"It's a Good Life" in
Nineteen Eighty-Four
September 24, 2022
George Orwell was one of the most influential writers of his time. In 1949, he published a novel signature enough to inspire the term “Orwellian.” It envisioned a world then 35 years in the future where everything is under the control of “Big Brother.” A world with surveillance so scrutinous that even a look can indicate “thoughtcrime.” In many ways the book, like Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451, is a warning of what can happen when independent thinking is under attack. Fear of a police state has always weighed heavy. But what if the entire time we’ve worried about men in uniforms a more subtle overseer has taken power. What if technology has created a larger agent of oppression through every one of us.
In Nineteen Eighty-four’s passages, “telescreens” were two-way monitors in the homes of ruling Party members. They kept tabs on them to maintain control. By that era’s standards it was a work of fiction. Today, telescreens are held by nearly every member of society. They don’t resemble the monitors in Orwell’s novel, or harbor their intent. Instead, they were designed to make life easier. An infinite network at the tips of our fingers. A pocket-sized platform for casting the first stone. Without them, we may never have realized the perils of “cancel culture.”
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It’s pretty common: Someone gets offended and urges the internet to crucify the perp. More broadly, cancel culture has spread the belief that any uncomfortable notion is a personal attack. Thought by many the product of a world gone soft, it could be the natural result of digital immersion. Since the beginning, electronics have created a personalized experience. Tired of that radio station? Rotate the dial. Don’t like that television show? Change the channel. They provide choice, control, instant gratification. So when the smartphone came along, people were already accustomed to having much say.
But through it they find one device that endlessly indulges. Not to mention it’s always there, waiting. The servitude can be so enchanting that people lose all humility. Anyone at odds with their vision risks being wished away to the cornfield: unfriended, ghosted, “cancelled.” Orwell meets little Anthony Fremont in the Twilight Zone of modern times. Like characters in these stories, we live under duress. How we got here is another cautionary tale.
Around 2007, when smartphones arose and social media really started to flourish, there came a cultural shift. College campuses once abuzz with conversation saw heads bowed as if in mass vigil. At dinner, families gathered to remain apart. Moments we once took pause had been taken by compulsion. Previous descents may have found us in the realm of handheld gaming. Now we could be anywhere. Nowhere. At work, school, on a bus or park bench, we were all lost in the web. It was then a crucial division was lost, too. Free from the confines of home and laptop computing, online life became a constant influence over society. The more we embraced it, the more we expected the real world to be just as accommodating.
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Any problems that surfaced sought remedy in the digital realm. As years progressed, so did the number of tasks delegated. Each became one less we had to do. Some many forgot how to do. It allowed more time to focus on virtual existence. Outings turned less an experience than a photo opportunity for the internet. Genuine character was soon displaced by exhibitionism. All content for The Party to weigh from afar.
At the head of that table is a shapeless presence. For us, Big Brother isn’t a person; it’s the effect smartphones have on our minds. Their network creates groupthink that reflects those short, shallow swipes. Endless feeds encourage snap judgements at the expense of reason. Signs of dissent could cast you in the next “Two Minutes Hate.”
What’s left is a tribalism we can’t escape. Rather than broaden our perspective, social media confines us as “Newspeak” did in Orwell’s novel. Here, communication becomes theatre: less substance, more sensation. Everything we see is intended to maximize reaction. It’s a task that favors emotional appeal. Language and content are winnowed down by ranking. Buzzwords and labels minimize complex issues, polarizing the public. And as with previous media, we filter accordingly. Once curated, the space becomes an echo chamber, reinforcing our sense of identity. The quest for more likes and followers leads to more impassioned opinions in an endless positive feedback loop. Matters are reduced to us and them.
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As greater strife presents its own challenge, having every answer on demand creates a false sense of knowing. Not only does it discourage due diligence and learning, it makes technology our authority figure. Take trip navigation, for example. Countless people depend on apps to get where they’re going. Step by step, a voice guides them with the latest uploaded data. Yet stories surface of it leading them in circles or even off road against their better judgment. A Pied Piper. This same network has also brought entitlement to the masses. Just as years of pacifying has left customers with little regard, smartphones have given people a universal remote. They find us scrolling toward a future many feel should cater to them.
These devices may be the most revolutionary invention of our time. In a way, they’ve made the average American wealthier than J.D. Rockefeller. Yet they’ve deprived us the virtue of self-reliance people earlier held. Control for Orwell’s telescreens came from political oppression. Ours comes through the veil of freedom.
