It’s not a stretch to think that Alexander Graham Bell would have despised texting. After all, the man went to a hell of a lot of trouble to deliver the sound of the human voice from one person to another across the miles, and by way of a few wires. The telephone replaced the telegraph (which also used wires – but only transmitted the dashes and dots of Morse Code, not an actual human voice) to the delight of the world at large. Once the telephone and its amazing technology became available, people everywhere – separated by the insurmountable obstacle of countless miles, or the short span of a neighborhood street – could delight in the sound of a loved one’s voice that might otherwise never be heard, or couldn’t ever be heard enough. The point is that Bell’s invention brought a quantifiable component of humanity into the process of communicating over distance: the indelible, unmistakable, life-affirming voice of another human being. Nuances that comprise the identity, emotions, and essence of another are bundled into his or her voice. The old commercials had it right: listening to that voice was the next best thing to being there. The thrill – the emotion – of listening, for the first time ever, to that audible manifestation of humanity across any span – no matter its distance – is almost impossible for me to imagine. Mr. Bell must have been proud of his invention. He certainly was smart enough to realize he’d bestowed an unprecedented gift upon the world.
So, I’ve got a pretty good idea of how Alexander Graham Bell would have felt if he learned that his own technology had advanced to the point that it could and did eradicate the element of the human voice from interpersonal telephonic communication. Not too long ago, the notion of people talking to each other in the spoken voice over a telephone became a quaint anachronism, and the actual activity itself became more rare than old coin. Texting was the new king, and electronically generated written notes were being transmitted between people across the miles via digital code. No voice necessary. (Kind of like Morse Code, but without the wires.)
I resented the hell out of texting when it first appeared on the person-to-person communication horizon. It was deflating to think that so many people ultimately chose to send (often grammatically bastardized) written digital messages back and forth rather than opting for an actual conversation. It was bad enough that the phenomenon took hold so acutely among long distance correspondents. But what really sucked was seeing people in various situations and settings sitting within a few feet of each other staring down at their phones and texting each other rather than looking at each other and actually talking. (To get treated to this phenomenon firsthand, jump on a commuter train during the morning rush.)
There could be no doubt – the act of writing shittily-composed messgaes to each other on their devices was here to stay among the electronically communicating set. Or so I thought…
Over the course of time (which, in the digital age, elapses at a much faster rate than in Alexander Graham Bell’s days), I resigned myself to the fact that texting was going to be de rigueur, and I had no choice but to participate in the vile act since virtually all of my friends were choosing to communicate with me in that fashion. We’d be writing digital notes to each other if I wanted to keep in touch.
Writing? Fat chance.
Insipid digital doodles quickly appeared on the electronic communication scene and, in almost no time at all (Bell’s head would’ve been spinning, just like mine was), began to supplant the actual written word as a means of conveying thoughts and ideas between communicators. The emoji had arrived.
Today, an entire industry exists whereby digital creators generate cartoon symbols rudimentarily depicting everything from human emotions, to events, to animals, for use in the general public’s electronic correspondence. There are apps that allow people to create digital avatars of themselves to use as profile pics or, worse yet, to substitute for actual written words (instead of a vapid smiley face letting your SMS group know how goddamn happy you are, how about using a cartoon rendering of yourself that knocks more than a few pounds, years, and wrinkles off your saggy ass to let everyone know that your homemade rhubarb pie won first place at the county fair bake-off?).
I know I’ve got to text to keep up with the times. I get it. But I’ve just got to shake my head when I write (electronically, of course, but in actual words – punctuation and all – to get the point across properly) a text message to somebody and they respond with an emoji. They might as well just type “Thank you for your thoughts. I appreciate your taking the time and making the effort to communicate your point to me in actual written words. In fact, I appreciate all of this so much, I’m sending you a cartoon image of a steaming pile of dog shit (no kidding, these images really exist) to show you that I’m just as impassioned as you are concerning this unfortunate turn of events. In fact, I’m sending you TWO steaming dog shit piles to REALLY let you know that I feel you.”
Using symbols like these to communicate is like reverting to Morse Code, only worse. At least some intellect was required in the translation and comprehension of all those dots and dashes. And back then, what would people have given to hear their loved ones’ voices across the miles? The answer: the price of a telephone and the investment of their time in order to actually talk and listen. Nope. This emoji nonsense is inferior to Morse Code. You’ve got to go back even further in history to find a comparable communication form…
At this point, ancient Egypt and hieroglyphics initially come to mind. I think about all of those symbols – humans, animals, plants – in various poses and in various stages of growth and activity, and at first I detect a parallel between this fascinating, intricate, laboriously executed method of recording history and the placement of a cartoon heart, an anthropomorphic yellow sphere hugging a cluster of nebulous hearts to its jaundiced anthropomorphic breast, and a disembodied yellow hand with its thumb jerked toward the heavens – all in series – as a reply to a cartoon numeral sent to evidently represent some sort of anniversary. But I dismiss this parallel after only a second of rational thought. Heiroglyphs were executed to represent the chronology of history’s events. They required an understanding of syntax, of the language they truly represented. Hieroglyphics were the written word of their time – the written expression of the Egyptian language. Hieroglyphs did not replace spoken words. The ancient Egyptians utilized a sophisticated and effective language. Can you imagine them trying to build the pyramids without one? Can you? Maybe one stone mason-type guy whipping out a sheet of papyrus and drawing a steaming pile of cartoon dog shit on it to show how pissed he was about his apprentice handing him the wrong chisel? Nah. Hieroglyphics, emojis are not.
To my own mind, emojis are at best an assault on language – both written and spoken. At their worst, they’re an assault on basic intelligence. I’d hate to have to admit that I’m out of touch on this score, and that my opinion indicates an archaic rationality out of step with efficient modern thinking, but I may have to surrender to this definite possibility. As much as I think that replying to someone’s written text with a tomato sporting a human face and limbs is stupid, I think that I, personally, just might be even stupider. I mean, how hard could it be to make myself an avatar that looks sort of like Tyrone Power?
See you next time.
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