The Lost Rituals of Technology
Like many, I have eagerly embraced the digital future. But the convenience leaves us in search of new rituals to allow ourselves to fully experience art.
We live in a time of great convenience, with life streamlined and sci-fi-ified in ways I could only dream of as a child. However, in the process, we have lost something magical we need to find other pathways to reclaim: the inadvertent, unintentional rituals and the meditations in our day-to-day life instilled upon us by the analog limitations of our world. This is particularly evident is gaming.
Though physical media has retained some presence, games have increasingly moved to digital storefronts — a change I have personally excitedly embraced. On the whole, this is a net positive, but we are no longer afforded those brief, calm moments where we are changing out a disc or a cartridge. These moments were special and created memories.
The example that comes immediately to mind is — SPOILER ALERT for one of the most well-known game twists of all time — Aerith dying in Final Fantasy VII. Sephiroth makes his plunging attack, you defeat another manifestation of Jenova, and you lay your fallen comrade to rest in the waters of the Forgotten City, all as the gorgeous Aerith’s theme plays, even through the boss battle. Then, at least in its original form, came up the notice about switching to Disc 2.
That scene never fails to stir deep emotion in me, and I was bawling my eyes out as a nine-year-old playing the game for the first time. There was something about the act of having to get up off of the couch, get the game case out, and swap out the discs that provided a strange but satisfying moment of silence. You were forced to remove yourself from the fixation on the screen and reflect on what had just happened. Though born out of the technical limitations of technology at the time, it created a moment of meditation.
The game still marks the end of “Part 1” in its modern forms, but it is quick and effortless for players to tap a few buttons through and proceed on their way. Almost immediately, the comic relief of Icicle Inn and snowboarding can provide a respite of the storytelling trauma you just endured. But there is something to the idea of sitting with your discomfort and sadness to more deeply and wholly process it.
However, such rituals do not all need to be dour affairs. Even the simple act of booting up a game had more moments to stir anticipation and excitement. In particular, I fondly remember the sound of the PlayStation 2 fans — quite loud by modern standards — as their whirr was the prelude to the boot up animation that whispered once more as the game itself loaded. I got Final Fantasy X with the console on Christmas morning so many years ago, and I remember sitting there excitedly hearing that noise, even before ever playing the game, thinking, “This is the future.”
Though “change discs and listen to the fans” doesn’t have the same ring as “stop and smell the roses,” as silly as it sounds, there’s something similar at play. We are prone to putting ourselves on autopilot, to not truly “be here now.” And, as much as the conveniences of modern technology are wonderful, they have robbed us of some forced moments of this experience.
However, this is not to say that the 90s were some paradise of mindfulness, even if it has seemingly slipped further from our grasp. These are problems fundamental to the human experience, even if technology can exacerbate them at times. We cannot rely on nostalgia for the old ways to save us — we will just forestall progress while haunted by ghosts of the past. Instead, we have to deliberately practice mindfulness. Literally practice. It is a skill that does not come naturally.
Though I’ve never been one to believe in God, unlike many who hold atheistic beliefs, I do think there is something to prayer. Prayer lacks the power to change the world around you, but it changes something in yourself. You, the individual, quiet your mind to focus on a subject of importance, thus reinforcing its meaning to you. It is absurd to think that “thoughts and prayers” are a sufficient response to something like gun violence — especially from elected officials — but the idea of, in essence, meditating on problems that arise is not an entirely silly one, even from an entirely materialist viewpoint.
Experts tell smokers trying to quit to “replace the ritual.” The feeling of inhaling smoke or vapor itself can be a satisfying form of stimulation that gives you a meditative moment. If we are going to dive headfirst into this all digital future, we need to replace the ritual. What that means exactly will inevitably vary from person to person.
In closing, I simply ask you think about a time a piece of art challenged you emotionally. It can be anything — a game, a book, a painting, a song. Sit with how it made you feel, even if just for fifteen seconds. Let it wash over you. Such an act by itself might not feel like much, but the more you have these moments, the more you will find your life deeply enriched by the art that you experience.