Today marks 42 days since I last logged into Twitter / X.
For years it has been a staple of my daily routine. I couldn’t go about my life without thoughtlessly sharing some cup of coffee I was drinking, the song I was listening to, or the book I was reading. Inevitably, I’d be immediately removed from the deeper focus of the moment and catch myself scrolling. Things that didn’t matter in the present would quickly come to predominate my attention: a political decision, a conflict far away, an angry opinion, someone else’s book or cup of coffee…
Since stepping away, I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on the paradox of social media platforms. We use them for the perceived connection we have with people, to read the news, or keep up with any number of interests we may have, but whether we want it to or not, a barrage of annoying ads, divisive arguments, and irrelevant information await us when we log on.
Why not just call or text someone directly?
Why not read your news straight from the publishing source?
Why not find an email newsletter or in-person event relating to your interests?
Kierkegaard on the internet
In 1999, philosopher Hubert L. Dreyfus wrote an article entitled, “Kierkegaard on the Internet: Anonymity Versus Committment in the Present Age” The “Net” as he refers to it, was still in its infancy, but he accurately describes what was to come with the advent and widespread adoption of social media.
Dreyfus views these changes to the information landscape through the lens of Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard. Kierkegaard in his time was concerned with the rise of the “Public Spehere”, informed by the Press which was beginning to proliferate global ideas and a knowledge of international affairs to every corner of the world. He worried that too much information might create detached readers who would become stuck in a cycle of “detached reflection” because of a lack of proximity to the event in question. To the reader at a distance, there is no real skin in the game, no necessity for action. What is left are simply words which bear little to no weight on real life outcomes.
It is easy to critique from that digital safe haven in your corner of the web.
Detached reflection
For me, the idea of detached reflection really gets at the fact that access to huge swaths of information (or content of any sort) which is not relevant to ones immediate geography or personal life, can create an unfeeling or depersonalised individual. I think about how wars in Ukraine and Gaza continue today and because I cannot do anything about it and am not in close proximity, I am nothing more than a passive consumer of information on the subject. The more I read about it, the more photos I see from the war zone, the more desensitised I become. A thousand more deaths are just words on a screen. Bodies in the rubble are just a photo. They may move me for a time, but there is no palpable sense of what is actually occurring. My safe, simple day continues and I can get online and dispense my opinions or what I think would be a proper solution all the same: no expertise, responsibility or consequence required.
Social media platforms create an odd environment where the user can comment endlessly on such events without having any substantial background with the subject matter. Remember in 2020, when that one person on your timeline was an expert on public health, then in 2022, suddenly they knew everything there was to know about geopolitics and the history of Russian/Ukrainian relations?
The public sphere is a world where everyone has an opinion on, and comments on, all public matters without needing any first-hand experience and without having or wanting any responsbility.
-Dreyfus, “Kierkegaard on the Internet” (1999)
Prior to the advent of the internet and social media, for a person to make a claim or state their opinion to a broad audience, someone had to be vetted: published or part of a major news organisation, having a body of work or substantial real-life, hands-on experience. Now, it makes no matter how educated or articulate you are on the matter, nor how sensitive you are to those who may be in the opposite camp. In fact, the more harsh or polarising your stance, the more views you receive.1
Everyone can have their own little space to opine as they see fit. It does not reflect the reality of the world at large.
Professional gatherers
This age of social media has created an entire population of people who are interested in anything and everything. Many of us (myself included) are professional gatherers of information. It is our primary hobby. If it is interesting, we want to know about it. It gives an illusion of truth-seeking but is more often about “fighting off boredom”, as Dreyfus notes.
Such a life produces a self that has no defining content or continuity but is open to all possibilities and to constantly taking on new roles.
-Dreyfus
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It’s easy to see how being a professional gatherer of information could lead to the erosion of ones own personal opinion and critical thinking. It does not require you to take a particular stance or defend it, rather, it encourages you to take less risk as you accept any and every possible solution.
You are simply observing and reporting because it gives you something to do.
Dead internet theory
One of the more depressing yet important ideas online is the theory that because of the propagation and proliferation of AI-generated posts, photos, or artwork, the internet will eventually become “dead”; more and more void of the positive online interactions which benefit humanity most.2
…it suggests that bots and computer-generated content have taken over most of the internet, pushing aside real human activity. This means that the things we used to enjoy, like chatting on forums or social media, have become like ghost towns, deserted and lacking life.
Another aspect of this theory is that it is becoming increasingly difficult year by year to tell fact from fiction or misinformation. Anyone who logs on and takes everything they see as truth is in for an embarrasing awakening. At the same time, media literacy education is desperately lacking.3 The more prevalent (and deceptive) AI-generated content becomes, the bigger the gap there will be to traverse.
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As time passes, the proportional relationship between humans and bots grows and is currently at around 50%.4 Manipulation and deception, not human interaction is slowly becoming the most common activity on social media networks.
The illusion of community
Lastly, there is the fact that social media platforms create an illusion of community. I’ll begin by admitting that it is certainly possible to have a tightly-knit, honest, cosy community online. I’ve encountered some wonderful people on Twitter / X over the years who share my interests and intrigues. I will also admit that of all the times I have taken long-term breaks and posted of my impending absence a day or two prior, offering up alternative methods of communication while on my hiatus, I have only ever received two DMs expressing interest in texting on another app. and going beyond the confines of the platform into more “real world” territory. Maybe it’s me, but I think it’s something else: that the connections we make online are more often than not capricious. This is precisely because there is less of an incentive to commit.
We want to believe that these are people we can rely on and grow genuine connection with, but when you are out of sight online, you are out of mind.
Exiting the scene
This week I am wondering if it is time to walk away entirely and delete my social accounts for good. It feels like the last six weeks have given me renewed clarity and a fresh perspective. It has made me realise how little bearing my presence on a place like Twitter / X or Instagram has on my physical world and daily life. They have also become boring, uninteresting and cluttered places to visit. My pros and cons list for keeping these platforms is entirely out of balance: indeed, the cons win. It feels like I’ve got one foot out the door already.
Renewal
This past weekend, I watched a fantastic film called “Wit”. How it eluded me since its release in 2001 is a mystery. In it, Emma Thompson plays a professor of English Literature (more specifically, 17th century metaphysical poetry, focusing on the work of John Donne) and is diagnosed with a very serious form of cancer at age 48. She spent her entire life up to that point studying and building her body of work so intensely that she sacrificed developing close friendships or a romantic relationship and consistently failed to live life in the present. Regrettably, she realises this far too late.
It reminds me that there are no redos in life. The time I have spent staring into screens scrolling passively or even sitting here on Substack, tapping away at a keyboard trying to coalesce my thoughts into something prescient and worthy of the attention of others is gone forever. At 36, I am sure this adds up to tens of thousands of hours, when I consider all those unhappy, detached years wherein I would watch television every evening while scrolling Facebook, or pick my phone up more than 100 times in a given day because I felt the itch.
This is frightening and unacceptable to the person I am today.
As I listen to this rain against the roof on this non-descript grey day, I am keenly aware of the fact that I don’t need to relinquish this renewed sense of focus and purpose; this new lease on my attention span.
It can be this way moving forward, in perpetuity.
All that is required of me is to press delete, put the device down, and lean into living with undivided attention on what is in front of me, moment by moment.
'Likes’ and ‘shares’ teach people to express more outrage online. (Hathaway, 2021)