When we're not sparring over heat, my landlord and I have frequent, informal chats on what ails contemporary society. The conversation recently turned nostalgic. As we retrieved our mail, he lamented the present state of letter-writing.

"People no longer write eloquent letters. Some letters I just read from the late 19th century are incredible. Seems like people really cared about what they said and how they said it back then."

We both pondered the causes behind why the culture's letter-writing skills had deteriorated so drastically during the past 100 years. We came to a quick conclusion: time. We have too little time to really care about our letters' rhetorical artistry. End of conversation.

Our easy answer proved unsatisfying, and it has since led me to reflect a bit on this business of time -- how it runs our lives and shapes our culture.

But we should first return to the late 19th century. If we think that we don't have time, what about those poor souls? The nation was primarily agrarian -- and farming knows no time clock. Very large families were the norm; electricity was still a novelty; and the combustion engine was in its embryonic stages.

By any and all contemporary standards, life was extremely arduous. Yet, and here's the kicker -- our ancestors still had the time to compose artistic and often lengthy letters. Hmmm.

What, then, of contemporary life? Shouldn't we have infinitely more time at our disposal? An acute demand for time-saving devices has driven modern industry for the better part of 70 years. We seem to have more time-saving contraptions and innovations than we know what to do with.

And herein lies perhaps the cruelest irony of technological advancement: time-saving devices have actually sped up our common perception of time. Short-cuts like the microwave oven, pre-processed food, and washers and dryers free up more time so that we can cram ever more activities and events into our daily lives.

A caveat is in order. I should emphasize that I harbor no wishes for a return to the "slower time" of Jeffersonian agrarianism; I rather like indoor plumbing, heat, iceboxes without the sawdust and a longer life expectancy. I'll gladly allow my grandparents to hold monopoly rights on stories of misery and long-suffering.

07410201We have less time than ever, so we perceive the situation, as everyday life reaches increasingly dizzying speeds. Little wonder our letters often read like a third grade grammar exercise -- badly done at that. Technology has indeed exacted a heavy personal and social toll. In the words of one contemporary musician, "with every wish, there comes a curse."

ious, yet largely invisible, effects of the speeding up of time warrants a close look. Infantile letter-writing is the least of our worries.

One very tangible effect is the assault on memory. Simply recalling the events from two days ago requires great effort. Maybe Alzheimer's disease has social antecedents. We can't go anywhere without those bodily appendages commonly recognized as daily planners; we are indeed "the Daytimer society."

Any educator will tell you that the memory lapse also applies to historical events. No wonder Holocaust revisionists target college campuses as fertile recruiting grounds.

Our attention spans have also been largely sacrificed to the gods of efficiency, progress and technology. Politicians and educators are forced to learn the subtle art of entertainment, lest their listeners slumber. Classroom architecture gives it away: theaters provide the venues for much of contemporary higher education.

The price has been high: politics has become the art of the three second sound-bite and teachers too often resemble the once ostracized class clown. The substance and the style of both messages are hopelessly indistinguishable.

And what about human interaction in general? Isn't it ironic that while we have almost instant access to billions of people, developing close friendships becomes increasingly difficult? Time, unfortunately, is too often the final arbiter in the development of human relationships.

A fourth area of impoverishment lies in the sphere of craftsmanship. We have too little time to expend great diligence and effort in building either homes or speeches, in constructing highways or friendships, in crafting furniture or sentences. We live in a disposable society: Paper cups and marriages often meet with a common fate.

It would seem that the tyranny of time has wreaked havoc on our personal and social lives. And, perhaps most distressingly, we can't get outside of time. But we can become aware of how time structures our existence, and, through the awareness, re-calibrate our own clocks. By attempting to reclaim time as our own, maybe someday time will not tell, but we will once again be able to tell time.