The App Generation (4 page)

Despite his prescience, McLuhan essentially lived and wrote in the middle of the twentieth century—an age of mass electronic media (the world of Howard's youth), rather than one of digital hegemony. Only in the succeeding decades (the era of Molly's youth) has our world come to be dominated by computers within the grasp of human beings almost everywhere. Desktops, laptops, smartphones, tablets, and other digital technologies do more than allow us to contact any and all individuals around the globe. In sharp distinction to the mass media of the last century, they are intensively personal and invite activity on the part of the user:
personal
in the sense that the individual user is (in contrast to radio and television) increasingly in control of what is received and when it is received; inviting
activity
in the sense that (again, in contrast to radio and television) it is easy and straightforward to transmit content as well as to receive it and (in contrast to the telephone or the radio) in that digital devices can readily and actively involve the visual and tactile senses, as well as the auditory. No longer do we simply receive messages from designated spots (and producers) around the world; we are now in a unique position to transmit our own messages in a variety of formats to anyone with access to digital devices.

This transition is captured vividly by the appearance of the first personal computers in the late 1970s and early 1980s (Apple 1 appeared in 1976, the Apple Macintosh [soon abbreviated
to “Mac”] appeared in 1984; as if prophetically, Marshall McLuhan died in 1980). For the first time in human history it became possible for ordinary persons, not just scientists or military personnel, to have at their fingertips (indeed, at the touch of a mouse) technology that connected them instantly with the rest of the world. Anyone with a personal computer could contact other persons, create literary or graphic material or musical materials, and receive similar kinds of materials from anyone else (individual, group, corporation) that had access to comparable software and hardware. And all this communication occurred courtesy of a single elegantly designed, seductively responsive machine. While the technologies and media have changed enormously in the succeeding years, thanks in large measure to Steve Jobs and Apple Inc., we may never again experience the transcendent experience of that moment. We are reminded of Wordsworth's poetic line: “Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, but to be young was very heaven.”
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Enter apps. Only a small (albeit growing) minority at any age can write code and thereby create our own programs and procedures. Most of what we accomplish online is a result of procedures that have been created by others, with their options delimited in various ways for various purposes. And so we encounter the paradox of
action
and
restriction.
The feeling of instituting and implementing an app is active; and
yet the moves enabled by each are restricted to a greater or lesser extent (for paid apps, even access is restricted). It has been said that, in this respect, an app resembles “a gated community.”
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Restrictions can either be constricting (in our terms, dictating an app-dependent frame of mind), limiting the options available, or they can constitute a challenge—asking us what we can accomplish, despite these restrictions. They can also stimulate us to create a new application or even a new
kind
of application, thereby altering our environment so that it becomes app-enabling. (Of course, even if we do create a new app, Apple may not accept it into its App Store!) In Mumford's terms, the issue is whether we will control the technologies or whether the technologies will control us. In Ellul's terms, will applications reinforce the move toward the all-encompassing technological worldview, or will they launch new forms of expression and understanding? In McLuhan's terms, are the apps simply the newest medium, with its characteristic sensory ratio? Or do they constitute an ingenious blend of the range of electronic and digital media and open up a new chapter of human psychological possibilities?

When we think of a child or an adult employing an app, we shift our perspective from technology to psychology—from the machine or the medium to the human users. In the beginning, infants are characterized by an ensemble of reflexes—
sucking, looking, grasping, startling. But these reflexes are soon supplemented and eventually supplanted by a wide range of actions that reflect a congeries of factors: the maturation of the nervous system; the specific contours of the physical environment and the culture in which the child is growing; and the pattern of intrinsic and extrinsic rewards that attend these actions. We are the species par excellence of new experiences, new actions, and new reactions. And yet we could hardly advance beyond the reflex stage unless we were gifted at creating and, whenever possible, relying on new actions that evolve into long-term habits.

As is often the case in the discipline that he helped to found, psychologist William James memorably captured this phenomenon. In his phrase, habits are “the enormous flywheel of civilization.” Less poetically, they make possible the rhythm of daily life as well as the potential for human progress or human regression. Indeed, the range of habits is as broad as the array of human actions and technologies. We can acquire the habit of sucking a thumb, reciting a prayer, or solving differential equations. While we are young, habits are readily acquired and rather readily altered. As James quipped, “Could the young but realize how soon they will become mere walking bundles of habits, they would give more heed to their conduct while in the plastic state. We are spinning our own fates, good or evil, and never to be undone.”
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Indeed, the world over, child rearing is an effort to instill habits that are productive—cleaning up one's mess, practicing an instrument—while attempting to extinguish those that are unproductive, harmful to self,
harmful to others. We do not want our children to daydream during lessons, cross the street without looking both ways, lash out at someone when they become frustrated.

Let's remain in the world of psychology, a world in which Katie and Howard spend many working hours. We begin with a study that, we believe, deserves to be as well known as the famous “marshmallow experiment”—the one that documents the extent to which future SAT scores can be predicted from a toddler's capacity to withhold gratification when in the presence of an inviting sweet.
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Psychologist Elizabeth Bonawitz and colleagues exposed toddlers to a toy. In one condition, which we'll call the “teaching condition,” a knowledgeable adult demonstrated how to use the toy. Specifically, she showed that when one yanked a yellow tube, a squeaky sound resulted. In a second condition, which we'll call the “exploring condition,” an apparently naive adult introduced the toy and, apparently by accident, executed an action that yielded the squeaky sound. Thereafter, toddlers were given the chance to play with the toy as they liked. In the teaching condition, the toddlers essentially repeated the use modeled by the adult, and that was that. But in the exploring condition, toddlers spent far more time with the toy and tried to ferret out various possible uses, extending well beyond those accidentally displayed by the naive adult (the same results were obtained with other nonteaching “control” conditions).
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With a perhaps permissible degree of hyperbole, we suggest that, on the basis of this one experimental result, one can build entire psychologies and complete educational philosophies.
The teaching condition epitomized the psychological approach called “behaviorism.” In this brand of psychology, made most famous by B. F. Skinner with his Ping-Pong–playing pigeons and infants raised in Skinner boxes, human psychology consists simply of the organism's reactions to stimuli presented by others.
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If a behavior is rewarded, it is repeated; if it is not rewarded, it is sooner or later extinguished. In the less happy instance, humans learn by random exploration, until they happen to find a rewarding condition, in which case they persist in that situation. In the happier instance, desired behaviors are modeled and imitated.

The rival brand of psychology, which came into prominence during Howard's own professional lifetime, is called cognitivism or constructivism.
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On this view, skills and knowledge are constructed on the basis of the individual's own active explorations of the environment. Rewards supplied by others are fine, but the most important activities are ones that are intrinsically rewarding—based on one's own discovered pleasures as one explores the world. Imitations and modeling are possible and may be helpful; but unless one makes knowledge on one's own, it remains both tenuous and tentative.

You can easily see the integral link between these psychological theories and their associated educational regimens. Behaviorists favor the most tightly structured learning environments—generously termed “well-structured curricula and tests,” less kindly termed “drill and kill.” In sharp contrast, constructivists call for rich and inviting problems and puzzles, which will engage curiosity and catalyze extensive
exploration—with, at most, the “guide on the side,” rather than the “sage on the stage.” On the constructivist view, the best way to educate is to provide inviting materials and get out of the way.

Both behaviorists and constructivists recognize the importance of habits. For behaviorists they are simply the way that we all lead our lives—as Skinner pugnaciously and unsentimentally put it, lives “beyond freedom and dignity.”
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For constructivists, habits are a mixed blessing—needed to move on, yet possible barriers to continuing growth. To borrow another oft-quoted psychological phrase, habits can make it more difficult for us to proceed “beyond the information given.” In our own terms, we may think of habits as potentially making us dependent on certain conditions or as enabling us, freeing us to do new and potentially important things.

The advent of the digital world introduces a bevy of potential new habits. These start with the simple inclination to use—or to spurn—a particular technology. In the time of Howard's childhood, one could either gab endlessly on the telephone or, as his parents urged, “take it off the hook.” In our time, one can either keep one's smartphone by one's side night as well as day, put it aside during periods of relaxation or study, or take the unusual step of “burying it for the summer,” as is now mandated in some summer camps.

(Of course, “mandated” does not mean “guaranteed” or “enforced.” At one summer camp about which we learned in our study, campers engaged in an elaborate ritual in which each smartphone was placed into a receptacle, to be returned
at the end of the camp session. Yet, unknown to the staff, some of the parents had hidden a second smartphone inside the campers' belongings, so that child and parent could remain in touch at will. Habits can die hard not only for digital natives but also for digital immigrants—the parents.)

The decision to use—or not use—one's devices is just the beginning. One's digital habits can range from mindless repetition of a few regular “moves” to a flexible orchestration and deployment of several disparate activities. As documented by ethnographer Mimi Ito and her colleagues, most young people in America use their devices simply to “hang out”; that is, they check in regularly with their friends to see what is going on, exchange brief greetings, plan future encounters (“Hey, what's up?” optional addressee, “Dude!”).
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This use is habitual in the least imaginative sense. A minority of young people “mess around”; that is, they seek more actively to explore a particular activity, perhaps learning some steps in Photoshop or transmitting amusing video clips to a group of friends and soliciting their reactions. In this case, the “messers” are enjoying and seeking a modest expansion of their knowledge or skills, either by themselves or in exchange with others. And perhaps 10 percent of youth actively “geek out”; they spend a significant amount of time, daily or even on the hour, developing a work or play or art skill to a high degree, seeking ever greater mastery, frequently in the company of others who share their passion. Of course, each of these groups makes use of existing apps, but only in the latter case is there an active attempt to stretch the app to its limit or, in the extreme, to create and
disseminate new apps or to venture where no app has yet traveled. In the psychological terms just introduced, we can see apps either as the latest shaping technology in the repertoire of the behavioral psychologist or educator, or as a technological lever for inducing the kind of exploration endorsed by the constructivist psychologist or educator.

We can get a sense of these contrasting stances by considering two widely used apps.

With respect to Wikipedia (which is available as an app on smartphones and tablets), the minimalist approach is simply to copy or paraphrase an entry as part of a homework assignment. In contrast, should one use the Wikipedia entry as a point of departure for further research, or even edit an earlier entry in light of the dividends of such research, one enters the cohort of the geeks. Taking an example from the graphic realm, one can use one's phone's video capabilities to create the one millionth video of a cute cat, or, geek style, one could sketch out and then produce an original video about an issue on which one has strong feelings and circulate it to as wide an audience as possible.

As we step back from this foray into technologies and psychologies, let's frame the options. From the point of view of technologies themselves, we can distinguish two categories: those apps that, like Bonawitz's teaching condition, seem to dictate one's course of action, hence inculcating dependence; and those apps that, like the exploring condition, appear to open up one's possible courses of action, thereby enabling the user. From the point of view of human psychology, we can
again distinguish two categories: those individuals (and their elders) who are willing or even eager to become dependent; and those individuals (and their elders) who spurn the habitual and search for conditions that are enabling. Of course, many apps will straddle these categories; and many human beings oscillate, comfortably or uncomfortably, between dependence and independence. But at least at the extremes, the contrasts are stark and important.