The Device

James R. Andersen

I loathe my smartphone. An audit of the hours in my day would say otherwise. I would destroy it and trade it in for a Nokia if it were not so insidiously enmeshed in my life. Work, social life, banking, travel; it is increasingly difficult to do any of these things without a smartphone (which is constantly monitoring you on behalf of the state, by the way). Even Mr. LaFond, who is fortunate enough to eschew the damned device, relies on others who use them for publishing and web related purposes. We have so completely enslaved ourselves to The Device that I doubt many would be able to survive without them. What is to be done?

They are not going away, soon anyway, and living without one requires an almost complete exit from society. This is no doubt attractive to some, less so to others with ambitions of conquering some small part of this decrepit civilization. This is for the latter, those who for whatever reason have to move and interact within society at large, and thus must carry the scrying mirror of the Great Eye with them.

The power of the smartphone is great, imagine what heroes of the past could have accomplished with instant communication over vast distances. The power of the Gods contained in your hand. Connection to others who you otherwise would never have met, the spread of knowledge and networks, this is what men of power do with this capability.

The smartphone is a tool, and like any tool it can be used well or poorly, to benefit the user or destroy them. It is like the Palantír from The Lord of the Rings; offering great power and insight to its master but requiring an equal amount of will to use it without being overcome. This is how it must be treated.

A careful cultivation of the will is necessary to wield this tool effectively (a cultivation which any person of strength is likely undergoing already). Those without such strength or will are easily overcome, we see it all around us. Slaves to The Algorithm, they stare at their screen and are mesmerized by the conjurings within. Many who are otherwise possessed of great will have no doubt experienced this as well, pulling themselves away as if from a trance.

Cursing ourselves doesn’t help. The adversary is powerful and cunning, and works tirelessly to absorb your strength and your time, to weave their webs further into your life. Of course we are ultimately responsible for our actions, but we must recognize the strength of the foe we contend with. Recognizing this and setting ourselves against Them, rather than against ourselves, is the first step.

Then we must be brutal. Greedy with our own time. Decisive with our usage. “What am I using this to accomplish right now” is a simple question but will act as a guardrail for your attention. Anything we find that does not benefit us, that merely wishes for more of our time will be cut out mercilessly. Timers are a message we send from our strongest mind to shock us out of the clutches of the coddling screen.

“Is this edifying, will this bring me strength or am I merely rotting away my gifted hours?” Is another powerful mind-centering spell. James LaFond’s website is a boon, and even the likes of social media sites can bring us strength and resolve, if we are ruthlessly discerning with our usage. The man of taste is now more defined by what he ignores than what he knows.

The final message we must always remember is “I am being watched, always”. This matters more for some, but it is true for all. There are ways to mitigate this, and I highly recommend looking into personal OPSEC for the technologically inclined. Remember that they have used the pings of a cell phone to launch precision missiles. They will use it against you.

Yet if we are strong, if we cultivate the resolve within ourselves to resist the tricks of the enemy, we may use these tools to do great things. None of our ancestors ever faced a foe this cunning, able to penetrate into the mind and bend the will with such precision. So we must be stronger, and develop for ourselves the will to overcome, to be above the slaves who fall prey to The Device, and to become its master and dominator.

 

A valley littered with bones
Scattered upon the earth like piled stones
Grinning skulls and sun-bleached backs
Wind whistling in empty chests, ribs full of cracks
From the blow of sword and mace
The remnants of a long forgotten race
Left to rot in the fields
With shattered spears and splintered shields
Who were they? Who so long ago
Fought to the last against the merciless foe
That left them dead where they lay
Food for ravens and beasts of prey
Wolves lapped up their blood and flesh
The worms and flies devoured the rest
Leaving only skeletons behind
The only thing left to remind;
The world that they fought and died there
Now only empty sockets stare
At the sky over the field of slaughter
Where wind and snow, sun and water
Wore away the rest
Not maille or standard nor helm with painted crest
Survived the weathering of years
None remain to over them shed tears
Valiant men once strong and bold
Now only bones withering in the mould