The Wired

What is this world that we live in? What a broad question to ask, especially on a small corner of the internet such as this place. Yet, I believe it’s important for all humans to consider this question no matter when or where they may be.

Today, I experienced a piece of media (the title of which I shall not mention, but the keen among you should be able to figure it out) that significantly changed my outlook. For the average human, the occurrence of such moments is seldom, if ever for some. When such a moment does occur, however, mortality often becomes a centerpiece of thought. For example: how long will I live? And to go further, how long will the memory of my existence proliferate? It is safe to assume that even for the most legendary figures of existence, the memory of their life will fizzle out as the final human aware of their existence dies while failing to pass on the memory.

That is where the internet comes in. With this tool, this infrastructure, this world, one can memorialize their existence to a large potential audience. It would be foolish to assume that simply publishing this post on this inevitably ephemeral web server will guarantee its immortality, or even its comparative longevity. One flip of the right switch (of which there are countless) will bring down this spot of the internet. There is the hope, however, that one of the many crawling web bots will come across this secluded island and archive these contents for preservations’ sake. But even then, how long will such archival projects, also bound to mortal (if many more, but still) switches, last?

Really, how long will this text persist in an available form for mortal consumption? I will wager at least 10 years from this article’s publication, though such a guess is assuming continuity with the current world system. I presume that I will live much longer than that time frame, and if so then I will hopefully extend the life span of this tiny file through whatever means are available at that moment.

Assuming this text outlives me, that will mean that, not counting any other lasting memories I imprint on society, this text also counts as me. The letters that I’m typing are solely the output of the synapses firing in my brain, and therefore are part of a chain of events that link to me. I find it extremely humorous that this text could potentially be one of the longest lasting concrete memories that I leave behind. Any impressions I leave behind on other humans will inevitably become exaggerating and inaccurate, but the exact words I type here will (unless corruption occurs) persist in their original intended form.

Does this mean that this medium of information is the best method we humans have to extend ourselves and our memories? Homer’s words still persist with us after millennia, as well as countless other poets, mathematicians, historians, and the like. But, those words passed down by those figures are not exact, perfect, immutable. Who knows how many corruptions have occurred over the centuries in the current accepted forms of the Odyssey? Meanwhile, a human can put this file on a disc or drive and the information can be passed down in its exact form as long as that physical medium persists.

We must not forget the obvious dangers though: fire, explosions, mere physical bashing of the computer system that this text belongs to will destroy it. The goal is obvious then: to extend my exact memory to the furthest time period, humanity must duplicate this file continuously into the future. In that sense, and assuming that in the future an extremely reliable form of data storage proves to be successful, my written memory will remain indefinitely. And so will countless others, regardless if they are currently aware of that fact or not. That random news article, the random essay, the random comment: all candidates for immortality.

In this year though, our data storage mediums are still remarkably volatile, so all of this is NOT guaranteed. Throwing aside even the data storage medium concerns, pesky short-sighted regulations stifle archival projects operated by bright individuals. With that, I sincerely beg you, dear reader, to participate in archiving as much as you can, including this web page file. Humans enjoy being remembered, so what could be better than being remembered forever? Especially in the form of a loosely organized wall of text written by a rather anonymous author that is bound to have human errors.