Dead Souls

Dead Souls

With each passing week more and more of us become ready to concede that economic growth is no longer possible. Economic development, on the old model, which UN Secretary Ban Ki-moon recently characterized as a “global suicide pact,” is becoming constrained by the limits of natural resources of the finite planet, energy, arable land and fresh water foremost among them, and stressed further by extreme weather events that increase in frequency due to the rapidly destabilizing climate.

Since the narrowly averted financial collapse of 2008, aggregate indicators of economic growth have been anemic at best, and would be negative were it not for a dramatic expansion in public debt and aggressive financial manipulation by American and European central banks. These methods are only effective up to a point. Some time ago it became apparent that we had reached the point of diminishing returns on debt expansion: further expansion of public debt decreases rather than increases GDP. Perhaps the next realization to hit us is that public debt is in runaway mode: it will continue to go up whether government spending is cut or increased. From this it follows that the government's days are numbered; but few people are ready to make this leap yet.

Against this background of economic stagnation and decay and widespread financial insolvency one sector is experiencing a boom time: Silicon Valley is booming again, and tech start-up IPOs are doing well. Social networking and mobile computing are hot, and some are expecting them to power the global economy out of the doldrums. Others contend that this industry segment is, and will remain, far too small to pick up the slack for the rest of the resource-strapped global economy. What neither side seems to grasp is this: as the virtualized realm of cyberreality and social networking takes over daily life, the actual physical economy will matter less and less (to those who are still alive and have an internet connection). What these new gadgets offer is, simply put, escapism. In a world of dwindling resources, where each person's share of the physical realm decreases over time, it is no wonder that physical reality fails to satisfy. But thanks to the new, intimate, glowing handheld mobile computing devices, the unsatisfactory real world can be blotted out, and replaced with a cleansed, bouncy, shiny version of society in which little avatars utter terse little messages. In the cyber-realm there are no sweaty bodies, no cacophony of voices to suffer through—just a smooth, polished, expertly branded user experience.

While riding the subway through the Boston rush hour, I have been able to observe just how well these personal electronic mental life support units work in shielding people from the sight of their fellow-passengers, who are becoming a rougher and rougher-looking crew, with more and more people in obvious distress. By focusing all of their attentions on the tiny screen, they are also spared the sight of our well-worn and crumbling urban infrastructure. It is as if the physical world doesn't really exist for them, or at least doesn't matter. But as Horace already understood over 2000 years ago, "Naturam expellas furca, tamen usque recurret" ("You may drive out Nature with a pitchfork, yet she still will hurry back.") If we ignore the physical realm, the physical economy (the one that actually keeps people fed and sheltered and moves them about the landscape) shrinks and decays. The inevitable result is that more and more of these cyber-campers and their gadgets will drop off the network, shrivel, and die with nary a tweet to signal their demise.

And this is, of course, a shame: a terrible and unnecessary loss to the online community. Yes, resource depletion cannot be turned back, nor can catastrophic climate change. Yes, the global economy will crumble as a result, and people will die. But why should their online personae die with them? That, at least, seems preventable. Not only that, but letting users die is bad for the economy: companies like Facebook, Twitter, Google, and numerous tech start-ups are judged based on the size of their user base. Some of them may not generate much in the way of revenue, but if they have millions of users then everyone assumes that they must be worth something. But if the physical economy continues to cave in on itself and their users start to drop off like flies in autumn, then that would be bad for a company's valuation and stand in the way of it securing additional rounds of financing. If it finds a way to compensate, then all would be well with their business plan, and their innovative social networking platform might indeed help power the global economy out of the doldrums and into some other nautical metaphor... the coastal shallows, perhaps, where it would be careened and methodically picked clean by the coast-dwelling troglodytes... But if not, then it would be doomed. Doomed! Investors don't like the sound of the word "doomed."

The solution is as obvious as it is counterintuitive, and it comes from a classic of Russian literature: Nikolai Gogol's Dead Souls. It details the exploits of one Chichikov, who rambles around the Russian countryside, visiting estates and convincing their owners to sell to him their dead peasants. With the dead peasants' papers in hand Chichikov is then able to use them as collateral for loans and to mortgage them (omitting to mention, of course, that they are dead). Correspondingly, the solution for the social networking tech start-ups, moving forward, is to leverage their dead users. This, after all, seems like a humane and caring thing to do: why let someone's online persona die with them? This is often a shock to the other users, who most likely have never even met the deceased person in real life, and don't particularly care whether he or she physically exists. It was once said that on the Internet nobody knows whether you are dog; so let it be that nobody knows whether you are even alive. In a society that lavishes hundreds of thousands of dollars on end-of-life medical care, why not save a little of that money for the cyber-afterlife? For people whose lives are mostly lived on the Internet, technology that extends their online personae past their physical death would be life-extending technology par excellence, and a fitting tribute.

The technical challenge is considerable, but it is by no means insurmountable. For example, let's say you have a dead user who likes cats. Now, it is well known that uploading pictures of cats is a good way to get “karma points.” In life, our erstwhile cat-lover would have immediately responded with a succinct message such as “UR KITTEH RLY CUTE LOLZ” by thumbing it into some handheld device. After our user's untimely demise, the same function would be performed by a computer program. To paraphrase Descartes, “Txto, ergo sum.” Here is a proof of concept that took me just a minute or two to code up:

With a bit of effort this sample code can be extended to cover the typical set of the eternally resting user's online utterances. (Of course, a more contemporary way to implement it would be as a web service. And, of course, it would have to be a RESTful one.)

Thus, generating tweets, SMS messages and posting comments, perhaps even generating entire blog posts that convincingly mimic those of a living user is an eminently surmountable technical challenge. But a much harder problem would be to keep our dead user in the vanguard of exciting new social movements and fashions that sweep through the net with lightening speed. Just recently “planking” was all the rage. 

This is "planking"

But now “planking” is just completely last week and everyone who is cool and hip is into “owling.”

This is "owling"

Without a timely infusion of such new trends our deceased user's persona would grow stale and unpopular. But perhaps that is as it should be: let the living rise in popularity while the dead slowly become de-friended and de-linked, eventually lapsing into oblivion. After all, all we are doing is buying some time. The last person out, please remember to shut down the cloud, because what would be the use of dead people talking to each other on a dead planet?