How I Met My Computer: A Love Story

"Dad, can I see your phone?"

“Why”

“I want to ask that lady about the weather.”

“What lady?

“That lady in your phone.”

“Um…Siri?”

“Yeah, her.”

This was an actual conversation that took place on a recent morning commute to school with one of my sons. He is 6. He is already asking my phone for information instead of me, and he believes my phone is housing a very tiny female, with a name. Such is the uncomfortable arena in which writer and director Spike Jonze delivers the movie “Her.” Undoubtedly, the line between humans and technology is rapidly declining and the view I have had from the front seat of college ministry for the past ten years leads me to believe that the leap from utilitarian to romantic connections between humans and computers, is not so far fetched. If movies like Catfish (and the consequent MTV show series) have taught us anything, it is this: many people are already having relationships with nothing more than an imaginary face on a screen, a “person” who is no more real than the “Samantha” of Jonze’s creation. 

To further indicate the growing connection between muscle and microchip, consider a recent study conducted on what is now being referred to as “Phantom Vibration Syndrome” (PVS). PVS is a disorder in which people experience perceived vibrations emanating from a device that is not really vibrating. In a project developed by experts from both Indiana and Purdue University researchers discovered that 89% of the 290 undergraduates they sampled had experienced phantom vibrations. The culprit: paralyzing fear of missing a call or text. Stemming from an absurdly heightened anxiety of possibly missing a potential connection, our brains are becoming increasingly like a smoke alarm that is set to be so sensitive as to err on the side of being a false alarm more often than not. 

The true fear, I believe, is the potential of missing not only a potential connection with another human, but for many, the only connection. And when the majority of our interactions are with humans occur through technology I am not convinced it will feel all that awkward for many to simply bypass the whole messy, uncertain, potentially risky human aspect of these connections and move simply into a relationship with the technology itself. As you curl up on the couch tonight with your phone, tablet or laptop, the bond you feel with the metal between your fingers might very well start feeling more and more safe, dependable, and every bit as personal as the “date” you had on skype last night. Because risk, after all, is at the very heart of relationships. Risk of rejection, risk of pain, disappointment, unfaithfulness, unrequited love. These are the obvious ones. But I believe there is also a more sinister side to our affection for love mediated through technology, and it is the sidestepping of the risk of selflessness. 

When I connect through technology (and certainly when I connect with technology), I skirt around the inconvenience of the "I, thou" aspect of intersecting another life. I am in control. And if the desire to feed our naturally-born narcissism is not at the heart of our growing fascination with online communities, online dating, sexting, and the like, at least one company has made a huge marketing error when they decided to add the letter "i" as a preamble to the majority of their products. Of course, we know better. In fact, the emphasis on "i" blazoned across our phones and tablets might be the most honest confession all of us could make. While technology may be suitable to enhance community, it cannot create it and it even does a very poor job of sustaining it. Let us guard our hearts from mistaking the means for the end, forsaking opportunities to engage with a person because I think my pocket is vibrating, or because I have a date with my operating system that I need to get home for.