Some forms of technology extend human presence over great distance and bring the absent one nearer; the telephone and fax machine do this. Most technology, however, attempts to explain life in terms of function. Increasingly, when we approach something new our first question is never about the surprise of the thing but about how it functions. Our culture is saturated with information, which stubbornly refuses to come alive with understanding. The more we become immersed in technology, the more difficult it is to be patient with the natural unevenness and unpredictability of living. We learn to close ourselves off, and we think of our souls and minds no longer as presence but more in terms of apparatus and function. Functionalist thinking impoverishes presence. The functionalist mind is committed to maintenance and efficiency. The priority is that things continue to work. You can often experience this in your professional life. You are called to the director’s office for a chat. Whether you are to be promoted or demoted, you feel you are not being seen. What is at stake is what the system either can get out of you or no longer wants from you. If you have staked your identity on belonging to that system, you are now in deep trouble. There are so many disappointed people within companies and corporations and public-service jobs, people who were once idealistic, but then reached the threshold of recognition where they discovered they were being treated as mere functionaries. They then lost confidence and belief in themselves.