The World Beyond Your Head

Crawford examines how certain designs and technologies can promote an “autism-like” engagement with the world, particularly through devices that simulate control and agency without real-world interaction. He uses the example of a Leap Frog Learning Table, a toy that simplifies interaction for toddlers who struggle with physical coordination.

Crawford contrasts these interactions with more traditional, skill-based activities like playing a sport or riding a motorcycle, where slight variations in actions yield different outcomes and require adaptive responses, thereby enriching the user’s skill and engagement with the world. In contrast, interactions with devices like the Learning Table or slot machines offer no such variability or real-world learning, leading to what Crawford describes as “autistic pseudo-action” (91).

Moreover, Crawford discusses the concept of “perfect contingency” from child development, which describes a phase where infants experience a seamless response to their actions, akin to the immediate feedback loop provided by certain electronic games and toys. As children mature, they typically grow to prefer “imperfect contingency,” where responses are not perfectly aligned with their actions, aiding in their development of coping mechanisms for frustration and unpredictability—skills necessary for effective social interaction and personal development.

Crawford argues that modern technology, with its emphasis on buffering us from real-world consequences and fostering an illusion of control and predictability, might be stifling this critical developmental transition. He links this to a broader cultural and economic trend toward “affective capitalism,” where experiences are increasingly manufactured to manage emotions and attention, leading to an environment where genuine human agency and engagement are undervalued and underdeveloped.

Furthermore, Crawford discusses the psychological impact of machine gambling, drawing on Natasha Dow Schüll’s exploration of the phenomenon through the lens of Freud’s “death instinct.” The transformation of gambling into a solitary, screen-based activity has coincided with broader societal shifts toward screen interaction and has been supported by both corporate and governmental redefinitions of gambling as harmless entertainment. Crawford describes how the design of slot machines and the casino environment align perfectly with the human tendency toward self-destructive behaviors, essentially playing on a primal urge to return to a state of inert rest. This “player extinction” strategy—where gamblers play until they are financially depleted—is not only a business model but also an exploitation of the psychological weaknesses inherent in humans.

Additionally, Crawford illustrates the disconnect between idealized notions of autonomy and the realities of modern consumer experiences, using the example of frustrating interactions with large corporations like Verizon. Here, he suggests that our autonomy is often compromised by the very structures that claim to empower consumer choice. Crawford advocates for a recognition of how deeply our environments shape our actions and calls for regulatory measures to curb the exploitative practices of industries like gambling. He hopes that a more grounded understanding of human action, illustrated through various “autotelic” activities (self-fulfilling or rewarding for their own sake), will foster a healthier engagement with the world and reveal the shallow promise of activities like gambling.

The author delves into the intellectual origins and conceptual development of freedom as articulated in classical liberalism, as influenced by thinkers like John Locke. Crawford links these philosophical ideas directly to our contemporary understanding of autonomy and self-responsibility, noting that they shape our perceptions and interactions with the world. He critiques the classical liberal view for emphasizing freedom from external authority, both political and epistemological, leading to a notion of self that is radically responsible for its knowledge and actions. This framework posits that reality isn’t self-evident but must be individually discerned and represented mentally, sidelining the role of direct sensory experience or attention.

Crawford argues that such a model promotes a detached observer, isolated from practical engagement with the world, which aligns with Cartesian skepticism about the reliability of sensory perceptions. This philosophical stance, he suggests, is not just a neutral academic position but is deeply intertwined with the Enlightenment’s broader project of emancipation from traditional authorities and metaphysics. This detachment, Crawford argues, has significant implications for how individuals interact with and understand their environment, leading to a form of engagement where representation supersedes direct experience.

He provocatively notes, “The project for political freedom thus shades into something more expansive: We should aspire to a kind of epistemic self-responsibility” (120). Here, Crawford connects the political liberation movement to an epistemological one, where knowledge must be personally verified, independent of societal or historical influences. This individualistic approach to knowledge and reality, he suggests, has significant effects on our current cultural and mental landscapes, particularly in how we manage attention and perceive the world around us.

Crawford sets the stage to explore, in the subsequent parts of his book, how these Enlightenment ideals have perhaps led to a distorted sense of self and others in the modern world, advocating for a reevaluation of these foundational concepts to better understand and address contemporary issues related to attention, cognition, and social interaction.