I’m not a Luddite.
I have an all-in-one PC, two laptops, an e-reader, and a flashy smart phone. I marvel at its technology. But it’s not smarter than I am. In fact, it’s not smart at all. It's merely a shortcut to information.
Tarzan of the Apps.
I subscribe to an online professional network. And I’m a member of several groups that exchange information, opinions, research (and sometimes, arguments), about leadership and learning, my two favorite topics. I don’t consider this a social interaction. I gain business connections, visibility, and new ideas. In exchange, I surrender any illusion that I am personally connecting with the people whose names appear on my computer screen.
When we connect through electronic platforms, we’re not communicating with people. We’re communicating with a keyboard, a CPU, a network, other CPUs and strangers’ keystrokes. This process is no more social than throwing pebbles at passing cars. It’s a form of communication, but it’s asocial. It bears the same relationship to human interaction as phone sex does to intimacy.
Connecting electronically is convenient. And convenience is not a hallmark of human relationships, it’s a replacement. It’s for data, not real connection. You’re connecting with your computer, not with people. I recognize the attraction―and that it is addictive. It’s easy and fast: the opposite of human, and humane, interaction.
It’s like putting on latex gloves before shaking hands.
In my work I provide distance-learning sessions where the participants are connected electronically. As the buzz phrase suggests, we learn. Distantly.
I sit in a studio. They can see me and what’s on my computer. I hear their voices and sit in on their chats when they break into teams to work on concepts and insights. Some actually participate more fully than they might in person. Probably it is less intimidating, particularly for the shy or introverted. While it’s a useful platform, it’s asocial. At the end of each session we agree that we’d love to meet each other in person.
Technology, whether chalkboard or computer, aids learning conceptually. For visual learners, seeing information helps capture concepts. Our brains can compute, but they’re not computers. A calendar is not the events it tracks, and our machines are not us. Great teachers don’t achieve greatness through adroit use of technology but through connecting with their students. The partial connection of distance learning is better than none, but it’s asocial.
Over time, mistaking the Internet for a society may reduce our ability to connect deeply and with vulnerability. And without those qualities, we leaders and learners inhabit cubicle lives of disconnection.
Use the technology. But do not confuse the impulsivity of texting for the warmth of conversation, or the list of electronic “friends” for the trust and depth of a human relationship. As a leader and a learner, I need to be skeptical of shortcuts that suggest relationships can be carried on from a distance.
We can talk through the Internet. We can’t listen.
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