In the 30+ talks I have done about social media in the last year, I have discussed many things. But the one theme that has been most prominent is the extrinsic, rather than intrinsic, complexity of the subject matter. There is nothing inherently challenging about how to use social media. Any practical or technical difficulties are well within the realm of what has become habitual for most within late modernity. What creates the challenge is negotiating the novelty of its enablements and constraints within a particular context.

However it is this novelty which also makes it difficult to exercise our reflexivity in the way we would about any comparable matter. This novelty gives rise to a species of what Jacob Silverman describes as ‘internet exceptionalism’:

What we call the Internet—and what web writers so lazily draw on for their work—is less a hive mind or a throng or a gathering place and more a personalized set of online maneuvers guided by algorithmic recommendations. When we look at our browser windows, we see our own particular interests, social networks, and purchasing histories scrambled up to stare back at us. But because we haven’t found a shared discourse to talk about this complex arrangement of competing influences and relationships, we reach for a term to contain it all. Enter “the Internet.”

The Internet is a linguistic trope but also an ideology and even a business plan. If your job is to create content out of (mostly) nothing, then you can always turn to something/someone that “the Internet” is mad or excited about. And you don’t have to worry about alienating readers because “the Internet” is so general, so vast and all-encompassing, that it always has room. This form of writing is widely adaptable. Now it’s common to see stories where “Facebook” or “Twitter” stands in for the Internet, offering approval or judgment on the latest viral schlock. Choose your (anec)data carefully, and Twitter can tell any story you want.

Much as “the Internet” gives us “a rhetorical life raft to hang onto” when discussing a subject that is vastly overhyped and invested with all manner of hopes and fears, so too does “social media” become a semantic crutch when making sense of the complex changes being brought about by digital communications within a particular institutional sphere. It’s similarly “easy, a convenient reference point” through which we gloss a complex set of changes in which technological possibilities are only one causal factor. By exceptionalising social media in this way, we “fail to relate this communication system, and everything that happens through it, to the society around us”.

This tendency seems even more pronounced when we talk about something as specific as the academy. The more we talk about “social media” as something which all academics should (or shouldn’t do) the more we obscure the changes it entails for academic labour and the organisations which academics work within. My ambition as someone who has written a book called Social Media for Academics? To get academics to stop talking about social media.

Another really interesting idea from Digital Methods by Richard Rogers. He dates the ‘death of cyberspace’ as symbolically taking place with the first legal assertion of geography over virtuality. From loc 833:

The symbolic end of cyberspace may be located in the lawsuit against Yahoo! in May 2000, brought before the Tribunal de Grande Instance de Paris by two French nongovernmental organizations, the French Union of Jewish Students and the League Against Racism and Anti-Semitism. The suit ultimately led to the ruling in November 2000 that called for software to block Yahoo!’s Nazi memorabilia pages from web users located in France. Web software now routinely knows a user’s geographical location, and acts upon the knowledge. You are reminded of the geographical awareness of the web when in France you type into the browser “” and are redirected to While it may be viewed as a practical and commercial effort to connect users with languages and local advertisements, the search engine’s IP-to-geolocation handling also may be described as the software-enabled demise of cyberspace as placeless space. With location-aware web devices (e.g., search engines), cyberspace becomes less an experience in displacement than one of re-placement—you are sent home by default.

Cyberspace withers and dies as the Internet is increasingly built around a locative infrastructure. As he puts it, ‘online’ which was “once routinely thought of and mapped as placeless, now foregrounds location”: from this point onwards the online/offline distinction becomes untenable. As he points out on loc 849, this change finds reflection in the names and metaphors associated with browsers:

Consider the names of the browsers from the 1990s and early 2000s: Netscape Navigator, Microsoft’s Internet Explorer, and Apple’s Safari, all inviting navigation of the sea, space, or jungle of information. More recently, in keeping with the demise of cyberspace, these cybergeographical devices have given way to browsers (or browser names) less concerned with navigating per se, such as Mozilla’s Firefox and Google’s Chrome.

This represents a significant change from the early metaphors or browsing. From loc 881:

Generally, thinking in terms of the web as a universe (to be charted) coincided with early ideas of the web as a hyperspace, where one would jump from one site to another at some great, unknown distance. With starry night site backdrops in abundance, the early web looked as if it would “[bring] us into new dimensions.”

In a recent post Nicholas Carr, author of The Shallows, offered a really interesting critique of what has become an increasingly influential idea within the sociological blogosphere: digital dualism. He begins with what is probably the clearest summary of digital dualism I have yet to encounter:

The distinction between online and offline is an outdated holdover from twenty years ago, when “going online,” through America Online or Prodigy or Compuserve, was like “going shopping.” It was an event with clear demarcations, in time and space, and it usually comprised a limited and fairly routinized set of activities. As Net access has expanded, to the point that, for many people, it is coterminous with existence itself, the line between online and offline has become so blurred that the terms have become useless or, worse, misleading.

The underlying point is one which I find glaringly obvious, as I’ve explained elsewhere:

Until the recent proliferation of mobile devices, it was necessary to sit down at a computer and stare at a screen to use the internet. This helps creates a sense of the internet as a ‘virtual’ space which is in some way disembodied. As someone who has had unpleasant back and neck problems from my posture when using a computer in the past, it’s always been obvious to me that using the internet is not at all disembodied. Though the obviousness of this has become utterly glaring, to the extent that I can’t quite take those who disagree seriously, since I started using an iPad and iPhone. Similarly the cyberpunk romanticisation of the ‘virtual’ plays a cultural role in propping up this ontological assumption.

However ‘digital dualism’ is a critical term, it conceptualises an ontological fallacy. The whole point of the concept is that digital dualists are mistaken. If the concept is useful, which I still think it is, it is because it helps elucidate how and why  ‘digital dualists’ are mistaken. Crucially I’d suggest that digital dualism is not always an assumption people are aware that they are making – in a similar way to the sexual assumption, it is architectonic, it is conceptually presupposed by certain views people are aware that they hold and it rail roads their thinking in certain directions. But this doesn’t mean that people reflectively think there are two separate ‘worlds’ which are entirely independent of each other.

I think the concept can be more useful understood as our deliberations being conceptually structured, they are concepts in social circulation which have a certain practical plausibility for some (i.e. if you primarily or entirely use the internet by sitting down at a desk, turning on a computer and logging on then the distinction between ‘online’ and ‘offline’ just makes sense) and so culture and practice reinforce each other. They are tools we think with, both in terms of our internal conversations and also how we externalise such inner conversations to external others. As a pretty strong claim, I’d suggest that ‘online’ and ‘offline’ are the sorts of terms we only ever really use when we’re talking to others about something which we’ve previously been introspecting about by ourselves.

The problem with ‘digital dualism’, as a catchy but flawed critical concept rather than as the attitude it designates, rests on its inadequacy as a term to make sense of this empirical complexity. It surely designates something real and interesting. But it does so at such a degree of abstraction that, when applied to empirical subject matter, it’s apparent sophisticated belies a strikingly limited interpretive repetoire. Carr makes this point usefully

 There is something tiresome about the self-righteousness of those who see, and promote, their devotion to the offline as a sign of their superiority. It’s like those who can’t wait to tell you that they don’t own a TV. But that’s a quirk that has more to do with individual personality than with some general and delusional dualist mentality. Jurgenson’s real mistake is to assume, grumpily, that pretty much everyone who draws a distinction in life between online experience and offline experience is in the grip of a superiority complex or is striking some other kind of pose. That provides him with an easy way to avoid discussing a far more probable and far more interesting interpretation of contemporary behavior and attitudes: that people really do feel a difference and even a conflict between their online experience and their offline experience. They’re not just engaged in posing or fetishization or valorization or some kind of contrived identity game. They’re not faking it. They’re expressing something important about themselves and their lives—something real. Jurgenson doesn’t want to admit that possibility. To him, people are just worshipping a phantom: “The notion of the offline as real and authentic is a recent invention, corresponding with the rise of the online.”

The difficulty here can, I’d argue, be understood in terms of Margaret Archer’s concept of ‘central conflation’. This is an idea she uses to make sense of what she takes to be mistaken orientates towards the structure and agency debate in sociology. This is the Wikipedia entry I wrote about this, which I’ll quote because this post is taking a lot longer to write than I initially planned:

Archer argues that much social theory suffers from the generic defect of conflation where, due to a reluctance or inability to theorize emergent relationships between social phenomena, causal autonomy is denied to one side of the relation. This can take the form of autonomy being denied to agency with causal efficacy only granted to structure (downwards conflation). Alternatively it can take the form of autonomy being denied to structure with causal efficacy only granted to agency (upwards conflation). Finally it may take the form of central conflation where structure and agency are seen as being co-constitutive i.e. structure is reproduced through agency which is simultaneously constrained and enabled by structure. The most prominent example of central conflation is the structuration theory of Anthony Giddens. While not objecting to this approach on philosophical grounds, Archer does object to it on analytical grounds: by conflating structure and agency into unspecified movements of co-constitution, central conflationary approaches preclude the possibility of sociological exploration of the relative influence of each aspect.

In contradistinction Archer offers the approach of analytical dualism.[1] While recognizing the interdependence of structure and agency (i.e. without people there would be no structures) she argues that they operate on different timescales. At any particular moment, antecedently existing structures constrain and enable agents, whose interactions produce intended and unintended consequences, which leads to structural elaboration and the reproduction or transformation of the initial structure. The resulting structure then provides a similar context of action for future agents. Likewise the initial antecedently existing structure was itself the outcome of structural elaboration resulting from the action of prior agents. So while structure and agency are interdependent, Archer argues that it is possible to unpick them analytically. By isolating structural and/or cultural factors which provide a context of action for agents, it is possible to investigate how those factors shape the subsequent interactions of agents and how those interactions in turn reproduce or transform the initial context. Archer calls this a morphogenetic sequence. Social processes are constituted through an endless array of such sequences but, as a consequence of their temporal ordering, it is possible to disengage any such sequence in order to investigate its internal causal dynamics. Through doing so, argues Archer, it’s possible to give empirical accounts of how structural and agential phenomena interlink over time rather than merely stating their theoretical interdependence.

My point is that the critique of ‘digital dualism’ can too easily conflate the ‘online’ and the ‘offline’. In doing so, we’re left with a situation where, yes, we’ve acknowledged their interpentration but because we’ve ‘transcended’ the dichotomy, we lose the ability to unpack the interplay between its two sides. The argument that “no, you’re wrong, these aren’t separate things at all!” is useful in so far as that it allows us to identify an interface between two things that were erroneously deemed to be distinct. Likewise, it can help us understand the mistakes which ensued from imputing a discreteness which was mistaken. But it becomes a problem when the argument which allows us to identify and critique comes to preclude our capacity to explain. It becomes a problem when our eagerness to explain “you’re so wrong, look how interpenetrative they are” obscures the variation and sequencing of that interpenetration. The ‘online’ and the ‘offline’ are not distinct. But the modalities of their interpenetration are empirically variable in a profound, interesting and important manner. We need a conceptual toolkit which allows us to both identify and unpack that empirical variability. I don’t think that the idea of ‘augmented reality’ (the ‘correct’ counterpart to digital dualism)  can provide these tools.