Within a few
days we will be moving home, despite the best efforts of two firms of
solicitors to obstruct and frustrate our intentions. The new place is more
compact than the present one, which means that a fair amount of stuff has been
jettisoned from our lives. Far from being an unwanted consequence, this has
been a deliberate objective motivated by, among other things, a desire to free
ourselves from the tyranny of our possessions, along with some of our
assumptions concerning life's priorities. So, rather than choose a place which
will accommodate our present situation, we are moving to one which, by virtue
of its smaller scale, obliges us to progress towards the new life-style we have
been planning: we are rolling the dice once more before hanging the "Dun
Trying" sign on our door.
During this
process my laptop died, after a protracted yet undiagnosed illness, and I found
myself questioning a couple of other things. Like, how did it come to acquire sentient
attributes? Surely machines don't die? They break, conk-out, blow-up or simply
stop working. Was it possible I had become so attached to it that I had begun
to think of it as a pet or a human companion? (It did have a rather attractive
dark-red case.) Perhaps I sought to justify all that time we spent together by
imagining that it had an interesting personality. And why did I call it a
laptop, anyway? I never willingly, or comfortably, perched it on my lap. But
that's what we call them. Manufacturers have tried over the years to persuade
us that they are notebook computers but, as with mobiles, aka cell-phones, the popular
name prevails, pointing up our evocative use of language - a preference for
describing objects in terms of what they mean to us rather than in stark terms
of their functionality.
But if our
laptops and our mobiles are said to have died when their circuits cease to hum,
should there not be some bereavement at their passing? Maybe some of us do indulge
in a moment or two of ritual mourning - a shrug of the shoulders, a tilt of the
head, a brief downturn of the mouth - but it is surely and rapidly overtaken by
excited anticipation of the replacement model which is always more powerful,
more attractive and more desirable. We are not such fools as to mourn the
demise of inanimate objects, but when it comes to their burial we really ought
to take things seriously. In my experience it's not so easy to find a willing
undertaker for a dead laptop - despite my recent and intimate engagement with
the re-cycling infrastructure: charity shops, friends, relatives, ebay, Gumtree
and the local council - and we all know by now that you mustn't chuck them into
landfill or send them off to poor countries where they will be burned to
extract the precious metals at the expense of poisoning the lungs of the salvage
workers and releasing unwanted emissions into the atmosphere. After all, we want
to save the planet don't we?
Well, yes
but here again our use of language distorts the picture: Planet Earth isn’t
asking to be saved. And it doesn't care if human beings are here or not. It has
survived cataclysmic and catastrophic changes over millions of years, over which
time it has been estimated that 99% of all species have come and gone. What we
really mean when we speak of saving the planet is saving our environment. Pedantic it may seem, but if more people saw the
issue as one of saving themselves, we would probably see increased motivation
and commitment actually to do so. And if solicitors saw their clients’
interests as their own.....
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