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Efficiency and the quiet erosion of public life
It is a commonplace of contemporary life that time saved is time gained. Yet the relentless pursuit of efficiency, so often presented as an unqualified good, may be quietly eroding the unplanned encounters on which a healthy public life depends.
The case for efficiency is, admittedly, not easily dismissed. Automated ticket machines, self-service checkouts and online appointment systems spare us queues and paperwork, and the hours they release can be spent on pursuits we value more highly. Nor should we romanticise inefficiency: a slow bureaucracy has seldom enriched anyone's existence, least of all those with the least time to spare.
Nevertheless, what is gained in speed is frequently lost in incidental contact. The conversation with a pharmacist, the passing remark of a neighbour in a queue, the shared grumble about a delayed train: none of these appears on any balance sheet, yet together they weave the loose fabric of trust that binds strangers. Remove the occasions for such exchanges and one is left with a society that functions smoothly but knows itself less well.
It would be mistaken, however, to conclude that technology is the culprit. The fault lies less in the machines than in the assumption that every transaction is merely a means to an end, to be completed at the lowest possible cost in minutes. Where institutions deliberately preserve a human option, as some libraries and post offices have done, people appear to value the choice even when they seldom exercise it. That reluctance to see the option disappear suggests that we sense, if only dimly, what is at stake.
On balance, then, efficiency deserves to be treated as a servant rather than a master. Planners and employers would do well to ask not only how quickly a process can be completed but also what, if anything, will be lost along the way. A public life stripped of friction may prove, paradoxically, a good deal poorer for it.