Strong claims have been made for focal things and practices. Focal concerns supposedly allow us to center our lives and to launch a reform of technology and so to usher in the good life that has eluded technology. At the end of the preceding chapter we have seen that focal practices today tend to be isolated and rudimentary. But these are marginal deficiencies, due to unfavorable circumstances. Surely there are central problems as well that pertain to focal practices no matter how well developed. Before we can proceed to suggestions about how technology may be reformed to make room for the good life, the most important objections regarding focal practices, the pivots of that reform, must be considered and, if possible, refuted. These disputations are not intended to furnish the impregnable defense of focal concerns which, it was argued in Chapter 21, is neither possible nor to be wished for. The deliberations of this chapter are rather efforts to connect the notion of a focal practice more closely with the prevailing conceptual and social situation and so to advance the standing of focal concerns in our midst. To make the technological universe hospitable to focal things turns out to be the heart of the reform of technology. What follows are first steps in this direction.
Among these, the first in turn requires us to consider the problem of the plurality of focal things and practices. It has a negative and positive aspect; negative because my devotion to a focal concern is rejected or challenged by the commitment of other people to contrary focal practices; positive because the plurality can have the character of a complementary richness in what is called a social union. The latter possibility, however, may be realized in the superficial diversity of various styles of consumption. As a counterforce to such shallowness I will consider in the first half of the present chapter the mode of developing one’s faculties which is guided by the so-called Aristotelian Principle. It defines a notion of excellence which revolves about a notion of complexity. The more complex the faculties to whose cultivation we are devoted, the more excellent our life. This turns out to be an ambiguous result. Excellence so defined is no longer a counterforce to technology. On the other hand, it is compatible with a notion of engagement that seems to capture the most important aspirations of focal concerns and at the same time avoids the occasionally, perhaps essentially, constricting effects of the latter. When we measure these findings against an actual focal concern, we will see, however, that it is misguided to think of focal things as being entered in a competition with the concept of engagement and the Aristotelian Principle in a quest to reform technology. Only things that we experience as greater and other than ourselves can move us to judge and change technology in the first place.
Given this clarification of focal concerns we can without fear of misunderstanding explicate their generic features. On the basis of this generic definition of focal things and practices, an explicit definition of the reform of technology becomes possible. A reform so defined is neither the modification nor the rejection of the technological paradigm but the recognition and restraint of the pattern of technology so as to give focal concerns a central place in our lives. The remainder of this chapter provides a twofold application and elaboration of that reform proposal. First and applied to the private and personal realm, it will be seen to engender an intelligently selective attitude toward technology and a life of wealth in a well-defined sense. Second and in regard to traditional excellence and the family, the reform of technology makes possible a revival of these institutions.
First, then, we must consider the question of the plurality of focal commitments. A focal concern, it has been said, centers one’s life. It is a final and dominant end which alone truly matters and fulfills and which therefore assigns all other things and activities their rank and place. But it is obvious that the ultimacy and dominance of a focal concern is contradicted by the fact that there are a number of different and apparently competing concerns. It cannot be that both running and fly-fishing matter ultimately. If one does, the other cannot. Focal practices in pretechnological times clearly possessed this dominance and exclusiveness. In the early Middle Ages, everyone went to church on Sundays and holy days, and Hubert, who went hunting, was a sinner for that reason. If focal practices were to become prominent in the life of this country, there surely would be a diversity of them. And would not sympathy require me to question other focal concerns and to win other people over to mine? Even if we heed the counsel of tolerance, the situation would remain unsettled and troubling. In reply we first must note how far removed we are from such a state of affairs and how many salutary measures would have to be taken before a prominent controversy about focal practices could arise.
But let us assume that there will be an evident plurality of focal concerns. How controversial would it be? It may be helpful to begin by considering the origins of that plurality. It became possible in the West when at the beginning of the modern era the unity of the Christian church was shattered through reform movements, scientific and geographical discoveries, and finally through the liberating forces of democracy and technology. In Chapters 6 and 7 we saw that in light of the new scientific laws our actual world appears as one instantiation of all that is physically possible. Similarly, within the context of the immense information and the varied practical possibilities that technology has procured, every actual concern now appears as one surrounded by alternatives. The severing of the ties between focal concerns and social and economic necessity that has been repeatedly noted is just a corollary of this phenomenon.
But we also must remember that we would not want to regain the support of cogency when testifying on behalf of a focal power. This would, on the one hand, compromise the grace and depth of such a power and, on the other, degrade us as respondents to that power. Our parents in their old age, as said before, address us not inasmuch as we are weak and helpless but insofar as we are capable of gratitude and receptive to wisdom, tradition, and mortality. In short, the new adulthood and maturity that are required of us are of a piece with the peculiar radiance and dignity that focal concerns now have. This status of the focal thing has the technological setting for a necessary condition, and it has the plurality of alternative concerns as a compatible background. Perhaps one should take “compatible” in the original and strong sense. We should be able to suffer the contradiction that the background of alternatives constitutes along with the joy that comes from our focal practice. And what we suffer is not just the implicit denial of what matters most to us; we suffer being deprived of great and unreachable things that are sometimes placed not only beyond our time and energy but outside our very comprehension. Sheehan is an eloquent witness:
I may have difficulty comprehending the grasp that music has on its enthusiasts, but I see that as a deficiency in myself, not the music lovers. When a musician tells me Beethoven’s Opus 132 is not simply an hour of music but of universal truth, is in fact a flood of beauty and wisdom, I envy him. I don’t label him a nut. And being a city kid, I may be slow to appreciate the impact of nature on those raised differently, but, again, I regret that failure. And when Pablo Casals said, as he did on his ninety-fifth birthday, “I pass hours looking at a tree or a flower. And sometimes I cry at their beauty,” I don’t think age has finally gotten to old Pablo. I cry for myself.1
But can we not instead take the diversity of people’s engagements in a positive way? Wilhelm von Humboldt who is one of the authors, as we earlier saw, of the liberal democratic notion of self-realization has also pointed out that no one person can hope to realize all that human beings are capable of; we would in fact weaken our development if we tried. But far from being frustrated by our inevitable one-sidedness, we should embrace and develop our peculiarity and join it with those of others and through this connection experience and enjoy the fullness of humanity.2 This is the idea of social union which Rawls has rediscovered and elaborated.3 Clearly, it is an idea that affirms, deepens, and conjoins the notions of sympathy and tolerance.
It appears then that the plurality of focal concerns must be accepted and perha
ps can even be seen in a positive light. But the latter possibility must be further pursued and taken to the point where it seems possible clearly to discern a unity underlying the plurality. We can begin with the apparent susceptibility of a social union to technological subversion. One might reply, as Rawls would, that the shallow and distracting diversity of self-realization that the consumption of commodities offers conflicts with the kind of self-development suggested by the Aristotelian Principle which is an integral part of a social union. The Principle says that “other things equal, human beings enjoy the exercise of their realized capacities (their innate or trained abilities), and this enjoyment increases the more the capacity is realized, or the greater its complexity.”4 Accordingly, people will not only prefer chess to checkers, as Rawls has it, but checkers to watching television and cooking a meal from basic ingredients to warming a frozen dinner. Rawls recognizes that the Principle is but a tendency and can be overridden. Yet he is confident that “the tendency postulated should be relatively strong and not easily counterbalanced.”5 But as we have seen in Chapter 18 and elsewhere, technology has not just counterbalanced but very nearly buried it. There is a difference, however, between technological obliteration and subversion. Technology can overcome the wilderness by brute force, but it cannot bring it (easily and obviously) under its rule and procure it as a commodity. Conversely, technology could hardly annihilate values (such as freedom, prosperity, or pleasure), but it can surely subvert them by specifying them in terms of the availability and consumption of commodities. Accordingly, the Aristotelian Principle is not impugned as a counterforce to technology if it can be technologically overrun so long as it resists technological subversion. But does it? Clearly the concept of complexity is crucial here. Rawls contends that “until we have some relatively precise theory and measure of complexity” we can intuitively grasp the nature of complexity and rank various activities by complexity in accordance with a principle of inclusiveness where “cases of greater complexity are those in which one of the activities compared includes all the skills and discriminations of the other activity and some further ones in addition.”6 Thus the computer game Defender might rank higher than fly-fishing since the former requires quicker hand-eye coordination, more intricate strategy, and evasive as well as aggressive skills. Similarly, exercising with a Nautilus might be more complex than running since the former allows one to sense and to work many more muscle groups. Theory here seems to conflict with considered judgment. Whether both can be saved in their essence and balanced in a reflective equilibrium is a question that will concern us in a moment.
Meanwhile let us note that the theory, i.e., the Aristotelian Principle, is attractive not only in helping to reconcile the variety of human endeavors within a social union but also in suggesting ways in which the variety of focal practices can be similarly united. It was pointed out in Chapter 22 that there is an apparent kinship among significant or focal things; and, symmetrically, there are common traits to be found among focal practices. These can be seen when we consider that although both Capon and a fast-food junkie are deeply concerned with food, Capon, I expect, would have a deeper appreciation of Sheehan’s concern than the junkie’s. Unlike the latter, both Capon and Sheehan practice the acquisition of skills, the fidelity to a daily discipline, the broadening of sensibility, the profound interaction of human beings, and the preservation and development of tradition. These traits we may bring together under the heading of engagement. The good life, then, is one of engagement, and engagement is variously realized by various people. Engagement would not only harmonize the variety among people but also within the life of one person. Sheehan, for instance, finds engagement not only in running but also in literature, and Capon finds it not only in the culture of the table but also in music.
Engagement is a more flexible and inclusive principle of ordering one’s life, and being so it meets the critique of dominant ends that Rawls puts forward. If such an end deserves its name and is clearly specified, Rawls argues, there is a danger of “fanaticism and inhumanity” because the narrowness of the goal does violence to the breadth of human capacities.7 There seems to be intuitive confirmation of Rawls’s claim. Initially, the firm guidance that a dominant end affords in one’s life is appealing, as Rawls notes.8 Taking up some thing and practice as a focal and dominant end, one does, as Sheehan did, experience a sense of clarity and liberation. One is no longer caught in obliging other people’s expectations and in struggling to balance a plethora of conflicting and confusing aims. Having centered my life in an ultimate concern, I have clear and principled answers to life’s endless and distracting demands. But both Sheehan and Capon testify to the dark night of the soul that settles upon one from time to time, not when one has allowed distraction to erode the core of one’s life but just when dedication to the focal thing has been vigorous and faithful.9 And such darkness, depression, and collapse can be witnessed among people who have dedicated themselves to a cause that is more selfless and sublime than running or the culture of the table. These failures are so much more threatening if not devastating than those that occur under the guidance of inclusive ends because the former case admits of no alibi. One has dedicated oneself to one’s highest aspiration and profoundest experience, and one has failed. Where to turn now? In a life of an inclusive end, disappointment here allows one to turn elsewhere for consolation. The question then is whether the collective plurality and the individual restrictiveness of focal concerns can be overcome through the notion of an inclusive end, placed in a social union of persons who shape their lives according to the Aristotelian Principle or according to the concept of engagement. This problem is best approached by connecting it with a still further problem, the question, i.e., whether there can be engagement of an essentially technological or purely mental sort. We have touched on this area in discussing complexity as a mark of excellence in human activities. It seemed that playing the computer game Defender is more excellent in this sense than fly-fishing. Moreover it, or more generally the playing of computer games, seems to satisfy the conditions of engagement. It certainly requires skill, discipline, and endurance; as the games develop technologically, more human capacities are called upon; and the computer game arcades have a social setting of their own and can lead to close human ties.10 In fact, is not the computer game console a focal thing? It certainly seems to challenge and fulfill the player and to center the player’s life. “There’s not a lot of fun things in life,” says one. “It’s taken away my boredom. I’ve never been as serious about anything as Pac Man.”11
The status of focal concerns as the basis of a reform of technology is now challenged in two ways. First, it appears that the ultimate givenness of a focal thing as something that unforethinkably addresses us in its own right is denied by the Aristotelian Principle or the concept of engagement. If the latter have independent standing and guiding force, focal things are mere complements that are chosen according to convenience. Second, the essentially metatechnological status of focal things and practices which in the abstract would be compatible with the Aristotelian Principle and the notion of engagement is denied by the apparent existence of essentially technological engagement.12 Let us try to meet these challenges by pursuing Rawls’s goal of achieving a reflective equilibrium and assume to begin with that in our considered judgment fly-fishing is more excellent than playing Defender. Can we align this judgment with the cluster of theories composed of the Aristotelian Principle, the notion of engagement and of a technological focal concern? Fly-fishing is more complex, we might say, because it requires more encompassing and discriminating knowledge. One must know in what season and at what time of day certain insects are hatching and trout are feeding. One must be able to read the water to recognize the riffles and the pools where the big rainbows are lying in wait. There are more intricate bodily skills in casting a line that involves not just the pushing of buttons and the movement of a stick but the harmonious interplay of rod, line, and fly, compensating for the wi
nd, avoiding the willows, using hand, arm, and shoulder while maintaining one’s stance in a slippery streambed. And to have a line and finally the fly settle gently on the river, as gently nearly as a real insect might, is one of the most delicate maneuvers humans are capable of. Fly-fishing also centers one’s life more clearly and discriminatingly. Just as the grizzly is a symbol of the vastness and power of the open land, so the trout is a focus of the health and fertility of a drainage or even of a continent, considering the ravages of acid rain. To maintain the conditions that are conducive to big fish and to peaceful fishing is to take the measure of the world at large. In contrast, it appears, playing Defender requires a narrow range of highly sharpened skills, and it proceeds in utter indifference to the surrounding world. It is an activity that, given a sufficient store of energy and food, could proceed well underground should the natural environment have become unlivable.
The claim has been made, of course, that computer games allow one to become at home in the computer world. “We have a whole generation growing up,” an educational consultant says, “who have no problem at all approaching the computer. They could become the haves.”13 “Kids are becoming masters of the computer,” an astrophysicist contends. “When most grown-ups talk about computers, they fear the machines will dominate and displace. But these kids are learning to live and play with intelligent machines.”14 What the kids are learning to master is the enjoyment of a commodity; but with the supporting electronic and logical machinery they are as little familiar as consumers are with the substructure of the technological universe.15
But what of the people who devote their lives to the design and construction of computers? Surely they have an intimate and competent grasp of what characterizes our era. Tracy Kidder has provided an illuminating account of work at the leading edge of technology, the story of the design and construction of a computer.16 Such work is among the best technology has to offer. It is challenging and skillful, requiring creativity, enormous dedication, and discipline. Clearly it engages, excites, and fulfills its practitioners. It occupies the center of their lives and enforces profound personal interactions. It is practiced, at least by a good number of the workers, as art for art’s sake, without emphasis on remuneration, with seemingly little support from the firm’s executives, with no hope of gaining fame in the world at large, and with diffidence or indifference regarding the uses to which the product will be put. Still it seems to me, judging by the evidence of Kidder’s book, that computer design is deeply flawed as a focal practice. Some of the flaws are due to unhappy social arrangements. It is at least conceivable that the accomplishments that are rightly celebrated in Kidder’s story could come about under socially more balanced and stable circumstances. A more serious flaw is the purely mental and essentially disembodied character of this kind of engagement. But this one-sidedness it has in common with writing music, poetry, and philosophy, with playing chess and reading novels.
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