The surprising thing about it — I almost said the insidious thing, but I’m trying to be anthropological — the surprising thing, to me, is that once we have our gramophone, or iPad, or locomotive, we become that which has the gramophone, the iPad, or the locomotive, and thereby, are instantly incapable of recognizing what just happened to us, as I believe we’re incapable of understanding what broadcast television, or the radio, or telephony did to us.
I strongly suspect that prior to those things we were something else. In that regard, our predecessors are in a sense unknowable. Imagine a world without recorded music: I always come to the conclusion that it’s impossible for me to imagine that, because I have become that which lives with recorded music.
Fascinating insight. If you want an immediate, but less stark, example, try going back to a dumb phone from your iPhone. When I’ve done it while between iPhones, it’s surprising how much having an always-connected device in my pocket that makes any and all information instantly and easily accessible changes how I think. After a few days, I stopped thinking about what was happening on the web; or while out somewhere, and a random question came up (“When was Mars discovered?”), I tried to rack my brain for the answer rather than reach into my pocket. Now, because there is an iPhone always in my pocket, it sort of feels like I have an invisible tether between my brain and the web.
Perhaps that’s just me, I don’t know. But in many ways, relying on a dumb phone was freeing. I couldn’t check my email, Twitter, or news while away from a computer and so I stopped thinking about it. I have a feeling this perpetual connectedness prevents some thoughts from entering my mind, because I think less and check Wikipedia more.