The Crisis of Attention is a Crisis of Spirit

There is a heart-wrenching scene in Vince Gilligan’s infamous television series Breaking Bad where heroin-addicted Jane, girlfriend of central character Jesse, is confronted by her father regarding her drug abuse. She pleads with him not to call the police on her and Jesse by telling him that the two of them talk about rehab every night—as though the image of his daughter and her boyfriend making empty suggestions of one day getting help with their drug dependency as they shoot heroin up their arms and drift away into oblivious pleasure-land would somehow be reassuring to him. The peculiar, naïve sincerity with which Jane says, “we talk about rehab every night” reminds one of a child’s innocent dream that will surely never come true. At once, one loves the child for their ability to make such a wish out loud and scoffs at the plain improbability of what they have wished for.

This scene strikes a chord because, in a sense, I too use drugs and emptily promise myself that I will stop one day. I do both of these things just as the pathetic young junkies of Breaking Bad do: appease inner turmoil with mindless, damaging enjoyment, and appease the subsequent guilt by thinking of how I would, could, and should cease such behaviour. Instead of drug rehabilitation, my alternate course is reading and writing; improving my mind and working toward my long term goals in the academic and creative worlds. In either case, the option of making better choices is always there, and this is comforting. It’s not too late for me to correct course, so there’s no need for me to correct course right now. My present behaviour is justified because I’m not trapped into doing it forevermore. It’s not my only option right now, therefore it’s an acceptable option. This is the reasoning behind these self-destructive, addictive behaviours and the procrastination that maintains them.

I mainly mean television when I speak of my own addictive behaviours, but certainly social media, food, and even unnecessary (for the relationships or my mental wellbeing) social plans have been crutches with which I have walked away from my inner responsibilities. Sucked into hours on end of passive entertainment, my muscles of self-exertion have atrophied more and more every day for years. The muscles of attention, inner reflection, critical thought, emotional awareness, and spiritual connection have laid dormant while I stared at a screen in a trance, totally captured. This has continued to such an extent that I feel like a zombie rather than a living human being much of the time—maybe even most of it. I drift about in a haze of confusion, distraction, exhaustion, and emptiness, only ever getting glimpses of the person I would like to be and the life I would like to live. I know that the human being is still there inside the zombie, but the situation is so extreme that it feels as though I must do something radical in order to rescue her, like abandon my present life entirely and start fresh with a new location, new habits, and new priorities.

I am coming to recognize my condition as one of spiritual illness. It is in the nature of spiritual illness to be self-inflicted and self-sustained, no matter the circumstances in which the individual becomes unwell. Viktor Frankl famously retained a will to live and to make his suffering meaningful even in a Nazi concentration camp. Surely if it is within the capabilities of a human being to maintain a flourishing spirit in such dire circumstances as those, there is no feature of my own existence in the modern free world that I could possibly point to as the culprit of my downfall. I have fallen into a deep pit and developed powerful habits of self-destruction, choosing immediate enjoyment and ease over long term satisfaction and personal growth. In more important ways than not, these socially acceptable habits are equivalent to drug addiction. They have been damaging my spirit (as well as my mind and body) by creating a deep disconnect between the various components of my self and thereby throwing me into a profoundly confused, disoriented state. I am hardly the first to have such an experience, and will certainly not be the last, seeing as it is the basic condition of mankind to ‘fall from grace’ in this way. But just (or perhaps precisely) because a problem has been experienced and overcome by many people at many times, does not mean that any continued discussion of the matter is in vain.

I am writing this essay to describe some of my experiences that others will likely relate to owing to the specific, modern nature of my self-destructive habits, and to offer some preliminary thoughts on the matter. I am also writing because I am truly sick and tired of existing in this way. Furthermore, I firmly believe that the way out of my predicament is through self-expression and creativity. Instead of giving up on my creative instincts and allowing my thoughts to fall away into the oblivious depths of consciousness, I need to hold onto them, grow them, and express them. So, this is at once a pronouncement of spiritual sickness and an attempt to fix the problem at a personal level. Beyond these more immediate aims, I aim to argue that the predicament of the modern world is no laughing matter, but it is one of brutal spiritual oppression. While the tendency toward distraction from things that matter is certainly not new, I argue that the technology of today renders this problem more than a conundrum of human nature: it is transforming it into a near total eclipse of the spirit.

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Those of us in developed countries live in a world where entertainment and information abound, and are available in innumerable, easily digestible forms. The media that dominate today take the struggle out of understanding and present a cheapened version of it on an aluminum platter. Plugged into the network of mass understanding, it becomes all too easy to lose oneself in the constructions of one’s society. The task of building one’s own world view from scratch is overwhelming and instinctually unappealing, and so practically none of us do it. Why read a philosophical text when you can watch a fifteen minute YouTube video that breaks it down for you and conveys the important ideas in a fraction of the time? Why do your own research into a current event when a two-minute news story does a good enough job of telling you what has happened? Why ease your worries by meditating or sitting quietly when a television show or social media does this instantaneously and for an unlimited span of time by distracting you from your troubles? The ease and convenience of modern life makes living well somewhat more difficult than it would be in more basically ‘challenging’ times. Greater pleasures require greater resistance, I suppose. This is the cost of modernity.

I do not mean to call into question whether the entirety of human advancements that have enabled the modern way of life have been ‘worth it’ over all; the many well-known critiques of modernity accomplish much more on this topic than I could ever hope to. Of interest, rather, is the unique spiritual battle that has come about for many of us because of the various ‘comforts’ of modern life. Doing things the ‘old fashioned’ way appears pointless to the fast-paced, efficiency-oriented individual of today, but this perspective is a mistake when one considers that it has led, and is leading, to a kind of collective ADHD whereby an accelerated pace of life results in a loss of depth and meaning at both individual and collective scales. Distraction is not merely a momentary inconvenience that comes up when one tries to set one’s mind to something; it is the extremely powerful and malicious enemy of quite literally anything and everything that we value as human beings.

The psychological state of distraction happens when we are overwhelmed and feel unable to process all of the information coming our way at a given moment, so we enter panic mode and jump rapidly from one thing to the next. Flitting around in this way is an unproductive coping mechanism that accomplishing anything of value requires us to overcome. Yet the overstimulating environment of today makes overcoming distraction and overwhelm extremely difficult. The materials for building a more all-encompassing and accurate world view than has ever been possible before are readily available; it is up to us to make use of them. The problem is that our brains can’t handle it, so there is a strong temptation to give up on trying to make sense of everything we are exposed to and instead turn to various means of numbing ourselves — which also abound like never before, incidentally. Social media and television appeal to base instincts in ways that our ancestors never had to contend with, so I think there is a real case to be made that our present situation is a uniquely monstrous one, at least as far as overcoming distraction goes.

A recent text that addresses this topic directly and seeks to understand the problem I outlined above systematically is Johann Hari’s Stolen Focus. What I found most interesting in this book was the discussion of our accelerating pace of life that has been steadily occurring since the industrial revolution. This phenomenon of acceleration has been studied empirically: research has shown that topics discussed in books and the news have been cycling in and out at increasing speed for 130 years in an unceasing pattern. The explanation offered for this is that people are simply exposed to a far greater volume of information today, and so each topic or piece of information is processed faster and less thoroughly. Less time and mental resources can be devoted to any one thing when there is an increase in the amount of information to be processed but no (or marginal at best) increase in processing capability. Further, the speed of information transmission has increased drastically with the internet. Older means of communication took days, weeks, and even months to travel around the world, and so a lesser volume of it would be transmitted. New media have become increasingly efficient (radio, television, instant messaging, live streaming…) and consequently create the sensation of the world speeding up by constantly transmitting copious amounts of content that demands to be sorted through. Keeping up with this overload keeps us in a busy, shallow psychological state, which comes at the expense of depth and real involvement. Quoting the research of Professor Sune Lehmannn on this topic, Hari says that we are “collectively experiencing a more rapid exhaustion of attention resources” because of the overwhelming quantity of information surrounding us.

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There is an emergent phenomenon from all of the mindless activity and overstimulation that the bustling modern environment forces on us. It is the phenomenon of a mind totally preoccupied with itself, distracted by close-by stimuli, trying desperately and in futile manner to get itself together, organized, and sorted out — so preoccupied internally that it can hardly spare a glance of attention to the outside world, to that vast expanse of meaning outside of its own perimeters. It cannot take in or put out any meaning because its very mechanisms of making meaning, its very hardware and software for doing this most fundamental task, are collapsed in on themselves, numb to anything external. It is a form of narcissism at the very root of consciousness, one which changes its directionality entirely. Instead of being directed at something, where something necessarily indicates other-than-self, consciousness is flipped around and, like a flashlight in a mirror, becomes deadlocked in an inward battle.

The experience of this mental state may be characterized as a kind of paralysis. A horrifying paralysis brought on by having so much to say that the weight of words and images and feelings presses up against your insides in the direction of coming out, only to be frustrated by the boundary of you. They stay inside in a tumultuous uproar, gazing with the greatest longing in the direction the outside world — not only gazing, but pressing, stirring, kicking, screaming to be let out. The abundance of ideas whirring around renders letting any single one of them out utterly impossible since only one idea can escape at a time through the various bottlenecks of self-expression. The mouth, the pencil tip, the muscles of the body— these are limitations that cannot be evaded without evading the human condition itself, which is that very condition which placed the whirring shrieking thoughts there to begin with. So you are tormented by the rapid, chaotic movement of latently meaningful fragments within your mind which you desperately want to tie together into some coherent meaning, to weave into the fabric of you so they are no longer preoccupying the limited capacity of your conscious mind. But the very tools for overcoming this condition are those which are primarily hindered by it.

What makes this psychological condition so unpleasant is that these fragments of meaning, insofar as you are able to grab onto them momentarily, remind you of your creative spirit, that it is still alive and active. The creative spirit is there, and it is producing seeds of great ideas all the time — seeds that are added to or developed by the stimulation constantly streaming in from your environment through various modalities of consumption. The problem is that input cannot be converted into any kind of creative output without some reprieve, some rest, a period of inactivity between the two motions of taking in and putting out wherein the unconscious mind can stir, bubble, digest and process. A time for the dust to settle is vital in order for creativity to flourish, or else the artist is stuck in the chaotic, meaningless hell I have just described. Without this period of psychological silence, one has some hopeful awareness of the creative spirit but no opportunity to realize its instincts, no means with which to make manifest the seeds of brilliance that dwell there. These seeds want desperately to grow and to be expressed, but the limited human being cannot express any of them without the space to let things settle and sink in. So, they simply accumulate and float around with the wind of the mind, producing inner turmoil.

The whirlwind of fragmented ideas I described previously is not always active, however. At least half of the time, it is latent, replaced by a total darkness, an exhaustion that makes everything uninteresting. Almost like a manic-depressive cycle, the mental life I (and I’m sure many others) live can never seem to strike a balance between everything being interesting at the same time and nothing being interesting. Ideally, one thing would be interesting at a time so that consciousness could move along in a steady stream, picking things up and putting them down in a sequential, orderly manner, instead of alternating between an overwhelming whirlwind and a cave of vacuity. The distractions of television and other crutches soothe the whirlwind to sleep and make the quiet emptiness less apparent and, consequently, less painful. Such distractions have an effect of dampening the spirit and weakening the faculties of self-expression.

For example, when I set my mind to reading, I often find that I am moving much faster than the text. I read a line or two, and eight different thoughts, from related ideas to totally random memories to sudden emotions, pop up and try to pull me away from the text. Maybe I ignore the first twenty of these internal distractions, but eventually one of them gets me to close the book and switch to a different task. After doing this task for awhile and becoming excited about a whole collection of things at once, I become exhausted, drained, and no longer feel able to pursue any of them because the burden of choosing one and committing my focus to it feels extraordinarily heavy. This is when the mode switches from one of trying to take in information at a manageable pace to one of purposeful distraction, wherein I enter a state of numb amusement from which I typically don’t emerge for many hours. What is missing here is any kind of attempt to calm down, re-center, and choose with intention what to put my mind to. The energy seems to vanish instantaneously, leaving no willpower behind to motivate engaging in any such controlled behaviour. And goodness knows that the pool of distraction that is the internet is a beastly thing to escape from once one jumps in. The space for free choice to exert any influence is a tiny one when the forces of distraction are so powerful.

Moving from one thing to the next with such rapidity in this way means that we never enter into any one experience fully or with any depth. This makes us like a paranoid schizophrenic glancing around, seeing fragments of meaning everywhere but failing to integrate them into anything coherent. Without any such coherence, all is lost: we are nothing but fireflies drifting about in free space; tiny flicks of light simply existing, illuminating no object. Undirected consciousness is a self-contained stream of experience that relates to nothing external. It is a disconnected world, meaningful only to itself, and only meaningful in a superficial sense of the word for this exact reason. A broader world contains more within it, answers more questions and offers up a great multitude of connections to be made between different correlates. A small world encompasses very little: it contains too little for any sustainable framework of meaning to be built. The consequence is that this world expires quickly. It is a vapid expression of something unintelligible, because both the materials for building some intelligible meaning and the faculties required to construct it are missing. A distracted mind is a small world that dies a lonely death.

The fundamental superficiality belonging to those of us who have been existing in a state of perpetual distraction for some times leads me to believe that spiritlessness has become a defining issue of our time, or at least of my generation (Gen Z). The psychological precondition for developing a spiritual sensibility has been crushed at mass scale in the modern developed world, cutting off the option of spiritual life for many people, potentially forever. This is a catastrophe that simply cannot go unaddressed. Yet, addressing it appears to be such a massive, multifaceted task that it is hardly a task at all, but a radical abandonment or reform of modern society. I myself feel a strong urge to move to a rural area with nothing but the basic necessities of life and a pile of books, just so I can begin to re-centre myself and make sense of everything without being bogged down by chronic overstimulation. I know many people relate. Alas, this is not practical for most people. I think that recognizing our condition for what it is, namely, one of spiritual repression or repression of that which is highest in us, is a powerful first step towards rectifying the situation both individually and collectively. It offers us an enemy to rebel against and allows us to see everyday things such as instagram notifications, twitter feeds, and even book stores as obstacles in the path toward what matters to us. Anything that overstimulates, overwhelms, and distracts is an agent of spiritual oppression.

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If the surface of the mind is constantly agitated, we process and produce nothing. Unremitting interruption keeps us in a perpetual psychological tizzy, a chaotic mental standstill. Different fragments of thought and feeling are flying around all the time, but the hands of coherence cannot do their work. The mind tries to simultaneously take in new information and process information it has already absorbed, which is an impossible task. Trying to do both means it does neither well. So, it seems that an imbalance between time spent consuming and time spent processing, and then creating, is responsible for the spiritual condition that many of us find ourselves in today. The term ‘intellectual consumerism’ comes to mind here, as we take in huge volumes of content that interests us to the point of overwhelm for our internal processing systems. Then, like someone who overeats chronically and gains weight as a result, we become mentally sluggish, slower, and less capable because of the excesses of information our brains are dragging around.

To overcome this bogged down condition, it is necessary to give ourselves that metaphorical ‘space’ between the seat of conscious attention and everything at which our attention may be directed. ‘Space’ in this particular sense may be defined as a clearing away of obstacles, an elimination of mental clutter, the construction of an insulating bubble between self and world, or the spiritual capacity for intentional engagement and ‘authentic encounter’ with phenomena outside the perimeter of one’s own skull. Creating this distance between one’s self and everything else allows for intentional choice to be exercised in greater measure because one is firmly rooted in the seat from which one’s choices are made. The individual is in touch with that part of him or herself which knows what he or she wants at any given moment and cares enough to respect the instructions of this intentional locus. I believe this state of deep inner attunement is what is commonly meant by terms such as ‘spiritual awakening’, as the seat of intentional choice is what is commonly referred to as ‘spirit’. The spirit is quite rightly taken to be the most ‘aware’ part of a person and therefore that which must be respected and valued most highly in daily life.

Sleep is an essential time for processing events of the day, and is one factor causing the phenomena of distraction I have been discussing. But solid sleep is not enough: it seems quite clear that one must also actively practise silencing the conscious mind and giving it time to sort through its contents, even while one is awake. Perhaps the most common way that people give themselves this mental space within which to operate effectively is meditation or time set aside for quiet reflection. This can take many forms, but all may be classed under the category of spiritual practise since it seems that their primary function is to nourish the spirit and allow the mind to operate in its proper domain rather than try, in futile manner, to accomplish everything for the individual. Classic meditation wherein one tunes in to the breath and lets thoughts and feelings that come up simply pass by without sweeping one away strikes me as the most effective training exercise for the attention (not that I am any kind of expert on the various tools and techniques that may be used). Any slow, seemingly mundane activity may accomplish much the same thing as active meditation: a long walk, tidying the house, or eating a meal in silence while letting the mind wander are examples of activities that allow the mind to process, digest, and pack away the events of the day or week, thus allowing these mental contents to escape the conscious mind and settle into deeper layers of understanding. Any reprieve from constant stimulation is sure to be beneficial. Such reprieve is increasingly hard-won, however, and knowing that this is what one needs is no real progress towards actually getting it. So I empathize with the 'stuck' or 'trapped' feeling that accompanies seemingly inescapable distraction.

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Dreaming of a better life filled with focused work done in idyllic environments amidst beloved people has started to feel more and more like a child’s impractical dream, or like Jane’s empty dream of going to rehab one day (excuse the somewhat melodramatic comparison). I try to hold on to too many things in my mind, to avoid losing them to the great darkness of forgottenness, like an immense pit into which thoughts slip from the grip of the mind and fall down, down, down into oblivion, perhaps never to be retrieved. I try to juggle with dozens of thoughts at once, which is simply not possible. Yet I am continually flooded with new and old metaphorical juggling balls, and I frantically try to catch them all and keep them in rotation, to no avail. As if an entire ocean of water tried to filter through a hole the size of a toothpick, producing a steady stream of thought (let alone language) proves immensely challenging. Too many things make demands on my attention, so it becomes overwhelming to pick which one to look at moment-to-moment. Completely overwhelming. I am left to drift between floating in incoherent chaos and squeezing out small fragments of meaning before becoming exhausted and drifting away once again.

At the root of this struggle is an opaque wall cutting off the communication between my ‘spirit’ and my moment-to-moment consciousness, making it a spiritual battle in my view. I am stuck, much of the time, in a vague understanding of who I am and what I want, all the while proving unable to actually be who I am and do what is necessary to achieve what I want in daily life. Winning this battle entails breaking through this dividing wall and allowing for greater communication, or relationship, between the various components of my self. It requires putting serious effort into maintaining a spiritual life, despite attempts to crush such a life at every turn. Resisting the distracting, overwhelming environment that fragments the very attention which is the precondition for spirituality is clearly an uphill battle, but it is an extraordinarily important one to enter into and not to flee.

This is the crisis of today: trapped in generality, we feel ourselves well-informed, in touch with reality and ourselves, capable of diving deep into any topic of discussion at a moment’s notice, when in truth we are absolutely cut off from the deeper levels of engagement from which meaning, rather than its representation, is derived. We feel ourselves free, but are imprisoned. I value depth from the perspective of shallowness, which is an inauthentic mode of being. To some extent, meaning some of the time, this inauthentic comportment is inevitable; we simply are such that we exist in the inauthentic mode much of the time. But the crucial difference is that we are coming to exist in this mode all of the time. From the perspective of this shallow, inauthentic mode of being, there is no problem, because we feel free to get out of it at any time — but we aren’t. It is in this sense that we are trapped in generality. Complacent about our capacity for deeper engagement, we feel less need to actually engage deeply. Since we can, we don’t. And since we don’t, the time will come when we can’t. This cycle permits the tools for escaping unfocused generality to corrode gradually into non-existence. We will only become more and more trapped as time goes on, which is why connecting to the capacity for real, deep engagement and refusing to let it go is so crucial. Paying close attention to something —anything, but something—is the way we hold onto what matters most and avoid handing ourselves over to our own continued spiritual demise.