I have long felt that it was important to recognize that technological development does not improve human lives as much as social change does. Reading through Jacques Ellul’s Théologie et technique (Theology and Technique), I liked the way that this passage (on p. 35) seemed to capture that idea:

La technique a enfin permis à l’homme de changer les pierres en pain. Et il est bien content. Mais il ne comprend pas pourquoi il n’est pas encore dans le Paradis après ce miracle. Il n’a aucune idée du prix qu’il a déjà payé pour y arriver.

I know what this school means, and I hate feeling like I’m playing ivory tower definitions games, but it REALLY bugs me when we limit “technology” to “things with chips in them.” A wiffle ball is technology, too.

Yesterday afternoon, I was explaining (poorly) to some friends that I had been thinking about what the story of the Liahona in the Book of Mormon has to teach readers of that volume of scripture about (generative) AI. So, that connection was naturally on my mind when I was reading more of Jacques Ellul’s Presence in the Modern World over breakfast.

I continue to be pleasantly surprised by how relevant Ellul’s writing feels for today. Presence in the Modern World was first written in 1948, and even if you consider that the translation I’m reading is based on a 1988 second edition, that’s still enough time to earn the description “prescient.” (I’ve been reading Ellul in a mix of translated English and original French, depending on what’s more practical for the book in question.) Here’s a passage that particularly stood out to me this morning:

Despite what my recent Star Trek comics binge might lead you to believe, my Star Trek fandom is actually kind of spotty in its coverage. It’s not so complete that I’ve ever actually seen Star Trek V (though I hear I’m not missing much), but it’s absolutely complete enough to be familiar with its most famous line. A being claiming to be the ultimate, galaxy-wide monotheistic deity asks for transport on the Enterprise, prompting a skeptical Kirk to ask “what does God need with a starship?”

This is an ambitious book—probably overambitious, and I don’t agree with all of the claims, especially with 60-70 years for Ellul’s ideas to marinate in continued technological development. Yet, his ideas are valuable and prescient—I don’t buy his claims as an ontological argument, but I think they make for a compelling theoretical framework for making sense of lots of what’s happening today.

This story has an interesting premise—a Nazi officer is plucked from a falling Berlin into a fantasy world where he learns a lesson about all peoples being people—but both fails to deliver and muddles its efforts.

I like didactic fiction fine (it’s the reason I love Cory Doctorow so much), but the intended lesson of this story is clear from the beginning, and it’s never really obvious whether or why the main character undergoes any personal development. What passes for development is largely motivated by his wanting to get in a particular woman’s pants, and the story wants to justify his use of other women as sexual substitutes until the object of his lust finally reciprocates… and treat him as (relatively) feminist for not forcing himself on her to begin with.

One of my most recent articles—a piece on technology, naming, and legitimacy in the Latter-day Saint tradition—was published in Dialogue: A Journal of Mormon Thought. Publishing in Dialogue has been a wonderful opportunity. It’s a niche journal, so it may never reach the breadth of audience that I usually aim for in publishing. However, that niche focus has also come with a number of benefits. I want to write more about this soon, but the purpose of this post is just to draw attention to one of these benefits: the in-house podcast(s) produced by the Dialogue team.

As I wrote earlier, I recently appeared on the Salt Lake Tribune’s Mormon Land podcast to discuss a recent publication in which I discuss the history of official Latter-day Saint domain names. Near the end of the interview, David Noyce (managing editor of the Tribune and one of the podcast hosts) asked me the “so what” question—sure, this history is interesting, but what’s the takeaway? Here’s (part of) how I answered:

I recently wrote about a new article of mine in Dialogue: A Journal of Mormon Thought where I trace the history of the official domain names of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. This past week, I was lucky enough for the fine folks at the Salt Lake Tribune to take interest in the article. Peggy Fletcher Stack wrote a summary of my findings in this (unfortunately paywalled) article, which appeared on Sunday. Later in the week, I got to sit down with Peggy and Dave Noyce for their excellent Mormon Land podcast. That episode is freely available (i.e., no paywall), and can be listened to here.

I’m very excited to share that I’ve just had an article published in Dialogue: A Journal of Mormon Thought, a historically and culturally important journal in Mormonism. My article is entitled “The correct [domain] name of the Church: Technology, naming, and legitimacy in the Latter-day Saint tradition.” The title is a riff on Russell Nelson’s use of the phrase “The Correct Name of the Church” when leading a renewed emphasis on the full name of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints early in his ministry as President of the same church. My addition of “domain” to the phrase also indicates my own focus in the study: To examine how, since 1996, official domain names have played a role in Latter-day Saint leaders’ use of particular names to reinforce the legitimacy of their church (either as a Christian religious body or as the true successor to the 1830 church founded by Joseph Smith Jr.).

I’m sure that I’ve read this before, and I expected to really enjoy a reread, so it was kind of a disappointment to, well, be so disappointed by it. The book is interesting for its interrogation of whether new technologies are less rich than old ones—an argument that has clear relevance today, as perhaps illustrated by Bradbury’s alleged reluctance to allow for an ebook version in the early 21st century. I’m not opposed to this kind of argument, but I think it’s easy for this kind of claim to get tied up in hand-wringing about civilizational decline and old/high culture being better than new/pop culture—and I feel like Bradbury ultimately has more to say about the latter than about the former. His 1990s comments about political correctness in the context of the book only seem to reinforce this impression, and while it’s maybe a product of the 1950s, the overwhelmingly Western and male identities of the lost authors the characters (themselves overwhelmingly male) are trying to hold onto makes so much of the book sound like it could come out of a far-right message board bemoaning so many leftist sheep. I was expecting a defense of the medium of the book, and I appreciate the questions about whether we spend enough time with critical thinking and silence, but I can’t help but see the book as an unjustified moral panic rather than the classic I think about it as.

Interesting reflection here.

Petite preuve que la technologie n’existe pas hors culture : Quand un site web américain n’acceptera pas un numéro de téléphone comme « valide » si les chiffres sont séparés par des points, comme j’ai pris l’habitude de faire. Faut des tirets, comme un vrai Étatsunisien.

Gun violence can’t be solved with educational technology—and make no mistake, all of this is edtech.

This is unbelievably dumb. School shootings can’t be solved by technology—it’s a social and political problem. Shame on Axon.

But is it ed tech?

I think concerns about being dependent on technology are valuable, but I also note that no one is ever talking about technologies like, say, language or agriculture.

Very interesting piece on the relationship between technology and writing.

Proposing a new syllabus on department’s class on fundamentals of hardware and software, and I’m adding reflections on equity, society, culture as they relate to ICT. Tech isn’t just technical.

Sapiens is a challenging book, but that’s also why it’s a must-read. As much as its focus is on science & technology, I ultimately read it as a reminder that we need to ask ?s from the humanities to safely navigate our present and future.