannot. More likely, as Alexis de Tocqueville wrote, a restrained government requires virtue already rooted in society by religion and institutions like family: “Thus whilst the law permits the Americans to do what they please, religion prevents them from conceiving, and forbids them to commit, what is rash or unjust.”

Asking whether humans can handle technology is a bit like asking whether we can handle self-government. Is the freedom vast and dangerous? Yes. Might we hurt ourselves, and others? Yes. But we might also do some great good, might ignite revolutions of hope among the downtrodden and oppressed. That possibility lies not in Twitter, iPhones, or Facebook, but in the hearts and minds employing them.

Joy Pullmann is assistant editor of The American. This post is part of a series tied to the May 11 AEI debate between Tyler Cowen and Roger Scruton on whether social media destroys human relationships.

cookiesGreat and enduring ideas such as “patriotism” or “citizenship” can seem abstract when peering from my little desk in a big office in a bigger building and an even bigger city in this giant country. Perhaps that’s why, as Mark notes, people of my generation (a cross between X and “Millennial”) find it easier to drop out of civic life. Like some of the other holiday posters on this blog, however, looking back at my family history has helped me to understand what it means to be an American.

My family members are farmers in Wisconsin, policemen in Detroit, teachers in Chicago, nurses in Minnesota, and fathers and mothers everywhere. Though my grandfather fought as a World War II pilot, few of us have ever done anything similarly remarkable. And yet, then again, we have. My family’s simple stability—sticking through rough marriages for the sake of faith and seven children, patiently working long hours for middle-class pay, living with and caring for a fading grandmother, always attending every graduation and family gathering even when distances among us have grown—endures through a series of small, but difficult and essential, choices we have made individually and together.

These choices may seem insignificant, but our country depends upon each generation’s renewed commitment to families and communities. It’s too much for me to think about “changing society,” or committing to “progress,” or bringing about social justice; but I can remember my mother soothing a crying sister and, in turn, care for my own children with equal dignity; study a few more hours into a late night because my father rose before dawn for decades to purchase my opportunity for higher education; I can honor my aunt’s enthusiasm for museums and the arts by eagerly attending a high school symphony; improve my attitude by watching my husband work 14-hour days and come home with a smile. I can also understand that each of these notes, when struck, ring in harmony with the greater and very American ideals of perseverance, personal responsibility, independence, and generosity.

For want of a nail, a kingdom was lost; for presence of a thousand tiny, united actions in pursuit of great and enduring ideas, our country lives on.

Image by ginnerobot.


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