I Spy

History TableclothIn 2007, researchers at the University of London developed a flexible screen-printed tabletop called the History Tablecloth. When objects were placed on the Tabletop surface, its electroluminescent material formed a grid of glowing, lace-like patterns. The longer an object sat on the table, the further the halo expanded; upon removing the object, the halo would slowly fade to nothing.

Scientists create inventions like the History Tablecloth in order to evoke a higher level of interpretive recognition. Traditional roles in human-to-object interaction are always in flux; if we can better understand the social dynamics of ubiquitous computing, we might gain insight into the use of such technologies to enhance our person-to-person relationships.

The opinion here is that the History Tablecloth has greater metaphorical significance in the marks that remain after something has been removed. We suspect this is why people carve their initials into trees and public park benches. Everyone wants to gain a small degree of immortality by leaving some sort of imprint on the world. The temptation to commit is irresistible, for some people, even if they know the act itself is fundamentally wrong.

Brett Nelson posted this picture to Facebook after confronting the family pictured above as they carved their initials into federal property at Tumalo Falls Park in Oregon. (Photo: Facebook). From an article written by Liz Dwyer for Take Part.
Brett Nelson posted this picture to Facebook after confronting the family pictured above as they carved their initials into federal property at Tumalo Falls Park in Oregon. (Photo: Facebook. From an article written by Liz Dwyer for Take PartTake Part).

Last week, a family vacationing in Oregon were publicly shamed on social media for carving their names into a metal railing overlooking Tumalo Falls Park. Hiker Brett Nelson documented the incident on his Instagram account and Facebook page, getting more than 53,000 people to share the image. This was enough to gain the attention of the U.S. Forest Service, who as of this writing have threatened the alleged vandals with steep penalties (a fine of up to $5,000 or six months in jail).

child in dunce cap

The past few years have produced a number of studies to determine whether we are born with a fundamental understanding of moral ethics. Abigail Tucker writes that the factors influencing our cognitive bias between right and wrong can seem quite arbitrary, and they fluctuate wildly under observation:

“Day to day, babies can seem unfeeling and primitive, or at the very least unfathomably bizarre, afraid of donkeys one minute and the moon the next, their prismatic minds beaming nonsense and non sequiturs instead of the secrets of our higher nature. No seasoned parent can believe that nurture doesn’t make a difference, or that nature trumps all. The question is where the balance lies.”

One thing we do know: the digital realm has fully encroached into our personal space. We no longer have to make a conscious decision to interact with transmitted data, and much of it is received via nondeliberate events. Computers are increasingly part of our environments: toys, home appliances, books, clothing, furniture, jewelry, shopping malls, airports, hospitals, schools, office buildings. Devices are carried, sensors are worn, chips are implanted.

It’s possible that one day, the act of carving one’s initials on a metal railing will initialize a virtual network of national park activists. Whether that delights or frightens us probably has a lot to do with how we feel about Nelson’s conviction in doing what he felt was right, as well as the ease by which a transgression can be catastrophized by 53,000 people.

To be fair, it’s difficult to generate much sympathy for someone who intentionally vandalizes public property (especially in full view of a parent) and justifies the act by petulantly claiming “We can do what we want.” At the same time, moral imperatives are fleeting, like those haloes in the History Tablecloth, but their digital footprints remain long after the event that inspired them is forgotten.

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