The thesis that media determine culture is reactivated whenever
a new media form comes into use. In one flavor of this thesis, it
is insisted that the content of media (such as the novel's presentation
of sex; or film's presentation of violence) induces a dangerous
imitation in novel readers or film spectators; in the second form
of this thesis it is said that the form of a medium, as it
produces a particular somatic and cognitive practice, imposes certain
effects (writing will enfeeble the memory (Plato); television may
bring a global village(McLuhan)). Histories of media have noted
the tendency of Americans to embrace an optimistic version of the
media determinism thesis: the notion that the coming mutation in
media forms will solve human problems resistant to social and political
negotiation (Czitrom). Perhaps this reflects the historical influence
of a radically different idea about media: the claim to freedom
of expression as it is enshrined in the 1st Amendment and performed
at the inaugural moment of our nation, with the Declaration of
Independence. Media determinism and media freedom imply diametrically
opposed concepts of the media subject (both the target and user
of media). Is the media subject passive and vulnerable, a tabula
rasa receiving the impress of meanings determined by a powerful
media system? [Image 1: Debord] Or is the media subject vigorous
and independent (Milton), agile and creatively appropriative (Birmingham
school), and thus constantly rewriting what is read, rewording what
is heard, projecting a revision of what is shown.[DeCerteau, Barthes]
I do not understand media determinism or media freedom as conceptually
coherent theories susceptible of proof or disproof, nor as two world-views
one might choose between. Instead I understand them as a response
to the increasing range and power of modern media technologies and
institutions of media; they have become part of our common sense
(Gramsci), the warp and woof of our interminable discourse about
media. In addition these two positions are recurrently performed
within the forms of modern media culture: novels like Don Quixote,
Pamela and Madame Bovary engage the thesis that novel
reading reprograms readers (Warner, 1998); films like Meet John
Doe, Face in the Crowd, The Candidate, and Network
take as their subject the heroic rebellion of individuals who wage
war against a media system, try to make it a tool of self-expression,
but often find themselves implicated in the media system's dubious
practices. (fuller reading of Meet John Doe is on Web page)
I read last year's hit s/f film The Matrix as an allegory
of the cultural effects of digitalization. Philip K. Dick has argued
that the generic game of science fiction consists in starting with
the world as we know it, effecting a single consequential dislocation,
and then pursuing its ramifications, as it transforms the given
world. The Matrix (1999, Wachowski brothers) explores the
implications of the following question: what if everything humans
experience could be digitalized? Not just alphabetic code, sound,
and images (as we see happening everywhere around us), but other
sensory signals like smell, taste, touch, silent thought, body image,
and everything else necessary for humans to feel that they are living
ordinary experience. Then we would have a simulation as "real" as
the "real world." Because the digital basis of that world would
be transparent to its inhabitants, humans would not know that their
entire reality was in fact a species of media, a digital simulation.
Those who constructed such a simulated world and embedded humans
within it would have unprecedented design control. This is the moment
of maximum determination by media, but that idea spawns an equally
radical idea of freedom. If an individual could crack the code upon
which it is based, and hack her or his way into that media simulation,
then that individual might play by an entirely new set of rules-evading
the laws proper to that simulation, for example, gravitation, inertia,
the law of the conservation of matter, etc. In the Wachowski brothers
1999 film, The Matrix, the "matrix" is the name for the digital
simulation that traps the film's protagonist Neo, played by Keanu
Reeves; the small team of resistance fighters that hacks their way
into the matrix so as to rescue Neo is led by Morpheus, played by
Laurence Fishburne.
Given the centrality of code to the system that enslaves mankind,
it is appropriate that Neo is a hacker who also works for a major
software company. But we never really see him sitting at his computer
and hacking. This is not just because it would produce boring visuals.
In this film Neo's hacking of the matrix is accomplished with
Kung-fu and success depends upon learning to have faith in his
body. [This translation of a software war into kung-fu has many
effects: it means that being tough, hard, and cool-wearing sleek
sun glasses and bad black clothes, and having excellent muscle tone-becomes
signs of inner spiritual strength; the world made of code also justifies
the extreme violence of killing innocent policemen and rationalizes
the gravity defying battle moves of Trinity and Neo. But I think
there is another reason to translate the hacker into an action hero.
For humans menaced with a bad engulfment by digitalization, these
very physical battles, with the wounds they entail, become a way
to reinvest the human body with centrality. However, these bodies
are also enhanced with the good effects of digitalization so they
are light, fast, and unencumbered by the weight of reality and its
laws. This kind of body becomes a testament to a bold new freedom.
Looked at within the long history of films that worry the takeover
of culture by media, The Matrix intensifies both the determinism
of media and the freedom claimed for the media subject.]
It is easy to dismiss the exaggerations of the dystopian scenario
of s/f films like The Matrix, or cyberpunk novels like Neal
Stephenson's Snow Crash. However the way these imaginative
texts represent control of the individual by the system is not very
far from the warnings sounded by Andrew Shapiro and Lawrence Lessig
in their recent books. For example, the "control revolution" brought
by the Internet pushes Shapiro toward a paradox also addressed by
Lessig: personal control of media intensifies potential
control by media. Both authors argue that the wrong kind
of digitalization-for example by retreating from the open source
principles of the first Internet- could change the game in fateful
ways. One can hear a dystopian s/f discourse at work in Andrew Shapiro's
account of the stakes in the way we manage the new digital network:
"The challenge is to ensure that we do not become 'automatons who
live under the illusion of being self-willing individuals.'"(186)
Sounds to me like life in the matrix. Lately, the most rational
public policy discourse shades into the Manichean struggle of good
and evil so central to science fiction.
The Matrix helps to explain the appeal of the other hit
of 1999, Napster.com. [In this country the story has been told and
retold: how a Northeastern College dropout named Sean Fanning designed
the Napster peer to peer program that has shaken the media conglomerates
to their very core…] You may not buy into the romance of the cyber-punk
hacker, but from my informal questioning of avid Napster users,
I have concluded that Napster's appeal does not just consist in
the music being free. After all, to take possession of MP3 files
entails the considerable costs of a computer, a network connection,
and often a CD burner as well. What is most attractive to Napster
adepts is the way this new technology changes the listener to music
into a user who can both "read" and "write" music as code. The
Matrix helps to explain the cultural allure of this shift. Like
the hovercraft Nebuchanessar, Napster broadcasts its "pirate signal"
into a media sphere controlled by others; Napster mobilizes the
speed, flexibility, and agile immateriality of digital code moving
along broadband networks; Napster gives each of its users a vicarious
sense of being part of a rebellion against the "evil empire" of
music conglomerates-those who would keep users enslaved to a commodity
system of expensive copyrighted material objects. Napster suggests
how the global information network gives users unprecedented power
over popular culture, one only dreamed of by British cultural studies.
Napster is the last in a long line of technologies of inscription
central to the development of the Internet. [Inscription or writing
is the most direct way a way the media subject or user becomes a
producer, a participant in making media.] Thus, if one looks at
the history of the Internet (Abate) one finds over and over again
that the breakthrough successes have been those that enabled users
to win agency through technologies of inscription: email on the
Arpanet; listservs on the Internet; web page composition on the
World Wide Web; real time chat on AOL; and, finally Napster's peer
to peer file sharing. The commercialization of the Web, and the
movement on-line of the entertainment industry most often works
in the opposite direction: all too often it seeks to turn users
into consumers and return the "delivery of content" to the broadcast
models and commodity forms it knows and likes so well. Those outside
the profit-making sector-for example, the university, in its alliance
with government, had a central role in inventing the Internet as
an open source system supportive of valuable forms of digital literacy.
We need to think through the terms for an Internet policy that resists
those commercial projects that would (dangers)
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