Raymond Klassen – Ideals and Identities

A few days ago, I walked to the store to pick up some milk and bananas. It’s a short, seven-minute walk from my house. About a minute into the trip, I realized I’d forgotten my phone. So, I turned back, grabbed it, and then decided to drive instead.

This small inconvenience says something larger about our relationship with technology. We recognize technology when we see it, but we don’t always fully grasp how deeply it integrates into our lives. Technique is us. We adopt it not just out of necessity but because invisible forces shape us to incorporate it into who we are. This is the essence of living in a technological society—and perhaps even how we think.

While it’s easy to appreciate the benefits of technology, we often struggle to identify what it has taken from us. Technology is part of us. If we see it as separate, its influence becomes invisible. This applies not only to obvious innovations like machines or devices but also to the complex systems of organizations and methods that shape our world. Technology expresses our desire to create, master chance, and assert freedom in an indifferent world.

Yet, the rise of a technological society has deprived us of something fundamental: the systems of meaning that once guided humanity. Myths, philosophy, and religious revelations gave our ancestors a framework to judge what truly mattered. These systems imposed limits on our pursuit of control, but they also provided a sense of purpose. In breaking those systems apart, we have gained freedom but lost the ability to discern whether that freedom serves anything meaningful.

If I were to share these thoughts today, I might feel compelled to justify those old systems of meaning—ones many now dismiss as outdated illusions or taboos. But whether they were good or bad, the fact remains: we’ve lost something. In their place, we’ve adopted a new narrative centered on freedom and equality, achieved by mastering chance and controlling the world. Even noble pursuits like space exploration or advancements in AI often seem detached from deeper purposes, celebrated more for their achievement than for what they truly contribute to humanity.

This modern narrative of freedom, however, lacks the coherence of earlier systems. It gives us no answer to the question, What is freedom for? In the past, freedom was measured against a higher order—whether divine, philosophical, or mythical. Now, freedom has become its own highest value, leaving us without a system of meaning to guide how we should use it.

Moreover, the language to express loss or deprivation has faded. Today’s discourse focuses on progress and innovation, making it nearly impossible to publicly discuss what we might have lost. Even privately, it’s hard to articulate. Those who question or resist certain technological developments often lack the words to explain why, leaving their concerns dismissed as irrational fear of change.

I’m not talking about solvable problems, like redesigning cities to better balance cars and public transit. Nor do I mean the hardships of those deprived by inequality, who hope technology can address their needs. Instead, I’m referring to deeper losses—those essential to human fulfillment but obscured by the very systems we’ve built.

Modern thought often dismisses the idea that certain goods or values belong inherently to humanity. Excellence, once seen as defining human potential, is now often reduced to subjective preference or historical context. Yet, if we cannot speak of universal goods, we’re left either celebrating technological progress blindly or resigning ourselves to silence. To live critically in this age, we must remain attuned to the subtle hints of what we’ve lost.

These hints of deprivation are vital. They may reveal glimpses of the good we no longer recognize. After all, we only realize the value of air when we’re gasping for breath. Even as technology dominates our language and thinking, we must strive to recall the deeper meanings it has obscured. Without this effort, we risk letting freedom become nothing more than a will to act for its own sake.

We live in a time when the potential of technology seems boundless. Yet, we can’t fully predict what this will mean for humanity or the non-human world. Will AI and other innovations simply bend to our will, or will they reveal limits that challenge our understanding of freedom? Are we already seeing signs of resistance—whether in nature or in ourselves?

Despite the emphasis on potential over presence in modern thought, we cannot entirely dismiss the idea of something greater than our drive for freedom. In this uncertainty, it would be defeatist to give up or merely celebrate the status quo. Instead, we must remain watchful, open to the possibility of rediscovering what is lost as a reflection of the good, even in a world shaped by relentless progress.