By Caroline M. Cole

Appearing in the 1965 Time-Life publication Early Man, a Rudolph Zallinger illustration depicts 15 figures walking from left to right, ordered to suggest the evolutionary path of ape-like beings to Homo sapiens. The March of Progress, as it has come to be known, has been condensed, silhouetted, and spoofed countless times since its appearance, and recent depictions have introduced figures on the far right that hunch over computers and handheld devices. And it’s no wonder. Walking down the street, sitting on trains and buses, dining in restaurants or at the family table, people of all ages are focused on smartphones, PDAs, tablets, and other portable electronics. Even when we are not talking on the phone or actively pecking away on the go, we are often plugged in with earbuds and headsets, blocking out the world around us. We are addicted to our devices.

Technology itself is not the problem. Rather, it’s when and how we choose to use it, affecting what we communicate to others—and not simply to those on the other end of our device.

Consider, for example, the impression we get when we encounter strangers talking on the phone while waiting in line at a register, sitting in a library, using the restroom, dining at a nearby table, standing in an elevator, or in other small spaces in which we cannot escape the conversation. Or when we see people checking email or sending texts during a board meeting, class discussion, interview, concert or movie, social gathering, religious service, or funeral. Or when we hear music, podcasts, television shows, movies, YouTube videos, and game soundtracks emitting from or in the absence of a user’s headset. Or when we’re walking behind or driving near someone who is talking, texting, or otherwise focused on a device, unaware of those simply trying to pass or sustain the flow of traffic without colliding.

Each of these moments communicate something about the device user’s sense of self and views of appropriate behavior, as well as a mindfulness of and concern for others. Yet while such actions from a stranger might evoke a snap judgment or result in an unflattering first impression, even those we know are communicating values and priorities when they are with us, but talking to someone else on the phone, checking email during a conversation, scrolling through messages or regularly looking at a device’s screen in anticipation of a text or call that’s presumably more important than the present interaction, pausing mid-discussion or losing conversation threads each time their device registers activity, twitching at the sound of a gadget’s vibration and becoming increasingly irritable with any delay at being able to check what wants their attention, or simply refusing to put a device away or turn off its ring tone or full-volume alert to minimize distractions and disruptions during another event, pursuit, or exchange.

As social media expert Anthony DeRosa observed, “mobile connectedness has eroded fundamental human courtesies,” yet what is more telling is that people are no longer apologizing for what society once considered rude behavior. Instead, they hold it up as the new norm, and those who complain are dismissed as Luddites or worse.

To be fair, some industries and professions require employees to be on-call even when away from the office; computers, PDAs and smart phones are increasingly common on vacations, just in case someone from the office needs something. But what are we telling others (and ourselves) when every experience, observation, and thought must be instantly texted, tweeted, posted, linked, streamed, or otherwise shared with our immediate network or the larger world? What are we conveying when we feel the need to look busy or remain plugged in and accessible 24/7—regardless of what else we are doing, or whom we are with? What are we communicating by living in a perpetual state of FOMS (Fear Of Missing Something) that’s intimately tied to ringtones, buzzes, and vibrations, preventing us from being fully available and tuned into the present moment?

The word communication literally means “to make common,” and portable electronic devices have become invaluable tools for making resources, knowledge and even people more accessible, more familiar, more “common” than before. Yet communication has a richer history and deeper significance that seems increasingly distant and, at times, impossible given the ways technology is moving.

Entering the English Language in the fourteenth century through the Anglo-Norman communicacioun and the Middle French communicacion, the word communication is connected to the Latin verb commūnicarē, which means “to share, divide out; to impart, inform; to join, unite, participate in.” In this context, we see that communication requires more than simply making something available; it requires an exchange—a give and take—prompting references to communication being a two-way street. But going back further in communication’s etymology, we find that the key root is the verb mūnus/mūnārē (which means to bestow on, or to present as with a gift, duty, tribute, kindness, or service), linking the word communication to the same word that has given us:

munificent (Latin, munificus = bountiful: mūnus = gift, bounty and fucio = to make, to enrich)

commune (Latin, commū´n = to make common to others with oneself; to hold intimate; to build; to fortify; strengthen).

Such references suggest that “communication” held greater intimacy for and significance to participants than a simple give-and-take, for at its core was an affinity with, respect for, and commitment to the well-being and enrichment of the other person.

Smartphones, PDA, and tablets and other electronic devices are ubiquitous, making it easier to interact with those we know, and those we don’t, but with all of these options, something is clearly missing. We are in a world that offers more ways to communicate with people than any previous generation, and yet doctors report more cases of isolation, loneliness, depression, and suicide than ever before. In such a networked and connected world, why do so many people feel that no one is listening?

Studies are starting to show why. Consider, for example, the research of Sherry Turkel, Professor at MIT and author of Alone Together: Why We Expect More from Technology and Less from Each Other. Noting that “technology has become the architect of our intimacies,” Turkel argues that our relentless connection has created a new solitude: We give human qualities to inanimate objects; engage in fewer face-to-face discussions; privilege convenience and control over messy, but genuine human interaction; confuse texts, tweets, and posts with authentic communication; and seek validation from online communities of hundreds of “friends” we may never meet. In creating the illusion of companionship through constant connection, Turkel finds, we are feeling more disconnected, dissatisfied, and alienated which, ironically, increases our dependency on, frequency in, and urgency to use our devices.

Barbara Fredrickson, Professor at the University of North Carolina–Chapel Hill and author of Love 2.0: How Our Supreme Emotion Affects Everything We Feel, Think, Do and Become, also examines the effects electronic devices may have on our biological capacity to connect with others. Drawing upon her research of love as “micro-moments of positivity resonance,” Fredrickson notes that face-to-face interaction allows people’s gestures, biochemistries, and neural activity to synchronize with, mirror, and imprint on one another in ways that are fundamental for developing understanding, compassion, trust, empathy, and connection. Yet, like other biological capacities, such abilities atrophy with less use. Therefore, Fredrickson notes, as people increasingly turn to screen-mediate forums to interact with others, they will become less attuned to channels for co-imprinting, making it harder to “read” and understand people in ways that promote meaningful interpersonal connections.

Andrew K. Przybylski and Netta Weinstein of the University of Essex found that the mere presence of a device is enough to both hinder the ability to develop closeness and trust and reduce empathy and understanding people might otherwise feel toward their partner—especially when discussing topics in which at least one party is personally invested.

In such contexts, it is little wonder that people increasingly find real-time communication inefficient, inconvenient, and even burdensome. A 2012 Time Inc. study, for example, found that 54% of digital natives (people who grew up with mobile technology prefer) and 28% of non-digital natives (people who learned to use mobile technology as adults) prefer to communicate digitally rather than talk in person—to the point where they are using phone calls, tweets, emails, and text messages to communicate with someone else in the same household, rather than go into the next room.

What are we saying when we would rather interact with and through a device than with the people right next to us?

Digital devices have made our lives more efficient, more accessible, and more enjoyable. And in many ways, they have enhanced what we are able to say to the world. But, as Turkel notes, connectivity isn’t the same as connection. Communication is, at the core, an attention to the well-being and enrichment of others. Therefore, as we continue to evolve, change, and adapt to our environment, we must be cognizant of the messages we are broadcasting to others, even inadvertently.

In the Monday editions of The New York Times is a column entitled “Metropolitan Diary.” One contributor wrote that, although she loved listening to her iPod and giving life a soundtrack, she made a conscientious effort to remove her earphones whenever she was within 15 feet of another person, no matter who it was. Her reasoning: she wanted to feel more connected and open to the possibilities of communication, even if it were only on her end.

Imagine what could happen if more people took a moment to unplug, making space for additional ways to engage and connect with others. Imagine, for example, the message you would “hear” if someone gave you—bestowed upon you—his or her full, undivided attention, if only for a few minutes, letting you know that you were the only thing that mattered in that moment. Imagine the message you would transmit if, even briefly, you bestowed your full, undivided attention upon someone else: a partner, a child, a coworker, a student, a parent, a friend, a store clerk, a stranger asking for help. Imagine the messages a fully present, mindful participant wanting to build up and fortify others in the exchange could send out into the world.

Working toward Areté…
In a device-saturated world, what are your strategies for enhancing connections to and with others? Share your thoughts and strategies below.