Just Disconnect

It was said of John Henry Newman that he was never less alone than when alone. Newman liked the peace and quiet of isolation: it allowed him to read, to think and to write.

 

I confess to some sympathy for Newman on this. I do not like the hyperconnectivity of the current world. As an administrator at Westminster, I had a seminary cell phone. I had to upgrade it to a smartphone last year because Verizon indicated they would no longer support  the vintage model I then possessed. I remember that, when I went in to exchange it, the man behind the counter looked at the phone, looked at me and then, choking back the laughter, declared "You're that guy!"  Shamed into silence, I nodded mutely and mumbled my mandated request for a smartphone.

Now, having stepped down from the administration, I have rid myself of the thing and reverted to a phone that (and yes, this sounds terribly outdated, I know) simply allows me to phone people.   You know, like they did in the olden days. Sadly, I am sure that the free market will ensure that it will be 'no longer supported' within a few years. At that point I will have to pay extra every month for a data package to provide data which I have no interest in receiving, but until then, I can resist, Canute-like, the incoming tide of things I really do not need or like but which others have determined that I apparently 'must have.'

There are other advantages to downgrading. If I receive an email, I am one of those compulsive types who has to read it straight away. Result: not just friends, but everyone from work to whackos and every point in between has been able to invade my privacy. Now, with no mobile e-mail facility, I am safe from my own weakness, at least temporarily. Further, while I have rarely ever answered my cell phone anyway (possibly the result of keeping it switched to silent), ditching the seminary's smartphone has allowed me to purge my contacts list. It is amazing how, over time, my number leaked out to all sorts of people, some of whom were simply miscreants that I would really rather avoid. At the time of writing, I now have a grand total of eighteen contacts: strange to tell, most have the same surname as me; and those who do not either serve with me at church as elders or deacons or play some part in paying my salary. In other words, pretty much the sum total of people with whom I actually need to have any regular contact.   Continue at Carl Trueman