The strangest thing. Julie and I just finished watching the great German film "The Lives of Others," about how the surveillance state in East Germany dehumanized people. Sophisticated domestic spying technology in the hands of a police state turned people into monsters and their prey, and corrupted every human relationship. I saw the film when it came out, and was knocked out by it, and wanted to re-screen it to prepare for a column I'm going to write about the 20th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall.
Checking the NYT website before turning in, I see they've already posted David Brooks' column for tomorrow. It's based on this article in New York magazine discussing how New Yorkers today are using cellphone technology to organize their sex lives, and to set up encounters on the fly. People who do this will sometimes be on their way to one sex date when another offer comes in over the text transom, and they change plans. Just like that. Brooks writes:
Across the centuries the moral systems from medieval chivalry to Bruce Springsteen love anthems have worked the same basic way. They take immediate selfish interests and enmesh them within transcendent, spiritual meanings. Love becomes a holy cause, an act of self-sacrifice and selfless commitment.But texting and the utilitarian mind-set are naturally corrosive toward poetry and imagination. A coat of ironic detachment is required for anyone who hopes to withstand the brutal feedback of the marketplace. In today's world, the choice of a Prius can be a more sanctified act that the choice of an erotic partner.
This does not mean that young people today are worse or shallower than young people in the past. It does mean they get less help. People once lived within a pattern of being, which educated the emotions, guided the temporary toward the permanent and linked everyday urges to higher things. The accumulated wisdom of the community steered couples as they tried to earn each other's commitment.
Today there are fewer norms that guide in that way. Today's technology seems to threaten the sort of recurring and stable reciprocity that is the building block of trust.
In the Stasi state, you could not trust anybody intimately. But those people had an excuse: the government imposed this monstrosity on them. In our case, we're doing it to ourselves. We destroy our own humanity and call it freedom.
UPDATE: I can't sleep for thinking about this. And I am thinking about how, in the film, a turning point for Wiesler, the Stasi agent, is hearing a sonata played by a character mourning the death of another character (see that scene here, if you don't mind spoilers). He has seen the power of love and mercy bring hope and dignity to a relationship soiled by betrayal, and now, artistic beauty reveals to him his own capacity for humanity. And I'm also thinking about these passages from the foreword to "Witness," in which Whittaker Chambers tells his children, in the form of a letter, why he turned from the death-dealing abstractions of Communism. Excerpts:
How did you break with Communism? My answer is: Slowly, reluctantly, in agony. Yet my break began long before I heard those screams. Perhaps it does for everyone. I do not know how far back it began. Avalanches gather force and crash, unheard, in men as in the mountains. But I date my break from a very casual happening. I was sitting in our apartment on St. Paul Street in Baltimore. It was shortly before we moved to Alger Hiss's apartment in Washington. My daughter was in her high chair. I was watching her eat. She was the most miraculous thing that had ever happened in my life. I liked to watch her even when she smeared porridge on her face or dropped it meditatively on the Hoor. My eye came to rest on the delicate convolutions of her ear-those intricate, perfect ears. The thought passed through my mind: "No, those ears were not created by any chance coming together of atoms in nature (the Communist view). They could have been created only by immense design." The thought was involuntary and unwanted. I crowded it out of my mind. But I never wholly forgot it or the occasion. I had to crowd it out of my mind. If I had completed it, I should have had to say: Design presupposes God. I did not then know that, at that moment, the finger of God was first laid upon my forehead.
And this, below the jump:

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