The Internet is not immortal

The way we talk internetology, you’d think we believe the internet’s going to be around forever. The ways we use the cloud, our emails, social networks all point to our basic assumption of internet permanency.

But there are things we should consider that factor into the internet’s mortality:

Physical property
As of now, all internet connections end up in physical spacetime. The buck stops somewhere physical whether that be a cable, an adapter, or a router. StoriesbyWill (a fellow literator and frequent follower) shared a fascinating post on his blog about yet another attack on the African cable. Apparently some guys swam down to the ocean floor with an axe and attempted to put the entire continent of Africa in the dark. This sort of thing happens often, we just seldom hear of it, but an attack on the transatlantic cable could sever the London and Euro market from the Americas.

Power outage.
There’s a TV series that handles this concept better, albeit ridiculously, so I won’t belabor the point. Suffice to say that natural disaster or bombs can both us in the dark fairly quickly. The new Iron Man dabbled in this concept: what happens when the power goes out?

Political upheaval.
Ever been to a North Korean or Cuban website? No? I wonder why not…

Embargos and trade bans affect the internet as much or more than normal trade items simply because so much trade reroutes through the internet. Imagine another WWII naval blockade supplemented by URL bans. Yes, war would affect the internet as well.

New technology.
I talked to one of my best friends recently in a five-hour phone call. During that conversation, he said, “We’re gonna look back on the internet one day like our parents look at the Model T Ford.” He mentioned some possibilities of techs that could  replace or consume the internet, all of them viable. Whatever the future, the internet itself will be an outdated thing. We’ll build on the concept, but we won’t be driving around in Model Ts any more.

New society.
Even if we scrap the ebb and flow of technology from this little treatise, the internet’s a sociological phenomenon – a language. We have not only invented words to explain actions and thoughts that happen on the internet, we invented entire programming languages to make the dang thing work. And “thing” describes the internet poorly as it works more like a “club.”

The internet is simply an interconnectivity of massive hard drives around the world. It’s a way of talking and thinking, and it’s extremely new… and extremely mortal. Think of it this way: who speaks dead languages these days? Only people studying specific dead languages and dead societies. We don’t use Latin except for a handful of phrases left over from Roman society. We’ve all but forgotten Greek except for medical and technical words we invented.

Whatever new society arises out of this old one, the language of internet will die and give birth to a new language, for language lives and adapts, molting old forms like snakes, birds, and snails.

Feel free to suggest other reasons for the internet’s mortality in the comments. I think we should orient our lives around those things that keep the internet going: new technology, better political ideology, but mainly we should reorient our focus toward creating new language, new ways of outwardly expressing relational thought. I think we should stay mindful of the internet’s mortality so that we can draw back now and again to exist in the world outside of the visual renderings of our digital selves. This helps foster real friends and real art, but such a change demands that we depend on diversifying our use of techs by rediscovering the old as we invent the new.

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Typewriters? Vellum? Printed family photos? A conversation outside the confines of Facetime or Gchat? Sure, however you think internet mortality applies. Go knock yourself out.

I’m just saying, you might not be able to read this post forever…

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  1. Michele D'Acosta

    You’ve got a brilliant mind!

Quick note from Lance about this post: when you choose to comment (or share this post with your friends) you help other readers just like you.

How?

Well, see, your comments & sharing whisper a few things to those who come after you:

The first is that this site is a safe place to speak up & stay curious. That it's civil. That discussion is encouraged. That there's no such thing as a stupid question (being a student of Socrates, I really and truly believe this). That talking to one another and growing together is more important than anything we could possibly publish. That the point is growing in virtue and growing together and growing wise. That discovery is invention, deference is originality, that we all can rise together. The only folks I'm going to take comments down from are obvious jerks who argue in bad faith, don't stay curious, or actively make personal attacks. And, frankly, I'd rather we talk here than on some social media farm — I will never show ads and the only thing I'm selling anywhere on the site or my mailing list is just the stuff I make.

You're also helping folks realize that anything you & they build together is far more important than anything you come to me to read. I take the things I write about seriously, but I don't take myself seriously: I play the fool, I hate cults of personality, and I also don't really like being the center of attention (believe it or not). I would much rather folks connect because of an introduction I've made or because they commented with one another back and forth and then build something beautiful together. My favorite contributions have been lifelong business and love partnerships from two people who have forgotten I introduced them. Some of my closest friends NOW I literally met on another blog's comment section fifteen years ago. I would love for that to happen here — let two of you meet and let me fade into the background.

Last, you help me revise. I'm wrong. Often. I'm not embarrassed to admit it or worried about being cancelled or publicly shamed. I make a fool out of myself (that's sort of the point). So as I get feedback, I can say, "I was wrong about that" and set a model for curious, consistent learning, and growing in wisdom. I'm blind to what I don't know and as grows the island of my knowledge so grows the shoreline of my ignorance. It's the recovery of innocence on the far end of experience: a child is in a permanent state of wonder. So are the wise: they aren't afraid of saying, "I don't know. That's new: please teach me." That's my goal, comments help. And I read all reviews: my skin's tough, but that's not license to be needlessly cruel. We teach one another our habits and there's a way to civilly demolish an idea without demolishing another person: just because I personally can take the world's meanest 1-star review doesn't mean we should teach one another how to be crueler on the internet.

For three magical reasons — your brave curiosity, your community, & my ignorance:

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