Why We Must Study the History of Technology: 

 

To understand our humanity, critically assess our world, and act wisely, we must study the history of technology. This journey allows us to see our reflection as a species, judge the profound impact of our creations, and act with intention in shaping the future.

 

See: The Mirror of Our Humanity

When we study the history of technology—from the first stone tools to today’s artificial intelligence—we’re not just tracking inventions. We’re looking into a mirror that reflects our humanity.

Consider the wheel, that elegant circle of innovation from the 4th millennium BCE. It was more than a means of transport; it demonstrated humanity’s ability to observe, abstract, and create. The control of fire, building of shelters, and weaving of cloth—each step revealed something essential about human consciousness: our unique power to transform our surroundings.

As Marshall McLuhan said, “We shape our tools and thereafter our tools shape us.” Egyptians raising pyramids weren’t merely stacking stones—they were reshaping society, forging new structures for work and meaning. Gutenberg’s press didn’t just produce books; it democratized knowledge and sparked revolutions that continue to this day.

The Industrial Revolution starkly shows technology’s double-edged sword. Steam engines and looms boosted productivity but uprooted millions, crowded cities, and changed daily life. The 20th century’s innovations—telephone, radio, television, computers, internet—accelerated this change, saturating life with the digital.

Judge: Understanding What Technology Does to Us

But seeing isn’t enough. We must also judge—not just by condemning, but by discerning.

Mortimer Adler, in his defense of liberal education, insisted that authentic learning requires engaging with the great ideas and questions that have shaped human civilization. The history of technology is precisely one of these essential studies because it forces us to grapple with fundamental questions: What does it mean to be human? What is progress? What is the good life?

Thomas Merton, a contemplative monk, warned against believing technological advancement equals human advancement. “The biggest human temptation,” he wrote, “is to settle for too little.” Technology offers convenience and power—but are these enough? Merton asks if we’ve let our tools master us and forgotten to be more in our rush to do more.

McLuhan’s insight is vital: “The medium is the message.” Technology doesn’t just perform functions—it restructures perception, relationships, and society. The printing press made books cheaper and shifted us from an oral to a literate culture. Television brought entertainment but changed politics, family, and reality. The internet is now rewiring our consciousness in ways we’re only starting to see.

When we study technological history, we discover patterns that help us judge our current moment more wisely. We see how the Industrial Revolution’s promise of liberation through machinery also created new forms of alienation and exploitation. We observe how communication technologies that promised to bring us together have sometimes isolated us further. Every technological “solution” creates new problems that demand new solutions. This endless cycle requires constant vigilance and wisdom.

This historical perspective reveals something Adler emphasized: great ideas and questions persist across time. The ancient Greeks debated the relationship between techne (craft/technique) and the good life. We face the same question today, just with more sophisticated tools. The monks of the Middle Ages grappled with how to use their technologies—book-making, timekeeping, agriculture—in the service of spiritual rather than merely material goals. We face the same challenge with our digital devices.

Act: Living Wisely in a Technological World

Understanding technology’s history clarifies how we must respond to its pervasive power.

First, cultivate technological wisdom. Move beyond seeing technology as a savior or a demon. As Merton noted, the question is how to use technology without being used by it. History shows every generation faces this, with no permanent solutions—only ongoing discernment.

Second, we must reclaim our agency. McLuhan’s observation that our tools shape us is accurate, but it’s not deterministic. When we understand how the printing press transformed medieval society, or how the smartphone is transforming ours, we gain the power to respond intentionally rather than react. We can choose to put down our devices. We can create spaces free from technological intrusion. We can design technologies that serve genuinely human purposes instead of merely commercial or control purposes.

Third, ask better questions. Adler believed education should teach us how to think, not just what to think. Technology’s history equips us to ask: What kind of life do we want? What society do we hope to build? Which relationships and experiences matter? These questions grow urgent as each new technology “disrupts” our world.

Fourth, we must build bridges between the past and the present. When we see how previous generations adapted to technological change—sometimes wisely, sometimes disastrously—we gain perspective on our own moment. The factory workers of the 19th century who resisted mechanization weren’t simply backward-looking; they were trying to preserve something valuable about craft, community, and human dignity. Their concerns echo in today’s debates about artificial intelligence and automation.

Finally, we must practice what Merton called contemplation—the art of stepping back from the frenetic pace of technological life to see clearly, to reconnect with deeper purposes, to remember what matters. “The contemplative life,” Merton wrote, “must provide an area, a space of liberty, of silence, in which possibilities are allowed to surface.”Studying technological history creates this space precisely, allowing us to see our current technological moment not as inevitable or natural, but as one possibility among many.

The Path Forward

The history of technology is not merely a record of inventions and innovations. It’s the story of humanity’s ongoing struggle to remain human amid our own creations. Each stone tool, each wheel, each printing press, each computer represents both promise and peril—the possibility of human flourishing and the danger of human diminishment.

We study this history not to become antiquarians or nostalgists, but to become wiser, more intentional participants in the ongoing drama of human and technological co-evolution. As McLuhan recognized, we cannot stop technology from changing us, but we can become conscious of the process. As Adler insisted, we can educate ourselves to think clearly about what truly matters. As Merton witnessed, we can create spaces of freedom and contemplation even amid technological saturation.

The web of tools and systems we’ve created continues to evolve, growing more complex with each passing year. But if we take the time to understand where we’ve been—to see the patterns, judge the outcomes, and act with wisdom—we stand a better chance of creating a future in which technology genuinely serves human flourishing rather than undermines it.

The choice of how to live with technology has always been ours. To choose wisely, we must first see, judge, and act with insight earned from those who came before us. This process is the foundation of truly wise participation in a technological world.