Fahrenheit 451 has worthy admonitions for 2018 America—the sleeping bills warn us not to let opioid overdose become the norm, the Seashells and parlor walls urge us to reconsider depth in life in face of hyperstimulation, and the origin of the story's book censorship leads us to question long-term impacts of our information echo chambers.
Montag, the protagonist "fireman" or book burner, comes home to his bedroom late at night with his wife barely audibly breathing and stumbles over two empty pill bottles. He then tries to wake up his wife, Mildred, and finds he's unable to and that her breath is barely there. He calls for help. This turn of events has become all too common in America today, such as the tragic story of the 7-year-old worrying that her parents were sleeping too long and learning from authorities that they had in fact passed away in their sleep.
What ensues, though, gives cause for reflection—the help that arrives is not trained medical professionals but two individuals likened to handymen with a machine that performs a stomach pump and simultaneous fresh blood injection. They are in a hurry to operate the machine on the next overdose. Many of the proposed cures for the opioid crisis do not involve reducing the number of opioid prescriptions or opioid overdoses, but instead involve better treating opioid overdoses on the spot, such as with naloxone administered by non-medical professionals. With at least 59,000 having lost their lives to opioids in 2016, we ought to address the problem's root cause and not end up with more Mildred-like stories. The morning after her treatment, she wakes with no recollection of an overdose and only notices that she is hungrier than usual.
Mildred also plays the victim of another problem plaguing our society—screen time and internet distraction that pulls us away from leading meaningful lives. Mildred moves zombie-like through her day listening to the Seashells in her ear, constantly buzzing with meaningless media updates, talkshow hosts, or music. When she gets home, she goes to the Parlor, where there are three (how badly she wants a fourth!) screen walls and where she is bombarded with cheap entertainment, the actors of which she considers her family. Montag shows us yet another instance of constant distraction when taking the subway—as he attempts to contemplate Matthew 6:25-34, a dentist's office jingle keeps ringing over the speakers, leading him to "Consider the Denham's Dental Detergent," instead (75).
While we call Seashells headphones and we do not have Parlor walls, we do constantly stare at screens, allow ourselves to be bombarded with shallow information from social media and from traditional media, and wade through an onslaught of advertisements that pervade more and more of our life—from filling the screens we stare at all day to disguising themselves as news articles that we read as truth. Bradbury's metaphor for this state of distraction—we are continually trying to fill a sieve with sand (75).
And the combined effect of all of these distractions is that we give up our blocks of free time that would allow us to focus on more meaningful work in life—to truly create and leave an impact on the world before we leave it, as Granger describes in recounting his love for his grandfather (149). Further, as we spend less time with the important people in life—in-person or otherwise—we begin to treat individuals' social media façades like our real friends and family, just as Mildred sees her Parlor wall showtime.
The story's censorship—firemen who burn books to prevent discord and keep everyone happy—is relevant in its origin—people had to cater to myriad minorities who were offended and made unhappy by differing opinions (54–55). As a result, individuals and the media expressed only the most bland, whitewashed opinions in writing or in conversation. The government stepped in to institutionalize this practice well after the people started the process themselves.
In 2018 we find ourselves living in an information echo chamber, either a chamber echoing information and opinions of the political left or the political right. We choose to follow only sources of information that we constantly agree with, and we no longer engage in conversation that might cause disagreement and therefore heated argument. In short, two groups of people are instituting self-censorship in a similar manner as Fahrenheit 451's censorship origins, and we should question the result if we allow the behavior to go unchecked.
While Fahrenheit 451's commentary initially targeted societal problems of America in 1951, the story bears many perspectives and warnings valuable to America in 2018—don't let opioid overdose become the norm, don't let hyperstimulation caused by the internet pull us away from a meaningful life, and don't fall victim to information echo chambers that prevent discourse and may lead to more serious censorship.
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