Wendell Berry was a prolific writer, environmental activist, cultural critic, and farmer. His recent passing encouraged me to reread some of his works and consider how they could be applied to my work in the field of computer science.
If you know Berry’s work and life, you will already be aware of his refusal to use a computer and of his skepticism toward technologies that separate people from place, work, and one another. He commonly wrote with a pencil or typewriter. He believed that computers were both harmful to the planet and unhelpful for writing. In his essay, Why I Am Not Going to Buy a Computer, Berry writes:
I disbelieve, and therefore strongly resent, the assertion that I or anybody else could write better or more easily with a computer than with a pencil. I do not see why I should not be as scientific about this as the next fellow: when somebody has used a computer to write work that is demonstrably better than Dante’s, and when this better is demonstrably attributable to the use of a computer, then I will speak of computers with a more respectful tone of voice, though I still will not buy one.
I will not attempt to debate the merits of his statement, but I will admire the quality of the prose with which he communicates it. As a computer scientist, it can be tempting simply to write off these thoughts. I am well aware that many people are not fond of computers. Some days, I do not like them much either. Yet, Berry’s way of communicating compels me to think deeply about his ideas.
I particularly appreciate his pithy critique of the idea that scientific and technical expertise can solve every human problem, found in “The Joy of Sales Resistance,” which I believe applies specifically to my field: “The smartest and most educated people are the scientists, for they have already found solutions to all our problems and will soon find solutions to all the problems resulting from their solutions to all the problems we used to have.”
In “Life Is a Miracle,” Berry explicitly calls out the limits of science to describe the human experience:
We have more than we can know. We know more than we can say. The constructions of language (which is to say the constructions of thought) are formed within experience, not the other way around. Finally we live beyond words, as also we live beyond computation and beyond theory. There is no reason whatever to assume that the languages of science are less limited than other languages.
I see the limits of science and technology, yet as a computer science professor, it would be difficult to refuse to use a computer or begin a homestead. So, what am I to do with Berry? Perhaps his ideas can help measure the merits of computation by their impact on local communities, relationships, and creation without dismissing it entirely. Perhaps there are ways that computational tools can be applied and used that are better aligned with his vision for human flourishing.
Berry does not offer computer scientists a complete account of technology, and his refusal to use computers cannot easily be transferred to my work, but he does model thoughtfulness and humility. His concerns about energy, repair, local control, and community can help us evaluate computational tools by the kind of people, communities, and world they help form. In “Why I Am Not Going to Buy a Computer”, Berry lays out his thoughts on what would make a tool preferable to the one it replaces:
1. The new tool should be cheaper than the one it replaces.
2. It should be at least as small in scale as the one it replaces.
3. It should do work that is clearly and demonstrably better than the one it replaces.
4. It should use less energy than the one it replaces.
5. If possible, it should use some form of solar energy, such as that of the body.
6. It should be repairable by a person of ordinary intelligence, provided that he or she has the necessary tools.
7. It should be purchasable and repairable as near to home as possible.
8. It should come from a small, privately owned shop or store that will take it back for maintenance and repair.
9. It should not replace or disrupt anything good that already exists, and this includes family and community relationships.
Berry applies these criteria to demonstrate why a computer would never replace his pencil. Perhaps these ideas can also be applied to consider how to improve our technologies and ask questions as we design them. How long will this device last? How could its design be improved to extend its useful life? How much energy will this device consume? How much energy do we need in order to create it? Is this technology strictly better than the technology it is replacing? Will this technology replace or disrupt anything good? How will using this technology impact families? How will this technology restructure community relationships?
Considered through this lens, how does social media fare? Does it improve human connection, or does it degrade it by making it virtual and removed from everyday lived experience? Does it optimize for engagement and presentation over cultivating intentional relationships?
What about large language models? State-of-the-art models require significant energy to train, and many models require significant energy to use. How should we weigh this cost against any potential benefits? Do these new tools replace or disrupt anything good that already exists?
Do freely-licensed resources help alleviate any of Berry’s concerns? Does open-source software help extend the life of products? Does it allow individuals to maintain more control over their tools, or does it still ultimately centralize control outside of the local community where the software is actually used?
As a computer scientist, and as someone who appreciates Berry on a number of levels, I will admit that his ideas about computers sting a little. Berry’s choice to avoid computers limits what he could say about the benefits of computation, but it also gave him a helpful perspective on the cultural assumptions surrounding technological progress. Perhaps we can learn from his views to influence the design of software, and the industry that produces it, to better support a flourishing life.
Berry describes one vision for how this life could look in The Unforeseen Wilderness:
I am speaking of the life of a man who knows that the world is not given by his fathers, but borrowed from his children; who has undertaken to cherish it and do it no damage, not because he is duty-bound, but because he loves the world and loves his children; whose work serves the earth he lives on and from and with, and is therefore pleasurable and meaningful and unending; whose rewards are not deferred until “retirement,” but arrive daily and seasonally out of the details of the life of their place; whose goal is the continuance of the life of the world, which for a while animates and contains them, and which they know they can never compass with their understanding or desire.
I will continue to be grateful for advances in science and participate in their development, but I will also teach the limitations of these technologies. As Berry notes so eloquently, we should have no expectation that technology will solve our problems. We should instead expect problems to be part of this life:
All, dear reader, is not going to be fine. Even if we all agreed with all the saints and prophets, all would not be fine. For we would still be mortal, partial, suffering poor creatures, not very intelligent and never the authors of our best hope.
