On the internet and intentionality

I’m back with an online “presence,” after taking a month of internet abstinence to reflect on the meaning of all this. Last year I found myself caught up in Facebook and my list of RSS feeds in such a way that I would describe as lustful. Lust in the sense that Oswald Chambers taught me to see, this desire for immediate stimulus and gratification, that ends up emasculating one’s soul. I’m convinced that one of the keys to human flourishing is in self-denial of such lusts and the training of one’s soul for slow, deep delights. And yet, there I was, hanging on the edge of the most frivolous updates, seeking meaning in a new post, wasting time and mismanaging my soul. It got to the point where I didn’t even read any of these interesting sites I was following, I just quickly skimmed it for some sort of intellectual or spiritual stimulus.

Clearly this was not a path I wanted to continue. Deep, reflective thought and reading has always been an important part of who I am. To let that be replaced by (un-)social media and RSS (does-not-)feeds would not contribute to my growth and pleasure. So following the Christian tradition, I cancelled my RSS subscriptions and deactivated my Facebook account in a sort of fast. Fasts are powerful to reveal to us our underlying motives and unfilled desires, and they serve as opportunities to reevaluate our priorities.

One of my constant concerns is inspired in the Apostle Pauls’ resolute “I refuse to let anything have power over me” (1 Corinthians 6:12, CEV). I want my will to be robust and tenacious, unreduced by sedatives and distractions. I want my psychological health to be independent of material goods and outside stimuli (aside: I sometimes worry that I have a certain dependency on yerba mate). Time away from the internet reminded me that life is just as abundant when I don’t read every last narcissistic expression of my acquaintances, or keep up to date on the latest theological disputes in the blogging world. Moreover, I was reminded that unless I dialogue reflectively with this deluge of information, I will be undesirably molded by it. I need to read less and more deeply, and I need to write my thoughts out (with paper and pen).

One of the better news stories I heard on NPR during January was this author interview with Clay Johnson about the subtle but ruinous dangers of our information diet, and how easy it is to become closed-minded. He notes that “what choice of information gives us is the ability to misinform ourselves in all kinds of new ways.” I am reminded as well of Marva Dawn’s admonition to avoid becoming a liar by a L.I.A.R. (low information-action ratio). What good is it to know, know, know more and more if I’m inert in regards to such “knowledge?” Dear St. John would say that this is indeed no knowledge as all, as knowing and doing are so inseparable in his theology.

So I’m back online, but I purpose to be more modest and intentional about it, by reading more deliberately and writing more thoughtfully. I pray that this information diet would lead me to relate with greater loyalty to those who surround me, and to act with greater faithfulness in service to the world.