When someone like Derrida advises his students (the entire world) to read more, he is not saying that one will get more information out of books, but rather that, in books, one will get out of information. It is in this specific, phenomenological encounter that the illusions created by popular forms of media are most effectively shattered; even personal experience functions as merely a mouthpiece for propaganda until it is written down and incisively analyzed.
It follows that I am terrified in
meeting millennials who piously insist that they can get the same sorts of “information”
out of internet articles as they can out of books, and my dread is aggravated
when these same upstarts label me a “Luddite” as I fumble to articulate my
flabbergasted indignation. The pejorative is not even as injurious as that
trend which it represents, one which is content to pass ignorance off as
intelligence, to seek “information” at the expense of “knowledge” and “wisdom”,
and, even in blatantly ignoring these distinctions, to profess that they are no
worse off, simply because they disown their superiors and, by so doing, suicidally
surrender their access to superior powers of mind.
What does it mean to say that books
are at most tantamount to articles online? It is not only to ignore the modes
of distribution, the institutions which empower them, and the natural strengths
and weaknesses of each form of technology, past and present. Already we can see
the intrinsic contradictions in an argument which pretends towards consistency:
the institution isn’t criticized, but ignored, as though one could rebel
against it by pretending that it does not exist, thereby invalidating the
rebellion; the technology of the present is presumed to be superior to that of
the past, though the term “Luddite” refers to a specific history.
Yet the true tragedy is in the
margin by which one falls short of even modern developments in thought itself.
If, for instance, we were to acknowledge the rather recent adage that “the medium
is the message”, we should be forced to conclude that, insofar as such an adage
is valid and true, the simple fact that books are NOT computer articles means that
their respective messages are mutually nonexchangeable. The tradition of reading
books is specific unto itself, as is the tradition of writing them; how can a
mind, then, conceive of the experience as something so easily substituted?
[({DM.A.A.)}]
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