When I jettisoned Facebook some weeks ago, I considered composing a self-explanatory statement—an anti-Facebook apologia. I later dismissed the idea—mostly because I feared it would prove a silly, self-satisfied, time-wasting, pontificating exercise (which nearly sums up my objections to Facebook itself). Nevertheless, while discussing the subject at length with friends (real friends!), I was asked to give at least a brief list of my objections. Here are the requested talking points in all of their questionable (and mercifully brief) glory:

  • Facebook as solipsistic: I am doing this, I am doing that. I feel this, I think this, I want to appear as something distinct, therefore I assert that I have done or am doing any of the above. This is my complaint against most diary-esque blogs as well—the idea that my unformed opinions matter so very much that I needs must tell you of them at every possible opportunity.
  • Facebook as antisocial: As a graduated homeschooler, “antisocial” is not a word thrown about lightly. We were accused of it often enough through grade school (usually by random people in grocery stores who administered the term after a thirty- or forty-minute conversation so we would be sure not to think that they found us intelligent or well-spoken). Nevertheless, it may be applied here and with cause. Virtual reality is not reality. Instantaneous intimacy is not closeness. “Poking” is not physical contact. “Friending” does not make friends.
  • Facebook as glorifying idleness: First of all, this whole system operates according to the idea that if I am not doing something status-worthy, I’m not fulfilling my existence. It is no longer sufficient to be—we have to be doing. This is the triumph of utilitarianism over contemplation! Moreover, in terms of actual utilitarianism, Facebook is infuriatingly inefficient! The inanity of the thing was actually the deciding factor for me; I realized that I rarely logged into my account—and then only with exceeding reluctance and the firm conviction that I was wasting time. I had retained it to keep in touch with my legion of cousins; and yet letters from the same cousins remained unanswered for weeks.
  • Facebook as a near occasion of sin: Setting aside the obvious temptation toward sloth and all the lecherous offerings displayed in the webpage margins, the opportunities for Facebook-bred sin abound! Discontent with one’s job, one’s boyfriend, one’s family, one’s life. Envy of other people, their parties, their trips, their friends, their digital pets. Impatience with an uneventful sort of day. Intemperance. Neglect of one’s obligations. The willful ignoring of reality. Boredom. And all with such abysmal grammar, too!

For Facebook rehab I prescribe: Authentic conversations, multiple-hand solitaire games, long walks, a steady course of reading (with regular doses of Chesterton), and, above all, silence.
 
Now, I’m finished. Farewell, Facebook. I don’t miss you. If anyone wants to debate any of these points, I recommend that you talk to me directly and don’t bother trying to write on my wall—it isn’t there. Signing out here.