How the Internet shapes decisions — a Quaker's perspective

Communicating via e-mail, texting and Facebook exchanges present a host of inherent problems. Unless you are a Writer (that’s with a capital “W”), such communication is often one-dimensional, lacking inflection, dramatic pauses, and texture.

If you agree those limitations pose problems, consider the loss Quakers experience as they try conducting business on the internet.

Traditionally Quakers rely heavily on silent "gathered" reflection to discern what to do. Yet silence “plays” about as well on the internet as it does on talk radio. Imagine Rush Limbaugh interrupting a debate (usually one-sided) with “Let’s pause a moment in silence to consider what the caller is saying.”

Quaker silence gets even more complicated because Friends seek to be “spirit-led” in the stillness of reflection and meditation. When was the last time you sought the spirit as you were e-mailing or texting? I’m not saying it doesn’t happen (it is more likely in the pauses of text exchanges than in, say, board room discussions or political debates), but it’s increasingly unlikely in this rapid-fire world.

For many Quakers, “spirit-led” means led by God. As a Friend recently commented, “When I look into the eyes of another, I am looking into the eyes of God.” The comment comes from the core Quaker belief that there is “that of God (or the Spirit, or both) in everyone.”

But if you aren’t looking at another person, you are unlikely to fully feel in the presence of their divinity. And if they are not looking into your eyes, your own divine presence may be forgotten. Our communication is shaped by that presence, or, alas, lack of it.

I raise these questions because of the tendency to conduct more and more business through the internet, conference calls, and, yes, video conferencing. I’m suggesting, as many others have, that every medium shapes its content — and hence the outcome of communication.

We all should ask ourselves how our decisions are altered by the medium we choose. And then we should consider what we might have decided had we met face-to-face — sharing in timely silence, allowing the “spirit” to lead us, seeing the divine presence in each other’s eyes.

Question: How might the decisions of our democratic institutions (Congress, the judicial system, elections) be different if they adopted these practices?

Tools of Persuasion

A telephone call is not e-mail, and e-mail is not a telephone call.

That seems obvious, but the profound difference was brought home to me this week when I used both modes of communication to try to lobby my neighbors on a modest proposal involving a small grant request.

A group of us wants a $2,000 city grant to experiment with renting space to create a community action office. The rental would last four months.

No big deal, but I came up against some resistance from one doubter. “Too much of a commitment,” he said.

E-mail is enticing as a persuasive tool because you can send your argument to any number of folks with the tap of a key.

Vvvvoooommm. The message goes out to an entire list. No dialing numbers. (Long gone are the days of licking stamps. Yuck.)

But do the recipients read your compelling message or does your appeal languish in “in” boxes for days, for months, forever?

Face it, we all get way too much e-mail. We are “over communicated with.” I know I let some messages go. I red flag them, I put them on my to-do list, but they still disappear from my consciousness — buried by an avalanche of new e-mails, all with their own desperate demands for action.

Another problem I had with my e-mail lobbying this week was that I had to send my appeal out through the one person who opposed the proposal. His introductory message said, in effect, “I oppose the proposal below and here is why. If after you have scrolled through my incisive criticism and are still interested, go ahead and read it and let me know what you think.”

In sum, the controller of the e-mail list controls the message.

And so I turned to the telephone. I needed six or seven votes for the organization’s endorsement of the grant application.

That meant six or seven or more phone calls.

Strange how we don’t keep phone numbers in this internet age, but I tracked down my quarry. At times, I actually used the bulky Portland phone book.

“Hi, I’m calling about that e-mail you got ….” I began.

Oh yes, they had been meaning to write. Or, they had written the controller of the list hastily agreeing with his criticism. (In three cases, they hadn’t copied their response to me.)

I listened and then answered the criticism. No, the proposal didn’t involve a commitment…. We are talking four months only.

Now they understood.

“Any other questions?” I asked.

When they had none, I asked them if I could count on their support.

Sure.

I asked them to write the controller with their decisions. In a three cases, folks changed their positions.

Done.

Beyond the e-mail and the phone call is face-to-face conversation, an almost quaint form of persuasive communication. For most of us, conversation (over lunch? dinner? golf?) seems an impossible luxury in this age of rapid response and urgent decision-making. Those who can still afford it (and I do mean “afford” — as in time and money) are the most persuasive of all. We call them “lobbyists.”

But that’s a topic for another day.