In a subsequent post Newman explains -
If you have an interest in cultural media history, if you like Sesame Street and music videos, or if you have found the recent discussions about whether the internet makes you stupid or smart to be worth your scarce attention, you might be interested in my newly published work ... In this essay I trace the history of the "attention span" as it pertains to media from the early days of Sesame Street to the present, charting the process whereby media crafted to suit short attention spans of the young came to be blamed for shrinking the collective attention span of whole generations and societies. The main materials I studied are popular press discourses, like discussions in the New York Times and Time magazine. I'm generally critical/skeptical of claims that media are a danger to the young and that movies, TV, and the internet do us cognitive harm, though my main concern is to analyze discourses rather than pass judgement. Ultimately I argue that concerns over media's harmful effects reveal widely shared anxieties over new media’s social implications.Virginia Heffernan in the NY Times comments that -
We seem to know a great deal about attention spans, those constituents of character that have become the digital-age equivalent of souls.She goes on, persuasively, to suggest that -
Everyone has an attention span. It can be short or long. Long is good. Good scholars, good citizens and good children have long attention spans. Attention spans used to be robust; now they are stunted. Technology — MTV, the Internet, the iPhone — shriveled them. Nicholas Carr, who argued in The Shallows that Web use practically causes brain damage, told PBS that technology is "pushing even more distractions and interruptions on us" and thus will never "return to us our attention span".
At the same time, there is a pro-technology view of attention spans — rarer, but no less confident. Science writers like Jonah Lehrer have pointed to studies that seem to demonstrate perfectly respectable attention spans in gamers and Web users.
And so polemicists of various stripes continue to calibrate the effect of technology on attention spans. But I’m surprised that anyone ventures so far into this thicket of sophistry. I get stuck much earlier in the equation. Everyone has an attention span: really? And really again: an attention span is a freestanding entity like a boxer's reach, existing independently of any newspaper or chess game that might engage or repel it, and which might be measured by the psychologist's equivalent of a tailor's tape?
Maybe my own brain is faltering in a Web wasteland, but I don't get it. Whether the Web is making us smarter or dumber, isn't there something just unconvincing about the idea that an occult "span" in the brain makes certain cultural objects more compelling than others? So a kid loves the drums but can hardly get through a chapter of The Sun Also Rises; and another aces algebra tests but can’t even understand how Call of Duty is played. The actions of these children may dismay or please adults, but anyone who has ever been bored by one practice and absorbed by another can explain the kids' choices more persuasively than does the dominant model, which ignores the content of activities in favor of a wonky span thought vaguely to be in the brain.
So how did we find ourselves with this unhappy attention-span conceit, and with the companion idea that a big attention span is humankind's best moral and aesthetic asset? In other eras, distractibility wasn’t considered shameful. It was regularly praised, in fact — as autonomy, exuberance and versatility. To be brooding, morbid, obsessive or easily mesmerized was thought much worse than being distractible. In Moby-Dick, Starbuck tries to distract Ahab from his monomania with evocations of family life in Nantucket. Under the spell of "a cruel, remorseless emperor" — his own single-mindedness — Ahab stays his fatal course. Ahab’s doom comes from his undistractibility.
