"The invitations which were sent out were written upon Western Union telegram blanks with an Edison electric pen. When the guests arrived and entered the gate, the house appeared dark, but as they placed foot upon the lower step of the veranda a row of tiny electric lights over the door blazed out, and the number of the house appeared in bright relief. The next step taken rang the front door bell automatically, the third threw open the door, and at the same time made a connection which lit the gas in the hall by electricity...
Mr. William J. Hammer's "Electrical Dinner," New Year's Eve, 1884
Ah, the wonders of new technologies! It's worth reading the whole description of that magical evening, if only because it's striking how similar it is to current visions of
smart homes for the future. (The only thing missing is the obsession with security.)
Now, despite a certain amount of earnest hand-wringing by design critics over the implications of technological failure in these scenarios, science-and-tech types have been
making fun of such scenarios for some time already. And this reminds me of
Isabelle Stengers' discussion of irony versus humour in assessing the social and political dimensions of technoscientific practice.
The ironic take, she argues, is favoured by sociologists and other critics in part because it allows them to "transcend" the scenarios they describe, to maintain "a more lucid and more universal power to judge that assures his or her difference from those being studied." (This is just one reason why I don't support universal guidelines for design, or ethics.) Humour, on the other hand, is described as "an art of immanence" where people implicate themselves as producers
and products of these practices and objects. This is crucial if one seeks to change things: "Humor produces...the possibility of shared perplexity, which effectively turns those it brings together into equals." And as Stengers concludes, if irony is seen as "an instrument of reduction" then humour may be understood as a "vector of uncertainty" (
The Invention of Modern Science pp.66-67).
My own work has always preferred the uncertain in the sense that it focusses on how things come to be, and sometimes how they don't. For one, it forces me to deal carefully with
the question of time, and this is related to my skepticism towards any claim that critique and futurism can work together. When it comes to new technologies - like those associated with pervasive computing - critiquing and prescribing for future scenarios is always dodgy because the "relevant" events haven't actually happened. Better, I think, to focus on what came before and what actually exists now - and how, or if, technological diffusion is actually happening. (This is somewhere between being re-active and pro-active.)
So one of my research goals this year is to really focus on the relationships between past, present and future in technological development - and find ways to engage with more humour than irony.
(Hammer's electrical dinner link via
things magazine)