You should not be a slave to your telephone. The technology is

The inventor Martin Cooper, the father of the mobile phone, once uttered a timeless truth: “You should not be a slave to your telephone. The technology is there to serve you, not the other way around.” In these words lies not only the wisdom of an engineer, but the caution of a prophet. For he who birthed the device that would connect millions also foresaw the danger — that man, instead of mastering technology, might bow before it, forgetting that tools were made for service, not for chains.

Cooper’s warning resounds like the voice of the ancients, who long ago told of Prometheus and his fire. Fire was meant to warm, to cook, to forge — but when worshipped, it destroyed. So too with the telephone. It was created to grant freedom, to untether man from walls and wires, to connect distant voices across the earth. Yet too often it has become a master, commanding attention with constant ringing, endless messages, and ceaseless demands. What was meant to liberate can enslave, if the human spirit forgets its authority.

The history of the mobile phone itself reveals this paradox. When Cooper made the first mobile call in 1973, it was a triumph of human ingenuity, a symbol of freedom. Yet in our own time, the very device he pioneered has become an idol. People walk with heads bent before glowing screens, chained to notifications, losing the art of presence. They wake to their phones, eat with their phones, and sleep beside their phones. The servant has become the master, and the master the slave.

Consider the story of the Roman aqueducts. They were marvels of engineering, carrying water into cities, serving the people. But when Rome began to worship its comforts and forgot discipline, the empire weakened. In the same way, the telephone and all modern technology are aqueducts of information and connection. They are magnificent — but only if they remain servants. If they rule the spirit, they erode discipline, fracture attention, and drain the soul of stillness.

Cooper’s words teach us that mastery lies not in abandoning technology, but in governing it. Just as a horse must be guided by its rider, so too must the telephone be guided by the will of its owner. Turn it off when you sit with family, silence it when you enter sacred spaces, set it aside when you need the quiet of thought. These simple acts remind the soul that it is not bound, that the heart is free, and that man remains master of his tools.

The danger of forgetting this truth is clear. If man becomes a slave to technology, he loses his greatest treasures: presence, reflection, and authentic connection. But when technology serves, it uplifts: it brings comfort, health, knowledge, and unity. The difference lies not in the device itself, but in the spirit of the one who wields it.

Therefore, O children of the future, remember the wisdom of Martin Cooper. Do not kneel before your telephone. Let it be your messenger, not your master; your servant, not your chain. Reclaim your time, reclaim your presence, reclaim your humanity. For the true measure of progress is not how advanced our technology becomes, but whether it remains in service to the dignity and freedom of the human soul.