These days, when "left to our own devices" we are literally being left to our own devices: the iPhones, laptops, and tablets connecting us to a world where interpersonal human communication is not required.
Unless there's no wi-fi, of course. In which case we are abandoned to the entertainment provided by twiddling our thumbs and staring at the wall.
This is why I download many of the books I would not normally read to the Kindle application on my phone. Now, when "left to my own devices," I can read these books I would not normally read to relieve the tedium. The complete works of Sabine Baring Gould, for instance, which can be obtained for a single dollar in digital form.
I often wonder why we don't refer to e-books as "digitalback" as we do with books in hard or soft covers. Or "deviceback," for that matter.
In fact, I must admit, unless I consider a book can hold its own with Shakespeare and the Bible I will not buy a physical copy anymore. E-books are easier on my aging eyes; they do not need to be spine-crackingly wedged into already overcrowded bookshelves; and their pages don't get smudged by fingers that are idly conveying chocolate truffles to the reader's mouth during the reading process – fingers, you could argue, that have been "left to their own devices" in the original, non-digital meaning of the phrase.
There is a major drawback to e-books, of course, and that is the tedious non-occasion inherent when e-books are given as a gift. Your loved ones can't "open" a gift that is delivered wirelessly via the Internet. You can't tie a big, red bow around digital text or wrap it up in fancy paper.
Consequently, anyone who who requested for e-books from Santa Claus will find their Christmas morning is not particularly special. In fact, while other family members are ripping apart presents beneath the tree, they will be "left to their own devices," both literally and figuratively.