Many cultural whistle-blowers have diagnosed the evils of modern society, decrying our lack of principle and conviction. They prescribe a return to morality, exhorting us to clean up our act and play nice. But seldom do they tell us why, or how.
One of the few authors who attempts to overcome the emptiness of the age is David Foster Wallace in his novel “Infinite Jest.”
Wallace’s treatment is effective, though painful.
“Infinite Jest” is an encyclopedia of the ills of a technology-saturated society, centered on the alienating effects of a culture that values personal pleasure over meaningful human connection. Echoing Postman, he warns that we are in danger of entertaining ourselves to death.
“Infinite Jest” takes the reader into homeless shelters, broken homes, drug-infested sports academies, and back alleys. As he writes in the voices of bums, bikers, and drug dealers, honesty supersedes propriety, because if the truth is painful, then the language that expresses it must be, as well.
His use of offensive language and content prohibits some from appreciating his moral vision. But Wallace’s passionate message is important not in spite of its raw language, but because of the intensity in which it challenges our passivity.
After all, Wallace isn’t saying anything we don’t already know. We have all sat alone on the couch on a Friday night, feeling ever emptier as we “connect” with our friends through social media.
Technology alienates us. We starve for meaningful connection. We know it. We admit it. We resolve to do better. So why don’t we listen to ourselves?
In a culture steeped in the white noise of coercive advertising, dishonest Facebook personas, and vapid self-help blogs, there’s a possibility that we’re just not convincing enough.
“Infinite Jest” grabs our attention. It wakes us up, forcing us to grapple with the question: What does it mean to be human?
If our culture as a whole is ignoring this question as we lapse into silence before our various technologies, we could very well be entertaining ourselves out of our humanity.
The real battle lies not along the lines of censorship, but of conviction. Our true struggle is to believe, to act, to love, or at least to put down the TV remote and make the attempt. If it takes a few four-letter words to kick us off the couch, then so be it.
That’s exactly what Wallace does. He makes our emptiness ache, reawakening hands and hearts long numb to real human experience.
But in order to recover from our addiction to entertainment, we may have to swallow some harsh truths. After all, after we entertain ourselves to death, it will make no difference whether our mouths are clean.