A lush forest
The troubles that have plagued “scientific” forestry, invented in the German lands in the late eighteenth century, and some forms of plantation agriculture typify the encounter. Wanting to maximize revenue from the sale of firewood and lumber from domain forests, the originators of scientific forestry reasoned that, depending on the soil, either the Norway spruce or the Scotch pine would provide the maximum cubic meters of timber per hectare. To this end, they clear-cut mixed forests and planted a single species simultaneously and in straight rows (as with row crops). They aimed at a forest that was easy to inspect, could be felled at a given time, and would produce a uniform log from a standardized tree (the Normalbaum). For a while—nearly an entire century—it worked brilliantly. Then it faltered. It turned out that the first rotation had apparently profited from the accumulated soil capital of the mixed forest it had replaced without replenishment. The single-species forest was above all a veritable feast for the pests, rusts, scales, and blights that specialized in attacking the Scotch pine or the Norway spruce. A forest of trees all the same age was also far more susceptible to catastrophic storm and wind damage. In an effort to simplify the forest as a one-commodity machine, scientific forestry had radically reduced its diversity. The lack of tree species diversity was replicated at every level in this stripped-down forest: in the poverty of insect species, of birds, of mammals, of lichen, of mosses, of fungi, of flora in general. The planners had created a green desert, and nature had struck back. In little more than a century, the successors of those who had made scientific forestry famous in turn made the terms “forest death” (Waldsterben) and “restoration forestry” equally famous (fig. 2.1).

— James C. Scott, Two Cheers for Anarchism

About OptOut

I think this as apt a metaphor for the problems currently plaguing our media landscape as any. Whenever a fundamentally chaotic system is managed by optimizing its behaviour according to a measurable benchmark, it quickly becomes apparent that there are other factors at play than the one accounted for. And they end up biting us.

(Too much efficiency makes everything worse)

Goodhart's Law is often stated as: "When a measure becomes a target, it ceases to be a good measure". A simple example of this is that when students are evaluated according to exam performance, they become over-optimized at writing exams, to the detriment of learning what the course is attempting to teach them. But we see this same basic fallacy everywhere in twenty-first century, from academic publishing to supply-chaining.

(We need to rewild the internet)

Social media was planted on the fertile ground of the wild internet, and promised to connect us in ways that were awkward on the old web. And the platform social networks really did - and still do - provide an invaluable dimension to social connection across geographical and social distance. The problem is that their business models depend on mining one of our most valuable commodities: attention. And to optimize their efficiency in extracting attention they have constructed algorithms that maximize engagement, to the detriment of real human connection, deep thinking, and mindful behaviour.

We have seen the consequences of this reckless experiment in social engineering play out in many different areas of our society, but two stand out in particular:(1)the degradation of the press, rampant conspiracy theories and the near-failure of democratic institutions, and(2)the deterioration of mental health, especially among the young. Like the tobacco companies of the last century,Silicon Valley knows they are selling a product that is making us sick,and they continue to do so anyway.

By now, we all know this. We simply lump our problematic usage in with the other things we know we should do less of, like fast food, alcohol, and junk TV. Most of us can't go full Thoreau and move to the woods, so what's to be done?

In 1966, Timothy Leary coined the following phrase, a kind advertising tagline to reject advertising: "Turn on, tune in, drop out." What he meant was:

"Turn on" meant go within to activate your neural and genetic equipment. Become sensitive to the many and various levels of consciousness and the specific triggers engaging them. "Tune in" meant interact harmoniously with the world around you—externalize, materialize, express your new internal perspectives. "Drop out" suggested an active, selective, graceful process of detachment from involuntary or unconscious commitments. "Drop Out" meant self-reliance, a discovery of one's singularity, a commitment to mobility, choice, and change.

(Digital Minimalism)

In here, I think we find the explanation for why the usual remedies - digital detoxes and screen time limits - don't work. We can't change our behaviour without changing our intrinsic attitudes. If you need to be on LinkedIn to get (and keep) your job, then be on LinkedIn. But do so mindfully. Notice the ways it tries to grab and keep your attention. Notice how your mind responds when you read the latest outrage, and how small it becomes with just a little distance. Realize you are participating in an online game where you don't make - or even know - all the rules.

(Write on your own website)

This website is an exploration of that evolving situation, a discussion of technologies that can help us in our current predicament, and a node in that original social network: the world wide web. It attempts to be the change I want to see in the world: a website which I own and which connects to the wider web on my terms. Rewilding begins with planting a single tree.