“We are too late for the gods and too early for Being. Being’s poem, just begun, is man.”
Martin Heidegger
“To approach the Other in conversation is to welcome his expression, in which at each instant he overflows the idea a thought would carry away from it.”
Emmanuel Levinas
I went to the movies recently and made the mistake of showing up early. I like to be punctual—it's something I get from my father, and it was solidified in the military. The problem is, when you arrive too early, you get hammered with advertisements. One ad that I cannot escape is Meta’s AI commercial. In short, it features a grandfather and his grandson in NYC. The grandson pulls out his trusty smartphone and inputs the prompt "Little Italy in its peak." The grandfather is amazed at the simulacrum, delighted to see what he previously knew only from faded black-and-white photographs and his mind’s eye. Surely this is a good thing?
AI can be and is a useful tool; however, my issue with it is when it erases our imagination and claims to be a means of connectivity. Much like Facebook claims to be, the irony is they are the furthest thing from it. As Dave McKerracher, in an interview with William Large, states, “Facebook has no face.” He is, of course, referring to Emmanuel Levinas’ conception of the face. My cursory understanding of Levinas is that the face itself motivates us to be ethical, to see one another as human. For example, he writes, “The face of the Other in its nudity and defenselessness signifies: ‘Do not kill me.’”
The AI image of Little Italy has no substance; it is an empty shell that lacks imagination and the magic of what is human. The grandfather and grandson are seeing pixelated images that attempt to hastily create a replica. It is not the same as standing on the sidewalk and recalling the smells and nuanced experiences of Little Italy. It cannot recreate the heartbreak of being stood up at your favorite café. In its attempt at perfection, it refuses to capture the uneven pavement that made bike riding an adventure—the loudness of life itself in New York City, in a time that did not have camcorders.
What else are we losing in immanence, in instantaneous gratification and reification?
Another advertisement featured a teenage boy using Google Translate to ask if he could play a game of soccer with strangers. I have nothing against this, and if that was how smartphones were used, I would be celebrating them. However, in reality, how many children today lack social intelligence—the ability to break out of their own bubbles and risk rejection by asking to play with others?
No, a more realistic ad would have the boy sending a follow request or waiting in a Call of Duty lobby. Technology is not inherently evil; the issue is when it masquerades as a means to an end. It is like the menu from the Twilight Zone episode “To Serve Man.” We are cut to pieces by it, diced, marinated—meant to sustain it.
Heidegger rebelled against the typewriter because it meant anyone could write and get something out in print nearly instantaneously. Kierkegaard wrote scathing prose against The Corsair, the popular newspaper of his day. Both reduce what is usually unsayable to sound bites. I would hate to see their reaction to Twitter (I refuse to call it X).
Whereas the hand that holds the pen literally has skin in the game and feels connected to the work. Every time I take out my physical journal, I realize that I have to slow down, work on writing legibly, and go at a modest pace if I don’t want to cramp and want to be able to re-read what I wrote.
I understand that human beings love shortcuts; I know I do too. I am not against the benefits of technology. I am glad I can post this on Substack, and I use a GPS when I go on road trips. The problem is when technology that claims to foster connectivity does the opposite and reduces human beings to something lesser.
Capitalism deludes people into believing that Google, Facebook, and other successful companies are on our side. I am sure Mark Zuckerberg has some good intentions with his Meta AI. I have even played with it a bit. However, the sole objective is to sell a product, to convince us that something is missing in our lives. And once we have this object, we will supposedly be able to connect better than ever.
These features are pushing us further apart instead of bringing us together, thus creating a gap that continues to widen by the minute. It is up to each of us to pause and learn how to interact with and use technology. I, for one, still struggle with this.
AI prompts can be fun and helpful; I use them for research and quick comments on whatever I am working on. However, they can rob us of boredom and creativity. In those moments where we are stuck, unsure of where to go, if we are able to sit with it, that is where the magic happens.
People are called away the moment a notification goes off, or the second they have to stand in line at the grocery store. The phone comes out without a second thought. It is habitual at this point—a reflex.
Heideggerian idle talk has evolved into the interwebs, where the "like" and emoji show our participation with the "They." We lose our authenticity and ability to dwell, to be attuned to moods that may cause us to drift elsewhere. How are we to discover the clearing of Being when we are doom-scrolling?
A healthier relationship with technology would allow us to sit comfortably in the most obstinate of conditions. Human beings are creatures that flee from anxiety, that crave excitement and distraction. Before scrolling, we had magazines to flip through, tabloids, and gossip.
In a disenchanted world, it is more important to be open to moments that structure time in a way that is not artificially induced—to genuinely dwell and interact in our bodies. Phenomenology is a path forward, not backward.
When you talked about standing on the sidewalk replicating the smells and sights reminds me of how often I forget to take pictures of trips with my daughter. I get caught up in the moment and I want to remember that way instead of through a photograph but I know she won’t have that same feeling without those photos.