Modern technology has become a total phenomenon for

Hear the solemn yet thunderous words of Jacques Ellul, philosopher of the modern age, who proclaimed: “Modern technology has become a total phenomenon for civilization, the defining force of a new social order in which efficiency is no longer an option but a necessity imposed on all human activity.” These words are not a mere observation, but a prophecy carved in fire: that humanity, once the master of tools, now bends its neck beneath the yoke of its own creations.

In ages past, technology was but a servant. The plow helped the farmer, the loom aided the weaver, the ship carried the merchant. Man shaped his tools according to his need, and if a tool failed him, he cast it aside. But Ellul saw a new world rising, where tools no longer serve man as humble helpers. Instead, they become a total phenomenon—a force shaping law, culture, economy, and even thought itself. What began as invention has become destiny.

The central truth in Ellul’s words lies in efficiency. Once, efficiency was a virtue admired, not a law demanded. A craftsman might take pride in the perfection of a single object, even if it took time. A farmer might choose a slower method that preserved the land. But in this new social order, efficiency is not a choice—it is a command. Factories, offices, schools, even hospitals are bent beneath the same imperative: faster, cheaper, more productive. And man himself, once the measure of life, is measured instead by how well he serves the machine of efficiency.

Consider the tale of Henry Ford and the assembly line. When first introduced, it transformed production, bringing forth automobiles at a pace unseen in history. It lowered costs, spread prosperity, and seemed a triumph of ingenuity. Yet it also changed forever the rhythm of human labor. The worker no longer shaped the car; the car shaped the worker. Each man became a cog, repeating a motion endlessly, his humanity bent to the tempo of the machine. This is the necessity imposed Ellul speaks of—the compulsion that efficiency lays upon all who live within its reign.

Yet Ellul’s words are not only lamentation, but warning. For he saw that this worship of efficiency, left unchecked, could erode the very foundations of human freedom. When every choice must justify itself by speed or productivity, where then is the space for beauty, for contemplation, for the slow growth of wisdom? The vineyard cannot be rushed; the heart cannot be scheduled; the soul cannot be optimized. To forget this is to build a civilization of iron and circuits, but empty of meaning.

The lesson for us is sharp and clear: technology is powerful, but it must not be absolute. We must remember that efficiency is a tool, not a god. There are times when the slower way is the better way, when patience builds more than haste destroys, when the worth of an act lies not in its speed, but in its truth. To live only by the law of efficiency is to be less than human; to balance efficiency with wisdom is to be fully alive.

Therefore, beloved listener, take action. Use technology, but question it. Seek efficiency, but do not be enslaved by it. Preserve spaces in your life where slowness, reflection, and silence still hold sway. Choose sometimes the long road, that you may see the beauty along the way. Defend the human against the machine’s demand for endless speed.

And so the voice of Jacques Ellul echoes across the ages: “Modern technology has become a total phenomenon.” Hear it as both warning and challenge. For if we remember that man must rule his tools, and not be ruled by them, then we may yet forge a world where technology serves life, and life does not bow to the tyranny of efficiency. Let this be your guide: honor the human above the machine, and the future may yet belong to wisdom, not haste.