Friendship Undefined

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What does it mean when, out of the seeming blue, an old forgotten topic (friendship) towers up and bares a crack?  Recently there has been article upon article about broken friendships, unreciprocated friendships, qualities conducive to friendship, and so on. Alexander Nehamas’s book On Friendship came out fairly recently. (I will read it; it looks worthwhile.) Could it be that friendship overall is in bad shape?

The articles point to some kind of friendship mismatch or misunderstanding. With the prevalence of Facebook, people aren’t sure how to define friendship or where to set its limits. It’s difficult to tell whether your friendships are nonexistent, circumstantial, or enduring, especially when so much communication takes place online and people are so frazzled and full of motion. To have good friendship, you need a place that isn’t shifting under your feet.

Also, despite all this friendship press, many people don’t want to take up the subject in the first place. If you talk about friendship, you get cast as touchy-feely. Yet friendship is one of the ancient subjects of poetry and philosophy, one of the oldest subjects in literature. Gilgamesh goes out beyond the land of the living to search for his friend who has died. “Ze dodi veze re’ei” (“This is my beloved and this is my friend”), says the Song of Songs. Aristotle wrote of friendship as reciprocal goodwill, where both people want what is good for the other. It must be based on virtue, he argues, because nothing else will sustain itself.

I am fortunate to have a few friends in my life—friends I have known for decades, and friends I made in the past few years. We may not see each other often, but the friendships exist in person and persist. I do not talk about them in detail online (or offline, for that matter), but at least I don’t worry about becoming friendless, even though it could happen to me as well as anyone.

I worry more about a general harshness in the air. People are quick to reject difference, quirkiness, and things they don’t understand. The topic of friendship needs attention—but without personality quizzes, confessional sessions, or anything reductive.

If there’s unspoken damage done by this election campaign, it’s the extreme glorification of celebrities, the turning of all heads toward these candidates and their every move. Yes, the election has this country on a precipice, but Clinton and Trump themselves are unknown to me, except as public figures and possible leaders, and merit my attention in that regard only.

A colleague friend reminded me today of the Enchiridion of Epictetus. I started rereading it.This was a favorite passage:

These reasonings are unconnected: “I am richer than you, therefore I am better”; “I am more eloquent than you, therefore I am better.” The connection is rather this: “I am richer than you, therefore my property is greater than yours”; “I am more eloquent than you, therefore my style is better than yours.” But you, after all, are neither property nor style.

Note: I made a few minor changes to this piece after posting it.

Facebook and Mortality: Part Two

In the previous post, I examined the first part of the study on Facebook and mortality rates. Here’s the citation again:

William R. Hobbs, Moira Burke, Nicholas A. Christakis, and James H. Fowler, “Online Social Integration is Associated with Reduced Mortality Risk,PNAS, Early Edition, published ahead of print on October 31, 2016, doi: 10.1073/pnas.1605554113. 

Now it’s time to look at the second part. Having compared the mortality rates of Facebook users and Facebook nonusers, they now investigated to what extent specific Facebook activities were associated with mortality.

To compare the dead and the living, they selected their samples in this manner:

To ensure age and gender covariate balance in our analyses, we compared all deceased individuals on Facebook to a stratified random sample of nondeceased individuals (SI Appendix, Fig. 5) from the full and voter populations described above. There were 179,345 people in our age- and gender-based probability sample of Facebook users born between 1945 and 1989, of whom 17,990 died between January 2012 and December 2013; 89,597 were also present in the California voter record, of whom 11,995 had died between January 2012 and December 2013.

I sense something problematic about this, but I’ll have to give it some thought. I understand now (after learning about case control study and revising this paragraph) that the approach is not problematic in itself; it’s statistically valid when applied properly. The question is whether the researchers have applied it properly. I am tabling this for now.

Having identified their sample, they began by comparing two Facebook activities: initiating friendships and accepting friendships. They found a relation between accepting friendships and decreased mortality risk, but no such relation between initiating friendships and the same. Just to be clear about the difference: “(A) Initiated friendship: the subject sent a Facebook friendship request that was then accepted. (B) Accepted friendship: the subject received and accepted a friendship request.” They used a Cox proportional hazard model to estimate the relative risk;  they report the details in their appendix.

It appears from their findings that larger numbers of accepted friendships correlate with lower relative mortality; no such correlation exists for initiated friendships. However, it seems a bit arbitrary to examine it in terms of quantity; they could, for instance, h I ave examined time lapses between invitation and acceptance, or relation of invited friends to existing friends. I don’t mean that these comparisons would have been better; there’s just no reason to suppose that the number of friend requests or acceptances is particularly important, especially on Facebook.

There’s one way it might be important, though. If you are accepting a lot of friendships, that means others are seeking you out; for whatever reason, they think a Facebook friendship with you is worth a click or two.  This may be because they perceive you as healthier. It’s possible that people with debilitating illnesses (especially the ones that correlate with mortality on Facebook) attract fewer friend requests. In that case, it isn’t that the friend-accepting activity makes you live longer; it’s that those accepting friend requests are perceived as vigorous to begin with. (That’s just one of many possible explanations.)

Onward. Next, they compared text-based activity and photo-based activity; they found that “mortality risk declines with increased photos, whereas it actually increases with increased statuses.” Here again (I’m moving along a little more quickly now) I wonder strongly about the difference between correlation and causation. Aren’t healthier people more likely to post photos of themselves and their families (if they’re posting on Facebook to begin with)? Relatively speaking, statuses might appeal more to people who are ill. If you’re unwell, you might want to let people know how you are. You might not want to post pictures.

The authors see photos as indicative of face-to-face interactions; they write, “These results are suggestive that offline social activities—and not online activities—are driving the relationship between overall Facebook activity and decreased mortality risk.” Well, possibly, but it may be that those “offline activities” are already triggered by health or illness.

Next, they consider activities directed at specific individuals; so they compared the sending of posts (with tags) and messages with the receiving of photos with tags. Here it’s a little more complicated and less stark, but the receiving of photos with tags correlates with lower mortality risk than the sending of posts and messages. Here again, I wonder whether this has to do with one’s existing health status: whether those who are healthier tend to receive photos with tags (after all, they made it out to the party or other event), whereas those who are ill may rely on posts and messages.

Finally, they examine how specific Facebook activities relate to rates of mortality for specific causes of death. Then they discuss the results overall. I will take this up next time (probably not today).

My thoughts so far: There may well be an association between certain Facebook activities and mortality, but it’s plausible that the health status is influencing the Facebook activity at least as much as vice versa. There’s no reason to believe that the dead people would have postponed their death if they had engaged in a different Facebook practice.

To shed some light on this, you’d need some information about the subjects’ health. There’s a lot of grey area between “dead” and “alive.”

Update: I learned from a commenter that this is called a case control study. I now wonder whether this works for a study of Facebook and mortality. A problem, as I see it, is that there are so many different possible causes of death. Where case control studies examine the relation between exposure and an “outcome,” I have difficulty seeing death here as an “outcome.” One death may be nothing like another; the causes may be completely unrelated to each other. In addition, while we’re all “at risk” for death, the control subjects might be at negligible risk for these particular deaths; we just don’t know. I’d think the degrees of risk would matter. I welcome any comments on this issue.

Note: I revised this piece substantially after posting it.

Facebook and Mortality: How Little We Know

Almost every day I check to see what the Science of Us (New York Magazine) writers have posted. Although the quality varies, it’s usually interesting. Some of it I find enlightening; some of it makes me shake my head; and some evokes a combination of reactions. They’re relatively skeptical in their descriptions of psychological research, but sometimes it seems they throw in some “token skepticism” just to be safe. It may depend on how much time they have to research and write a given piece.

So after reading Melissa Dahl’s (nominally skeptical) piece about the just-published study in PNAS about Facebook activity and mortality, I vowed to take a close look at the study and give my own take on it. Dahl found it “deeply sad” that the study suggested that a lower mortality risk was associated with friend requests accepted, not friend requests initiated. This seems to suggest (to her) that if you’re trying to reach out to people, you may not be making yourself healthier.

But I found it hard to accept any of this. Why are people associating Facebook “friending” with anything substantial? How is it possible to isolate one Facebook activity from another and measure its relation to mortality, when there are so many other factors at work? Isn’t this a classic case of forking paths–where you can look for all kinds of associations and are bound to find something?

But instead of just criticizing in a void, as I sometimes do, I promised to myself that I’d read the actual study from start to finish. I suspect it has some serious problems, but let’s see. I want to preface this by acknowledging the good intentions of the authors. One of them, James Fowler, told Dahl, “The whole reason that I’m in this game is because I want to figure out how to use social networks to make people healthier.” In criticizing the study, I do not disparage its underlying intent. Moreover, Fowler himself expressed some caution about the study’s conclusions.

With all of that in mind, here we go. I may have to do this in several parts; we’ll see.

Here’s the citation: William R. Hobbs, Moira Burke, Nicholas A. Christakis, and James H. Fowler, “Online Social Integration is Associated with Reduced Mortality Risk,PNAS, Early Edition, published ahead of print on October 31, 2016, doi: 10.1073/pnas.1605554113. 

In this study, the researchers do two things (boldface added): “Using public California vital records, we compare 12 million Facebook users to nonusers. More importantly, we also look within Facebook users to explore how online social interactions—reflecting both online and offline social activity—are associated with longevity.”

Here’s how the abstract summarizes the results:

The results show that receiving requests to connect as friends online is associated with reduced mortality but initiating friendships is not. Additionally, online behaviors that indicate face-to-face social activity (like posting photos) are associated with reduced mortality, but online-only behaviors (like sending messages) have a nonlinear relationship, where moderate use is associated with the lowest mortality. These results suggest that online social integration is linked to lower risk for a wide variety of critical health problems.

All right, let’s see how they arrived at this. Some of it seems intuitively right (moderate online behaviors would be more conducive to health than online-only behavior generally). But hunches aren’t the point here; I want to see how the study fits together.

First, they compared the age- and gender-matched mortality rates of the full population of Facebook users (in California, that is) to the mortality rate in the California voter record. It seemed that the Facebook rate was 63% of the California voter rate, but they recognized that this figure could be off because of the difficulty of matching Facebook users to vital records. So they tried again, this time focusing on the “voter” subpopulation of Facebook users. This time, the Facebook mortality rate was about 88% of the rate of Facebook nonusers (within the voting population).

They then disaggregated this by cause of mortality. They found no difference between the population for mortality rates due to sexually transmitted diseases, several types of cancer, unintentional injuries, drug overdoses, and suicides. For certain other causes (infections, diabetes, mental illness or dementia, ischemic heart disease, stroke, other cardiovascular diseases, liver disease, and homicide), they found a significantly lower rate in Facebook users.

They acknowledged possible problems with these figures: “It is important not to read too much into the comparison between Facebook users and nonusers because many factors may confound the apparent association between being a Facebook user and experiencing lower mortality. This is an observational result, and we have few socioeconomic controls because we do not have much information about nonusers.”

I give them credit for this. I agree heartily and suspect that economic factors play heavily into the results. Facebook users may have more resources in general, including health insurance. (I suspect that among nonusers, those who abstain from Facebook out of preference or principle are a minority, and that others simply can’t afford certain computer activities. I might be wrong about this.)

In addition, as Fowler said to Dahl, it’s important not to confuse correlation with causation. The mortality rate for Facebook users could be lower because they’re generally healthier when they begin using it; the very ill may be too overwhelmed or incapacitated to use it much.

Now comes the second and more complex part of the study: the analysis of specific Facebook activities and their relation to mortality. I’ll leave that for next time. For now, I don’t think there’s too much we can learn from the first part; the Facebook mortality rate could be lower for numerous reasons, and there’s no reason to think that Facebook makes you live longer. The authors acknowledge this.

The Ubiquitous Team

Humans enjoy (and sometimes suffer from) a richness of relations. We first form bonds with family members, then start to make friends of different kinds. As we get older, we join groups, collaborate with others, and participate in many kinds of associations. Throughout all of this, solitude allows us to make sense of our relationships, come back to ourselves, and regather our strength and thoughts. Often relations change or break; often they renew themselves in different forms.

Today the concept of the “team” has overtaken all other associations. Just about every group gets called a “team”; and relations outside of teams get short shrift. It is even common to address people as “team.” The problem is not with teams or teamwork but with their ubiquity: the insistence that everyone be part of a team and the suggestion that any resistance at all to the team is a show of personal selfishness or weakness.

The team is just one form of association. Its role is to work toward a concrete goal in a tightly coordinated manner. For instance, if you are an athletic team, your goal is to score more points than the opposing team. You work together toward that end. No single athlete’s brilliance matters unless it contributes to that goal. Likewise, if you are working with others on fundraising (for instance) and have a specific target to achieve, then those contributing to the achievement of the goal are acting as team members.

But there are many forms of collaboration and association that are not quite team-like. A musical ensemble, for instance, is not typically called a “team” (though this is changing as the “team” denomination spreads over onto everything). Although musicians work tightly together, there is a soul to what they do, a kind of solitude to each contribution. Also, the goal is somewhat concrete but not only concrete. A concert goes beyond attaining a goal.

In addition, many associations benefit from the differences and divergences of the members. The work may not be tightly coordinated at all. For instance, in a college English department, the faculty may have different areas of specialty and different approaches to literature. Insofar as they can engage in dialogue, insofar as they have enough common ground, and insofar as the students benefit from their differences, it is good for their efforts not to be too strictly defined and pieced together. As the economist John Jewkes noted in 1958, overemphasis on teamwork can diminish not only individuals, but dialogue between them.

Beyond that, the richest personal and professional associations are often not group relationships, but one-on-one collaborations, friendships, and partnerships. Rarely can a group attain the understanding, rapport, and sympathy that exists between two. When the team is treated as the pinnacle of relations, even personal conversation, even original ideas get subordinated to the team. There is subtle pressure to include others in conversation at all times, to avoid saying things that stand out, to give others credit for one’s own work, and to reserve one’s highest praises for the team.

Teams and teamwork are not bad in themselves; they have an important place in daily life. Most of us have situations where we need to work tightly with others and where our own thoughts and wishes must recede for a while. Yet there is also work that we do better alone or with select others–and work that isn’t quite teamwork. Also, we must not always be working; there must be room and time for thought, exploration, rest, and laughter.

Learning to serve a larger endeavor is also valuable–but there are times not to do so, and many ways of doing so. It is at least as important to diverge from the group–when such divergence is genuine–and to question group assumptions. This may interfere with “teamwork” in the sort run but may actually enrich the work and the relations. As far as I know, we only get one life on earth. It would be a shame to waste it by flattening oneself.

So, without disparaging the team in itself, without dismissing its specific value, I resist its ubiquity with all my heart and soul. There are many more ways to be with oneself and others.

Questions of Community

There are several related idols in contemporary culture: the group, the team, and the community. Each one has a different character, and each one has benefits and dangers.

I have discussed the pitfalls of group work on numerous occasions–most recently, in an interview with The Guardian (UK). I do not mean that group work is necessarily bad; it is just overemphasized. Thinking on one’s own–or participating in a whole-class lesson–gets short shrift.

In addition, I have discussed problems with the concept of a team. Teams have their place (many places, actually), but not every group or association is a team, nor should it be. Much important work is done by individuals and can be shortchanged by a team.

In relation to the above, I have also examined how collaboration differs from group work, and how belonging and apartness combine in education.

Today I will look at a somewhat touchier subject: community. Community, as I understand it, is an association of individuals with a loose common bond, be it geography, a common interest or attitude, or some other common characteristic. To many, community is an automatic good; what could possibly be wrong with having something in common with many others and, on account of this commonality, being part of a larger whole?

Indeed, there is much to be said for it; many of us have longed to be part of a community of some kind and have rejoiced when we found one. But the word can be misused.

For one thing, as David Bromwich points out in Politics by Other Means (1992), it can be invoked manipulatively, for ideological ends. (Sometimes the “community” invoked might not even exist as such.)

Or the word might be invoked in reference to the most popular activities or views–and not in reference to the outliers. In my experience, “Support your community” rarely means, “Support the individuals within it.” Instead, it seems to mean, “Support those things that the majority supports, those things that draw a crowd.” I do not mean that the things that draw a crowd are unworthy–but a true community should have room for more. A genuine community, as I understand it, would honor its minorities, dissidents, independent thinkers, and others who don’t fit the group. There are circles within circles; the largest subcircle is not the whole (unless it is, of course).

I am likewise wary of communities where the members, because of the very nature of the bond, conceal important thoughts by choice or necessity–for instance, a “supportive community of writers” where everyone is supposed to praise everyone else. There must be room for genuine criticism; support should not be equated with applause.

Or take a workplace. Is that and can it be a community? It depends; at various jobs, I have become friends with my co-workers. Sometimes the entire staff has bonded. But no matter how warm the workplace, one must remember that at some level, it is a job. There is work to be done. Friendship and fellowship can form within it–but that should not be the expectation.

All of these pitfalls can be addressed with careful use of the word. There are different kinds of community, each with its offerings and restrictions. If one knows what one means by the word, one can avoid being deceived by it. But there is still another danger.

Belonging to a group is meaningful only if some true fellowship exists in it. Fellowship between two may be the best and strongest kind. As Emerson writes in his essay “Clubs” (the ninth chapter of Society and Solitude), “Discourse, when it rises highest and searches deepest, when it lifts us into that mood out of which thoughts come that remain as stars in our firmament, is between two.” Yet a community often interferes with the fellowship of two (or with solitude, for that matter); the individuals come under pressure to include others in their group, to level out their conversation, to accept the common denominator. If a community can make room for friendship and idiosyncrasy, if it does not try to smooth everyone down, if it recognizes that some affinities will run deeper than others, then it can be strong.

 

The Privacy of Speaking One on One

Lately I joined Facebook in order to do specific things. I had joined before, a few years ago, then quit because I didn’t like it. This time around, I was bewildered all over again by the prevalence of group updates—the practice of telling a large group about life events, major and minor. I couldn’t keep up with these conversations and didn’t want to join them. I miss the old-fashioned practice of speaking with an individual.

Online group communication can be a boon at times. For instance, someone with a medical emergency could keep her friends posted without having to write individually to each one. A medium like Facebook can be useful for announcements as well–of events, special occasions, and so on. The problem lies not in individuals’ use of Facebook or any other online medium, but rather in the general drift away from private association. I am uneasy with the ubiquitous group conversation and the pressure to surrender private conversations to the group.

The problem is not restricted to the internet. In many situations, individual conversations are subject to interruption and curtailment, and people are not staunch about defending them. There’s a general assumption that a conversation belongs to anyone—that it is up for grabs. When people interrupt, they are often not conscious of interrupting, or don’t see the interruption as a problem. Thus, most conversations don’t last long.

Growing up, I saw and heard excessive quotation of Emily Dickinson’s poem “The Soul selects her own Society” (especially the first two lines). I don’t hear it quoted any more. It isn’t in the air.

The Soul selects her own Society —
Then — shuts the Door —
To her divine Majority —
Present no more —

Unmoved — she notes the Chariots — pausing —
At her low Gate —
Unmoved — an Emperor be kneeling
Upon her Mat —

I’ve known her — from an ample nation —
Choose One —
Then — close the Valves of her attention —
Like Stone —

The poem is stark no matter what the times, but today it stands out so severely against everything we are asked to do. The repetition of “Unmoved” in the second stanza seems defiant now, and it’s a defiance I miss, even though I have it to an extent. We are supposed to move along with things, to be responsive to as many people and events as possible. To stay “unmoved” in the face of demands is to shirk one’s unwritten obligation. But it may be a way of keeping a greater obligation.

And what comes next? “I’ve known her — from an ample nation —Choose One —” Who gets to do that today—except when choosing a spouse? It is possible, of course, to meet with particular friends, but it’s challenging, given people’s complicated schedules and tendency to do things in groups. The problem is not new, but it has taken on new forms. A Yale professor remarked to me recently that he doesn’t see students talking to each other one on one any more. He used to see them on the lawn, on benches, in dining halls. Now he sees four, five, six students talking with each other or walking through campus together.

Is that all terrible? Of course not. But some of it is.

Granted, there’s something terrible on either end. The poem is not sweet. Even in my childhood, I got a chill from the last two lines: “Then — close the Valves of her attention — Like Stone —” (where “Like Stone” sounds like stone clapping, and the dash aftwarwards, like an unknown). Even then, there was something disturbing about the poem: a suggestion that an intimate friendship required hostility of a kind. (I loved Julie Harris’s rendition in The Belle of Amherst—I think she brought this out.)

But that hostility can be a kind of protection, an enshrinement. The poem has a subtlety and surprise: the “Society” of the first line is the “One” in the final stanza. This One is a society, in that the soul can associate with it as it could not with a pausing chariot or kneeling emperor.

It takes courage to lift one person above the “whatever”—to meet with one person, to write to one person, to listen to one person. It takes the willingness to shut others out for a stretch. There is solitude in this.

I am not talking about limiting one’s entire company to one person; that is dangerous and confining. Nor am I saying that all meetings should be one on one. There are no mandates or policy prescriptions here. I am talking about the simple practice of spending time with an individual—and having strength and room for such a meeting.

Dickinson’s poem suggests an absoluteness of attention that people in any era might find terrifying. It goes a bit beyond what I am describing here–but is part of it all the same. There is a stalk of such staunchness even in a dialogue over coffee.

To speak to a particular person as one would speak to no one else; to notice things about the other that others may notice too, but not in the same way; to hear stories take shape, stories that belong to the two, because they come out of the listening and telling—this is the privacy that I defend.

Note: Just after posting this piece, I added what is now the penultimate paragraph.

Tetrahedra and Truth

Let’s say you have a tetrahedron (a polyhedron consisting of four conjoined triangles). You project each of its points onto a flat surface, along lines perpendicular to the surface. Depending on the tilt of the tetrahedron in relation to the surface, you will end up with either a triangle or a quadrilateral.

Now, both the triangle and the quadrilateral tell truth about the tetrahedron, but neither one tells the complete truth. However, if you rotated the tetrahedron and captured enough projections along the way, then you could determine the tetrahedron’s shape from the projections alone (if you already knew that it was a convex polyhedron). In other words, by considering the changes of the projections in time, you could see beyond the projections’ two-dimensional aspect to the tetrahedron’s three-dimensional shape. (You can try rotating a tetrahedron here.)

To even begin this project, you have to suspect that there’s something beyond the flat shapes that you see. You think: “Yesterday it had four sides. Today it has three. Something’s up with that.” Without such suspicion, you’re a prisoner in Plato’s cave, believing in the shadows on the wall because you’ve seen nothing else.

Now, suppose the tetrahedron were not stable in shape. Suppose it were crumbling or melting. Then you could not determine its shape from the projections. You could only approximate it—that is, by observing projections very close to each other in time and trying to spot abnormal changes. A sort of calculus would come into play. The more regular the tetrahedron’s disintegration, the more accurate your calculations would be. The projections would only pick up certain kinds of changes; they wouldn’t show concavities, for instance, if the edges were still intact.

Things get even more complicated if time itself is unstable: if it slows down, speeds up, loops around, breaks apart, or comes to an end (in relation to some other measure). We won’t get into that.

Imagine, now, that the phenomena in our lives are (at their very simplest) tetrahedral. Our instant impressions are limited, as they don’t capture the full shape of the phenomena. It takes time, knowledge, and insight to perceive their shapes.

We should not, then, place much value on the instant update or newest thing (the quick projection of part of the tetrahedron onto paper), except insofar as it adds to our knowledge and understanding. The latest projection is in itself no treasure; we must look to the old ones as well and—since we can’t spend all our time observing projections of tetrahedra—to other people’s interpretations of these shapes.

This is why we study history, literature, science, history of science, mathematics, philosophy, and music. It’s also why our current drive to collect instantaneous data on everyone (where we are, who our friends are, what our emotional reactions are to every possible product or classroom gesture) will do more harm than good. The purposes of such data-gathering are limited, even crude; the point is not to build wisdom or understanding, but to boost sales, test scores, and other quick results.

For example, developers and marketers have been considering the use of biometric bracelets not only in classrooms but in everyday life. Your bracelet will tell some subset of the world where you are, what you’re doing, and how you’re responding to that activity. Marketers and customers, then, can respond to you accordingly. But what happens, then, to friendship, which depends on voluntary disclosure and voluntary reserve?

Suppose I meet with a friend for dinner; what I do not say is as important as what I do, and both are my choice, to the extent that we choose such things. I learn about my friend through the things she chooses to tell me and the things that make her pause or stay quiet. Biometric bracelet data would ruin this. (“I see you were at the doctor’s office earlier today. Is everything OK? … Oh, is that so? I know you had a brain scan there. Why a brain scan, of all things?”) 

We can gather all sorts of data about people, but such data are little more than flat projections. Take that in stride, and those flat projections, maybe, can tell you something. Treat them like the real stuff, and you send your brains rolling down the hill.

Twitter and Loss of Solitude

Last March, during a book talk,  Jonathan Franzen committed the scandalous act of criticizing Twitter. An audience member took issue not with his points, but with his failure to admit to his own privilege. Franzen, she argued, doesn’t have to  worry about promoting himself. His publicist probably dreams about him every night. Many lesser-known writers have to go on Twitter and Facebook if they want to reach readers.

But do we? Isn’t there a way to reach people without reducing yourself? If you genuinely enjoy Twitter—and many do—then it can have benefits. It can serve as a good source of information, if nothing else. But if you aren’t drawn to it, why force yourself to use it? One of the most grating aspects of Twitter (and other social media) is the subjection of everything to a popularity vote and public display.

Publicity is not evil; writers and others need to reach an audience. Still, there are many ways of doing this, each with its benefits and costs. One must choose carefully, resisting pressure to join the crowd.

Promoting your work through Twitter is no mere thumb movement. It isn’t enough, from what I have seen, to toss out a tweet now and then. No, you have to build a following (which you can check moment to moment). This requires time and strategic activity. What’s more, it requires that you look somewhat friendly and accessible. You tweet about how great it was to meet so-and-so for lunch. You tweet that you’d love to come to so-and-so’s reading but—alas—are about to board the plane to LA, where you will be giving a reading of your own. Too bad! Another time!

Now, some claim that this sort of online socializing actually preserves privacy. Susan Cain suggests that it appeals to introverts because it relieves them of the pressure to socialize in person. According to Cain, it is more comfortable for them to tweet and blog than to speak in public or introduce themselves at parties. Clearly there’s some truth to that. It’s probably less draining in some ways to send a hundred tweets than to meet ten people in a day. Introvert or extrovert, a person gets tired.

Let’s set aside the question of introversion for the moment and consider solitude instead. (Introvert-extrovert distinctions are a bit messy, in my view.) If you value solitude—that is, time apart in the mind, even time alone with a friend—do you really want to muddy it up with tweets of “great to see you” and “say hi to Nancy”? Are your conversations really mass entertainment pieces? Some will argue that such communications aren’t special or intimate–so nothing is lost in making them public. But I consider even acquaintanceships important enough (and, in a sense, private enough) to keep to myself.

In my book, Republic of Noise, I define solitude as the apartness we have at all times, which we may honor and shape or not. There is solitude in friendship, because friendship requires a certain aloneness of spirit, a willingness to take the other person on his or her own terms. Each friendship has its special language, history, and rituals, which are understood by the two friends alone. Conversations between friends do not have to become public property.  Something’s corrupted when they do.

I like to separate public from private. When in public–for instance, when giving a speech or teaching at school—my words are for all, and my focus is mainly on ideas, not on personal relationships. When in private, alone or with others, a mixture of ideas, rumblings, and affections (or, in some cases, antipathies) comes into play. Although it is impossible to separate the public and the private completely, I find meaning and respite in such division.

Twitter and other social media erode the distinction between public and private. They create a zone that is neither one nor the other. Of course, this erosion is not new, nor is social media the sole cause. Hannah Arendt considered it a feature of modernity;  she gives a fascinating analysis of the problem in The Human Condition. There is something perturbing about the zone that is neither this nor that—the extension of our selves into arenas that do not care for us.

Now, one can use Twitter in a purely formal manner: sending out links and announcements with no personal content. But unless you have a large following, this will likely have little effect; moreover, you still have to deal with tweets from others. I’d rather stay off the whole thing.

My upstart abstinence may cost me a host of readers. So be it; I’d rather have a thousand readers and independence of mind, than a hundred thousand and twice as many tweet-intrusions. I do not have to broadcast what is private or mundane (or even what is not). Some say social media is the wave of the future, but that does not obligate anyone to ride it. An age contains far more than its trends; a life, far more than avatars and “likes”; a book, far more than its surrounding chatter.

Note: I made a few edits to this piece after its initial posting.