indecision at breakfast (‘What kind of egg? What kind of egg?’) to strategic paralysis in a military context (about which, more later). Technology commentator and author Nicholas Carr’s concern about distraction in the midst of concentration stems from an experiment showing that reading a hypertext document does, apparently, produce a different form of cognition and consideration from reading a plain text, a form in which what is written is constantly judged, the brain flickering between perception and analysis.
And too much information can be a problem in a less abstruse way, as well: as writer Malcolm Gladwell explains in
Blink
, a very simple diagnostic chart exploring simple criteria is a better guide to whether a patient is having a heart attack than a more profound examination of all the possible symptoms. The chart boils down to a combination of whether the patient has a bad electrocardiogram and is suffering from unstable angina, has fluid in the lungs, and has a systolic blood pressure lower than 100. If the answer to all four is yes, then the patient is in big trouble and needs immediate assistance. Mixed combinations of these factors lead to diagnosis of intermediate or low risk. And that’s it. You don’t even have to know why these things are significant. You only have to know that statistically speaking, they are. The chart, when first applied at Chicago’s Cook County Hospital,turned out to be 70 per cent better at determining when patients were not having a heart attack than even experienced doctors. More important still, it was between 10 and 20 per cent better at spotting patients who were seriously at risk, raising the accurate diagnosis of serious heart attacks from 75 to 89 per cent to over 95 per cent. The problem, it would seem, was that the doctors were simply looking at too many factors, trying to encompass too much.
The advertising industry is well aware of the feeling ofintrusion, despite, or perhaps because of, being a major culprit. Advertisements for holidays feature empty beaches and deserted romantic restaurants; cars are sold with ads which set the silence of the ride and the tranquillity of driving in contrast with the chatter and howl of a modern office – at the end of a long day, open roads and wildernesses beckon. Bubble baths and glasses of wine sell chocolate; running shoes are for running alone through the forest, not pounding the treadmill at a gym, though perhaps a majority of us will never take them out of doors. Aspirational imagery is frequently about carving out a space for the self, a space that is defined by quiet.
It’s hardly rocket science to say that people – some people constantly and most of us from time to time – feel invaded by telemarketing, meaningless fliers through the door and spam email; by the phone calls from utility companies offering us new pricing plans we don’t understand to replace old ones we never got to grips with, which we are assured will save us money and effort but which we are distantly certain will ultimately cost us more in some roundabout way. We groan inwardly at a call from the office which intrudes upon what ought to be our private time; at least, ought to be so by the standards of work and family life which were operative before the advent of the mobile communications device. And we blame, inevitably, the phone which makes the call possible rather than the culture which surrounds our job. The external pressure of communication, of theworld which demands a share of ourattention, we blame on technology.
The key word is ‘attention’ once again; there’s a battle taking place, in which various media and industries compete for our attention. Leisure time is limited, so obviously assorted media want us to listen to their music or play their game, watch their movie. But at the same time, we each of us have a variety of other slots in which various entities are seeking primacy: banking, phone and Internet connection, TV and so
And too much information can be a problem in a less abstruse way, as well: as writer Malcolm Gladwell explains in
Blink
, a very simple diagnostic chart exploring simple criteria is a better guide to whether a patient is having a heart attack than a more profound examination of all the possible symptoms. The chart boils down to a combination of whether the patient has a bad electrocardiogram and is suffering from unstable angina, has fluid in the lungs, and has a systolic blood pressure lower than 100. If the answer to all four is yes, then the patient is in big trouble and needs immediate assistance. Mixed combinations of these factors lead to diagnosis of intermediate or low risk. And that’s it. You don’t even have to know why these things are significant. You only have to know that statistically speaking, they are. The chart, when first applied at Chicago’s Cook County Hospital,turned out to be 70 per cent better at determining when patients were not having a heart attack than even experienced doctors. More important still, it was between 10 and 20 per cent better at spotting patients who were seriously at risk, raising the accurate diagnosis of serious heart attacks from 75 to 89 per cent to over 95 per cent. The problem, it would seem, was that the doctors were simply looking at too many factors, trying to encompass too much.
The advertising industry is well aware of the feeling ofintrusion, despite, or perhaps because of, being a major culprit. Advertisements for holidays feature empty beaches and deserted romantic restaurants; cars are sold with ads which set the silence of the ride and the tranquillity of driving in contrast with the chatter and howl of a modern office – at the end of a long day, open roads and wildernesses beckon. Bubble baths and glasses of wine sell chocolate; running shoes are for running alone through the forest, not pounding the treadmill at a gym, though perhaps a majority of us will never take them out of doors. Aspirational imagery is frequently about carving out a space for the self, a space that is defined by quiet.
It’s hardly rocket science to say that people – some people constantly and most of us from time to time – feel invaded by telemarketing, meaningless fliers through the door and spam email; by the phone calls from utility companies offering us new pricing plans we don’t understand to replace old ones we never got to grips with, which we are assured will save us money and effort but which we are distantly certain will ultimately cost us more in some roundabout way. We groan inwardly at a call from the office which intrudes upon what ought to be our private time; at least, ought to be so by the standards of work and family life which were operative before the advent of the mobile communications device. And we blame, inevitably, the phone which makes the call possible rather than the culture which surrounds our job. The external pressure of communication, of theworld which demands a share of ourattention, we blame on technology.
The key word is ‘attention’ once again; there’s a battle taking place, in which various media and industries compete for our attention. Leisure time is limited, so obviously assorted media want us to listen to their music or play their game, watch their movie. But at the same time, we each of us have a variety of other slots in which various entities are seeking primacy: banking, phone and Internet connection, TV and so
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