Digital Ghosts
I had a few errands to run today. As I was driving, I was listening to Neal Conan on "Talk of the Nation". The topic; preparing for your digital demise, with guest Robert Roper.
This gist of the story was basically this; how do you close out your online life after you have shuffled off this mortal coil? It was an interesting discussion indeed, but it touched on many things that have been on my mind of late and the subject of much philosophy for centuries, not that things digital have been around that long.
We leave much behind. There is always unfinished business, to be sure. With the advent of the Internet, some of this unfinished business gains a new digital dimension that previous generations would have never even speculated on (though certain science fiction writers certainly have). Imagine receiving email from someone recently deceased. It has happened. Or online accounts that continue with their activity after the account holders have died (I can't help but wonder how this will affect online role playing games). There are blogs, Facebook accounts, documents and other files stored online. With more and more of our lives being stored in this Cloud (as it is often called), this likelihood is great. We are virtually all over the place.
The first time I read about someone posting about their lives as they were dying was in "The WELL: A Story of Love, Death and Real Life in the Seminal Online Community" by Katie Hafner. One of the principle characters in the book, futurist Tom Mandel, was aware that he wasn't long for this world and posted his thoughts shortly before died, and there they remained after.
In a very real sense, what we write is what we are. It can be thought of as one-way telepathy; you're putting your thoughts out there, straight from your brain, through the nervous system to your fingers and then through your stylus or pen or the keyboard you are punching. You have now converted electrochemical energy into tangible form that others can see. Through that, perhaps they can get a sense of who you are.
Or were.
For many years, I kept a journal, recording my thoughts and ideas. When the opportunity to share these with others arose, I really didn't hesitate to do so. It allowed me to share... me. Like my journals, I want these to survive my physical body. Perhaps its buying a little bit of immortality to have my ideas, those firings (and occasional misfirings) of synaptic activity moved someplace else. Of course, there are always the journals as well.
I would want to be remembered.
The notion of my email and networking accounts surviving me, though, is an intriguing one. I suppose I could always set them up to send out an occasional haiku or some random verse. A message in a digital bottle from the afterlife, if you will. Certainly fits in with my sense of humor.
All the random bits I've thrown around, that all of us have, are now digital echoes in electronic space. From time to time they are our own ghost in the machine.
This gist of the story was basically this; how do you close out your online life after you have shuffled off this mortal coil? It was an interesting discussion indeed, but it touched on many things that have been on my mind of late and the subject of much philosophy for centuries, not that things digital have been around that long.
We leave much behind. There is always unfinished business, to be sure. With the advent of the Internet, some of this unfinished business gains a new digital dimension that previous generations would have never even speculated on (though certain science fiction writers certainly have). Imagine receiving email from someone recently deceased. It has happened. Or online accounts that continue with their activity after the account holders have died (I can't help but wonder how this will affect online role playing games). There are blogs, Facebook accounts, documents and other files stored online. With more and more of our lives being stored in this Cloud (as it is often called), this likelihood is great. We are virtually all over the place.
The first time I read about someone posting about their lives as they were dying was in "The WELL: A Story of Love, Death and Real Life in the Seminal Online Community" by Katie Hafner. One of the principle characters in the book, futurist Tom Mandel, was aware that he wasn't long for this world and posted his thoughts shortly before died, and there they remained after.
In a very real sense, what we write is what we are. It can be thought of as one-way telepathy; you're putting your thoughts out there, straight from your brain, through the nervous system to your fingers and then through your stylus or pen or the keyboard you are punching. You have now converted electrochemical energy into tangible form that others can see. Through that, perhaps they can get a sense of who you are.
Or were.
For many years, I kept a journal, recording my thoughts and ideas. When the opportunity to share these with others arose, I really didn't hesitate to do so. It allowed me to share... me. Like my journals, I want these to survive my physical body. Perhaps its buying a little bit of immortality to have my ideas, those firings (and occasional misfirings) of synaptic activity moved someplace else. Of course, there are always the journals as well.
I would want to be remembered.
The notion of my email and networking accounts surviving me, though, is an intriguing one. I suppose I could always set them up to send out an occasional haiku or some random verse. A message in a digital bottle from the afterlife, if you will. Certainly fits in with my sense of humor.
All the random bits I've thrown around, that all of us have, are now digital echoes in electronic space. From time to time they are our own ghost in the machine.
posted by RRLittle at 1:37 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home