Cal Newport is a professor of computer science at Georgetown University. He has published several books for broad audiences. His most recent one, Digital Minimalism, introduces a contemporary philosophical movement that deserves significant attention.
In Digital Minimalism, Newport first introduces this new philosophy, “digital minimalism.” Its antithesis, digital maximalism, refers to the philosophy of accumulating as many advantages as possible from digital technology. Digital maximalists download mobile applications that they do not want or need, and they check them frequently out of fear of missing opportunities. The philosophy of digital maximalism, which many people live by unknowingly, holds that anything we miss out on by not indulging in a particular technology, is essentially stolen from us because we missed an opportunity. In contrast, the philosophy of digital minimalism acknowledges that humans have finite time, attention, and energy. Therefore, when we allocate these limited resources to superfluous technologies, we have less time, attention, and energy for what might actually matter more. A digital minimalist is by definition more intentional about time spent.
Next, Newport introduces the phrase “digital declutter,” which refers to the process of converting to the philosophy of digital minimalism. Like any moderate behavioral addiction, compulsions around digital technology are difficult to overcome. Therefore, the first step according to Newport is to spend thirty full days without any nonmandatory technology. Work email, for example, is likely mandatory, so that would not count. However, digital declutter is not only about abstaining. It is about identifying alternative activities and habits that bring meaning. At the end of thirty days, the digital minimalist gradually and intentionally reintegrates a few nonmandatory technologies that align with their values, while devoting free time to meaningful activities that were rediscovered during the tech-free thirty days.
Newport appeals to an intellectual history of solitude in the American story. He opens his chapter on solitude with an extensive vignette about President Lincoln’s Cottage in Washington, DC, where Lincoln spent countless hours contemplating slavery and violence during the Civil War. Lincoln drafted the Emancipation Proclamation while on site. Today at the Cottage, the museum operates without furniture to emphasize Lincoln’s ideas in the space where he found solitude. In Digital Minimalism, Newport reinforces a particular definition of solitude by explaining that a person can be physically alone but not in solitude due to podcasts or other media, while a person can experience solitude in the company of other people at a café or a similar setting. He then draws on Henry David Thoreau’s famous experiences at Walden Pond, where Thoreau contemplated the self and advanced the American philosophy of transcendentalism. Using Lincoln and Thoreau as models, Newport argues that solitude is necessary for deep thought and that digital maximalism interrupts sustained thinking.
Newport then spends a chapter asking readers not to “like” posts on social media, not to be mean or stingy, but instead to discourage others’ dependence on the “like” for dopamine. Before reading Digital Minimalism, I would have countered that social media “likes” are no different from humans’ innate desire for positive reinforcement in non-digital life. Thus, this chapter is where I believe Newport intervenes in our philosophical understanding of phenomenology because Newport posits that the digital world is less meaningful and real than the non-digital world. Although his intervention might seem like common sense to some readers, it actually signifies an unchartered front in the philosophy of phenomenology because nobody has conclusively, precisely proven a distinction between real and unreal existences.
Finally, digital minimalism applies Aristotle’s idea of leisure from Nicomachean Ethics. Aristotle contended that some leisurely activities held more value, and by extension virtue, than others. During the digital declutter, digital minimalists are supposed to identify activities and habits that Aristotle would consider to be more valuable and virtuous. Aristotle and Newport would agree that the best allocations of free time involve exertion of mind and/or body. For instance, reading The Origins of Totalitarianism and writing a reflection on it would be superior to posting an aesthetically pleasing photo of the book on Instagram, despite the photo’s potential to introduce friends and followers to a great book. Of course, both Aristotle and Newport’s claims about leisure depend largely on socioeconomic status.
The philosophy of digital minimalism should matter to US intellectual historians not only because it teaches us to prioritize what we value – the USIH blog, USIH Facebook group, “Trotsky and the Wild Orchids” podcast, and more – at the expense of less meaningful habits like mindlessly scrolling Instagram. Rather, it matters because Newport derives the philosophy from intellectual-historical processes: Lincoln’s space to think at President Lincoln’s Cottage, Thoreau’s Transcendentalism, Aristotle’s idea of leisure, and most recently, Newport’s contribution to the phenomenology of the digital world. Digital minimalism signifies a deeply intellectual, intentional approach to inhabiting a reality divided not very evenly into digital and non-digital worlds.
2 Thoughts on this Post
S-USIH Comment Policy
We ask that those who participate in the discussions generated in the Comments section do so with the same decorum as they would in any other academic setting or context. Since the USIH bloggers write under our real names, we would prefer that our commenters also identify themselves by their real name. As our primary goal is to stimulate and engage in fruitful and productive discussion, ad hominem attacks (personal or professional), unnecessary insults, and/or mean-spiritedness have no place in the USIH Blog’s Comments section. Therefore, we reserve the right to remove any comments that contain any of the above and/or are not intended to further the discussion of the topic of the post. We welcome suggestions for corrections to any of our posts. As the official blog of the Society of US Intellectual History, we hope to foster a diverse community of scholars and readers who engage with one another in discussions of US intellectual history, broadly understood.
Thanks for this, Rebecca! Fascinating stuff. I love the philosophical approach and contextualism.
Speaking personally, I feel I fall somewhere in between—definitely not a digital minimalist, but also not a maximalist. Rather, I engage by degrees, more and less, in different domains.
But, in professional terms, coming out of graduate school, in 2006, I saw the digital domain as a way to increase my professional presence in history. So I became a maximalist in that arena. I also chose to be “out” from the beginning–to not utilize the cover of pseudonyms. I felt it allowed for too much obnoxious behavior. I also didn’t want to be alone in the digital world. I wanted it to be about professional and intellectual engagement. I wanted my professional engagement, online and digitally, to be both virtuous and valuable.
But, returning to the personal, I didn’t own a smart phone until around 2014. And my home is decidedly low-tech. I also entered Facebook somewhat later than others—in 2007, I think—and slowly. I utilized Twitter first in 2012, but not really actively until 2013. I’m a conservative adopter, for the most part.
Anyway, thanks again for this reflection on the book. – TL
Thanks so much for your thoughtful comment, Tim! I omitted my personal relationship to digital technology to maximize the chance of intellectual historians taking my post seriously. So, I’m extra glad that your reaction was to apply your own experiences on the spectrum between digital minimalism and maximalism. A central takeaway from Newport’s book is that the relatively new world of digital technology is really a big deal that affects how we view our world from this point into the future. Thanks again for your smart engagement! Also wanted to note that I likewise didn’t own an iPhone until December 2014! Before that, people called my $10-block-punch-key phone names ranging from an “object to be found in the Smithsonian” to a “burner phone.”