Just the fax - Column

Christian Century, Nov 3, 1993 by Martin E. Marty

WERE I A philosopher, I would probably subscribe to one of the personalist philosophies: Emanuel Mounier's, without the bizarre leftism; Eugen Rosenstock-Huessys "I respond although I will be changed"; Walter Ongs "Voice As Summons for Belief'; Michael Oakeshotts "conversational mode"; Martin Bubers "I and Thou." "I and Thou" summarizes it best. It has a good revelational basis. God is not an It who leaves a record to be fought over; God is Thou who beckons personally. You are not an it who exists to be manipulated; nor am I to be victimized, made into an it by you.

For all those reasons, I should be someone who appreciates the telephone. It is an it, obviously, but it allows for thou to converse and summon and for me to respond. But whenever I am napping, writing, meditating, studying or listening to music, (four out of five of which I do often) and the phone rings, I respond like the late Dorothy Parker, who so frequently said "What fresh hell is this?" that the phrase became the title of her biography. When a commercial pitchman uses the phone to interrupt, murderous thoughts come to mind.

I do welcome the telephone as an instrument with which I reach out and touch family, and I cherish phone conversation with friends. The telephone is great for emergencies, for lovers, for the lonely, for those who cannot travel. It is a great humanizer about which one could write psalms of praise.

But most of the time when the phone rings the caller is someone who wants something; no one ever starts the conversation with "You have won the Nobel Prize." Its always, "Let's see. Your name is Marty E. Martin, isn't it? Someone told me you could recommend a publisher for my new book..."

The lives of millions like me were changed by Austin Cooley, who died September 7 in Sequim, Washington, at age 93. I had never heard of him until I read his obituary in the New York Times, from which I learned that as a student at MIT in the 1920s he designed transmitters that are the greatgreat-grandparents of todays fax machines.

The fax, admittedly, is an it and not a thou. When the one in my secondfloor home study purrs, wheezes, whistles and whooshes, I can hear it from the Aerie, my third-floor writing nest. I know that something is happening to which I can attend at the end of a paragraph, chapter, book or nap. The machine spits out a document, with names, dates, places, precise requests, contractual stipulations, something literal (am I a secret fundamentalist?) to which I can respond. The fax allows me to respond to thou, very personally, even if the transmission looks it-like, and you will have a clear answer in hand. No, or few, misunderstandings result, whereas all pencil pads with illegible notes get lost in the black holes of Marty recycling troughs. My future calling cards, letterheads and Who's Who entries will thanks to Mr. Cooley--have my fax number not my phone number. Fax me and you are more likely to receive a yes answer than if you phone.

Uh-oh! My column deadline just passed. Its too late to use the mail. I'll have to fax it in to the office. And then I'll meditate about Gods good servant, Austin Cooley.