Fire and Knowledge

Before the widespread use of the telephone, we had two means of keeping in touch with friends: stopping in for a visit or writing a letter. Each involved a significant investment of time and perhaps resources; in other words, maintaining friendships automatically caused us to sacrifice. And, by making those sacrifices, we showed our friends repeatedly how greatly we valued their friendship. Correspondence, in particular, not only preserved and nurtured a relationship but provided a record of it, a testament to its enduring character.

We invest far less in our friendships when we decide to call rather than write or meet in person. There is no permanence, nothing enduring, and no significant investment. At the same time, we demand much more of the friends we call. The telephone carries an air of immediacy: callers seem to think it our duty to drop whatever may be going on at the moment, whether it involves family, prayer, work, or a favorite hobby—or to offer an adequate excuse for not dropping everything—all because they have chosen that instant rather than some other to indulge their urge to punch a handful of digits on the control pad of a lightweight construction of silicon, copper, and plastic. The telephone caller intrudes unasked into the privacy of the home, and yet it is the one who is called who, if refusing to talk just then, is considered rude.

—Stephen L. Carter, Civility (1998), pp. 190-1