Pixels and Persons

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There’s a difference between knowing someone and knowing about someone. It’s the difference between persons and pixels. 

The Greek word for “person”—prosopon—also means “face”. Before the digital era, if you wanted an image of someone’s face, you had to hire a painter or sculptor to create it. Then came photography and now—digital images, which are essentially visual displays of data.

Digital images are getting better and better, and as a result, the conversation about digital privacy is getting louder. As Seth Godin asserted in a recent podcast episode that inspired this reflection, people don’t like to be surprised by what a stranger could know about them.

But knowing about someone is not the same as knowing a person.

What’s the difference? Being present. Being attentive. Being curious. And the magical reciprocity that happens when while listening deeply to someone else, you get to know yourself again or in a new way, simultaneously affirming the humanity of both yourself and the other person.

We will make the digital images even clearer and the machines even more efficient and the robots even smarter. Because we can. Marketing based on personal information will get even more precise. But as this happens, I hope we will ask ourselves the kinds of questions the Amish ask and avoid falling into an unconscious Faustian pact with technology:

What might I lose from buying a product or service that is done by a machine rather than a person? Is what I might gain worth what I might lose? Where else could I get what I might lose?

If they don’t already, the computers will eventually know more about us than we know about ourselves. But they will never know us, for we are unique and unrepeatable mysteries, always changing and becoming someone different. Of course, we will try to program this into the algorithm, trying to close the gap between a person’s rate of change and the data trail left by that change. But the created thing, no matter how powerful or intelligent it becomes, will never truly know its creator.

Because to know a person truly is to know that you can never truly know that person.

Click here for Seth Godin’s thoughts on digital privacy.

Click here for a short article about the Amish and new technologies.

First Things First

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Ignorance is no excuse. 

This adage usually refers to wrong action, like running a red light because you didn’t know that when you’ve crossed the line, you’ve crossed the line. But ignorance is also no excuse for a lack of action.

If you have a wise quotation to share but can’t think of a creative, memorable way to share it, that doesn’t matter. Just share the quotation. After all, any creative frame you can provide is not that important. It’s the wisdom that matters. So here it is:

Do not say: “I do not know what is right; therefore I am not to blame when I fail to do it.” For if you did all the good about which you do know, what you should do next would then become clear to you, as if you were passing through a house from one room to another. It is not helpful to know what comes later before you have done what comes first…

—Mark the Ascetic

Right action is always the goal. Don’t worry that you don’t know everything. You never will. Just do the good you know to do because humble action will clarify the next step for you.

What we do is more important than what we know.

Two Life-giving Practices

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This is new year’s resolution season, and among the most popular from year to year are those focused on bodily health. On that subject, here’s a morsel of ancient wisdom with perhaps an unexpected twist:

A monk should always act as if he were going to die tomorrow; yet he should treat his body as if it were going to live for many years. The first cuts off the inclination to listlessness, and makes the monk more diligent; the second keeps his body sound and his self-control well balanced. —Evagrius

Evagrius highlights self-control as the key virtue for physical health. This is particularly relevant to those of us who live in affluent societies, where so many of our illnesses are related to abundance. Excess sugar leads to diabetes. Cancer is the unregulated proliferation of cells. While we have developed amazing medicines to treat these illnesses of abundance, we also know that self-control and moderation are among the best treatments and preventative measures. But we struggle to practice these virtues. 

It’s possible that the other half of Evagrius’ advice can help us in this struggle. He asserts that acting as if we were going to die tomorrow cuts off the inclination to listlessness, that depressed condition in which a person lacks energy or enthusiasm. This may not make any sense to many modern people, who might understandably ask how a daily remembrance of death, a practice some might call “morbid”, could cut off an inclination to depression instead of fueling it. 

It works because most people have something worth living for—a person we care about, for example, or a cause for which we’re fighting, or a responsibility we take seriously. When that’s the case, the intentional, momentary remembrance of death can paradoxically be one of the most life-giving practices we can observe. It can intensify our focus on what matters most, motivate us like nothing else could, and as a result free us from a listlessness or depression that we’re tempted to numb with materials and practices that are bad for our bodies, certain types and amounts of foods and drugs being the most obvious. 

If the forgetfulness of what matters most creates the steady drip of a low-grade depression that renders us more susceptible to the self-indulgences that sap our bodily health, the intentional remembrance of death creates a quick splash of high-grade pain—sort of like a cold shower in the morning—that can produce clarity, thankfulness, and urgency for meaningful action.

In this season of resolutions, how could your life change if you pursued your longer-term goals in the light of a daily remembrance of death? Especially if resolutions haven’t worked well for you, perhaps it’s worth an experiment.