---
title: "Reflections on a Suburban Train"
date: 2024-01-14T20:00:00Z
draft: false
images: [/images/train.jpg]
description: "This is what happens when you go on a train and don't look at your phone"
---

![](/images/train.jpg)

We've all more or less seen this happening before. It was 9.30pm in a suburban train on a Tuesday night, coming from the centre of the big city into some place that people that work in the big city go to sleep in. I have done that same trip, in the same context, a few dozen times in my life. What really shocked me this time around is how silent the train was.

The train was full (all seats were taken, a few people were up), and especially in working days, people would usually be seated with acquaintances - people they know from living in the same places, or some family that leaves a few stations after, etc. Even if the passengers were tired, some conversation would for sure ensue - there's always an extrovert in a group, after all. Not this time around. The only conversations you could hear were maybe someone speaking on the phone (always quietly), or at most they were trying to have these weird attempts at interaction.

What I mean by this was something I had never noticed happening before. Two people seating facing each other. One of them is talking, sometimes looking at his phone, sometimes looking to the person in front, who was always looking at his phone as well. Then a silence. Eventually the other person answers something - not sure if related or not. And the same situation happens, with the roles switched. None of them sounded really convinced or interested on what the other was saying. Always subdued.

Again, we've all more or less seen this happening before, I guess. And yes, I could go on a righteous tirade on how smartphones are bad, on how these people are all addicted. My girlfriend and I were, after all, the only people not looking at their phones, as far as I could see. But this is something else. This was such an eyeopening experience that I couldn't help but reflect and introspect.

I have always been "privacy-conscious": I use Linux as my main operative system since I'm 15 years old, I have my own email server, host my own calendars and contacts, and I try and help other people move away from the techno-beast system. This has been a path I've consciously walked since a long time. A year or so ago I decided to even ditch my smartphone as my main phone - I now only carry a "dumb phone". And, of course, I could always disentangle myself more and more. But even now, the path I've taken is more extreme than most; I do actually have an ethos here.

And yet, and yet, and yet. Since I spend most of my time at home nowadays, it's not that I actually stopped using said smartphone. Even though I only have two or three apps that I use daily, I've noticed that every time that I get up from my desk, the smartphone will magically appear on my pants' front pocket - and then I get an urge to just smash it on the ground. If the notification light goes off, my hand will automatically fly towards the device to check it. And I'm sure I could think of many such other examples. You get the point.

There's a good chance that I might just be exaggerating. My usage of this tech might be perfectly fine, especially if I compare it with everyone else's; this might just be a paranoia. Which would be interesting in itself, but I seriously don't think this is the case. I also don't think that this all boils down to the fact that the flesh is weak, and I'm just not mature enough to deal with the temptations that these technologies promote. There's certainly a component of that, as personal responsibility can never be truly taken out of the equation. But there must be more, otherwise this parasite would've long been gone from our lives and minds. 

Others have explained at length which conditions have made the Machine such a powerful force in our lives. Still, what seems less explored is how we seem so incapable of saying no, resisting, and setting long-lasting barriers in our relationship with it. And I'm not even talking about our dependence on it to lead a "normal" life, having a job and be able to put food on the table. Rather, there's a veritable incapacity to imagine a life not controlled by it.

One thing that seems obvious is that there's no going back. And we must recognise this in order to be able to hope that we can hold against the constant attacks that we suffer in the modern world. The aforementioned notification lights are just one example, but we could mention many more. The point isn't that these attacks exist, but rather that they represent a whole new class of temptations. And while this may seem controversial at first, we need to remember that with each successive generation, nay, each year that passes, we're introducing younger and younger children to more "advanced" technologies (i.e., they're more addictive).

And I mention addiction not because I believe this to be a purely physiological process, but rather because it is a spiritual one as well. I am not aware of a single institution that, when confronted with the realities of the Machine, has been able to expose a consistent (even if generic) explanation on why it's our moral imperative to shy away as much as possible from this beastly system. And while it's true that we can find voices that did warn us of what was to come, they were always in the fringes, with the centres being integrated into the Machine.

This failure of the institutions we have to provide us with even a modicum of moral guidance about our relationship with the Machine is one of the greatest tragedies of our times. And let me be perfectly clear: when writing this, I'm mostly thinking of how the Church has failed us. She became so lost in her internal struggles that she has seemingly failed to notice how most of her sons and daughters have been consumed by the beast. The same good Christian that never fails to attend the Divine Liturgy is, during the week, completely ensnared by ChatGPT and asks it about some theological distinction or other in an effort to win an argument with a neo-pagan on Twitter. Modernity is cursed like that.

All this comes with the territory of living in the end of times. We must not despair, for that is also a sin. Rather, reflecting and introspecting and praying and talking honestly and earnestly about all this seems to me to be the only way forward. And that's what we shall do.
