A Mere Icon

A reflection on Internet addiction and the psychology of infallibility.

This reflection was originally one of two essays I wrote in 2017, during the first-drafting of Quibble, to append to the novel as back matter. (The other essay is forthcoming on Singular Dream as “The Matrix of Want.”) I’ve edited the text since then, but the structure and ideas have remained basically the same. If some of the allusions seem dated, for instance those to clickbait titles on social media, think back about seven years.

With more life experience, I have second thoughts about my childhood escape into fantasy. I now think I was just an imaginative kid with a dearth of experience-rich opportunities at hand, but I was also the child of a man who put extraordinary pressures on me to act older than I was, and that burdened me with guilt and self-loathing. Nonetheless, I’m leaving the essay’s observations just as they are. The analogy is fundamentally right.

The observations towards the end about you-know-who have unfortunately only proven to be more correct as time passes.

PgDn, PgDn, PgDn…

Why use the arrow keys? Why creep through this tedious procession of posts?

Links, images, videos, articles, listicles, news, op-eds, hashtags, screenshots, clickbait, selfies, looping GIFs, emojis, memes, quotations stripped of context.

Nostalgia, outrage, boasting, self-pity, hypercriticism, hypersensitivity, overreaction, callousness, taunting, indignation, self-righteousness, glibness, vilification, slurring, stereotyping, self-censorship, thought-policing.

This Is Why I Don’t Do That Anymore, This Is Why Those People Are Dead Wrong, You’re Deluding Yourself If You Think Such-and-Such, This Is the Most Outrageous-Adorable-Stupid Thing You’ll See Today, Take This Quiz and Find Out Something Totally Pointless, You’ll Never Believe What Happened Next.

Hidden somewhere in all this, sandwiched between the ads and inanities, are a few thoughtful reflections, one or two heartfelt emotions, a savvy critique, now and then a plea for sanity and understanding. But so rare, so elusive.

From day to day, I’m stupefied to see what insipid, self-serving, partisan, paranoid, mindless creatures my fellow human beings can be. What a lack so many people have of scruples, wisdom, and the love of truth! What lowly entertainments they pass the time with! How few are the notions they embrace for merit’s sake rather than for their self-comfort! How many deceits, illusions, and crackpot allegations they echo without a moment’s thought! How eager they are to join a fray!

And how lonely it makes them!

Almost everything I see on social media looks like some desperate soliloquy. Voices crying in a wilderness. Howling wolves.

My laptop never sleeps, even when I do. All night long its whir, low but audible, comes to me through the veil of an eight-hour YouTube video of steadily falling rain.

I can’t sleep anymore without listening to static — the chirring of crickets, crackling of a bonfire, waves crashing on a beach. When at three or four a.m. I at last grow too weary or head-ached to read or watch anything else, I browse to YouTube’s homepage. It knows just what I want. Waiting for me there are four or five appealing options, ready-made ambiances.

Playing a computer game before I go to bed is a mistake. I’ll dream about it: the little stick-figure of Lode Runner will crisscross the backs of my eyelids, digging holes and dodging enemies, or chess pieces will move around on a board.

Coffee in the morning, strong to keep me awake through all the hours I’ll sit in front of the laptop today.

First up, after checking email, is the coterie of sites I visit daily: Facebook, NPR for the news, The Writer’s Almanac for a poem, then back around to YouTube for some music (classical and medieval chant is best) to hear while I write. Along the way, I can be — I frequently am — diverted from cycling completely through this morning ritual. I’ll start scrolling through my Facebook feed (where the PgDn key is my ally), or click a link and go down some rabbit hole. Facebook pipes me towards politics, NPR towards Wikipedia (the deepest rabbit hole). If I’m not very mindful about what I’m there for, YouTube will entice me into an hours-long viewing spree, a binge.

Feed, binge — what apt words! Each day, I end up feeling as if I’ve gorged myself past reason or reckoning. Anything plentiful and pleasurable is potentially addictive, and the human brain is an information sponge.