AOL Ends Dial-up Internet

When I read the news about AOL ending dial-up internet, two things happened simultaneously: (1) I could suddenly hear the chirps and chattering of a modem connecting to the internet, and (2) I struggled to believe that dial-up internet still existed. I mean, Who in the world still uses it?

AOL has decided to pull the service as of September 30 this year, ostensibly giving people time to find alternatives. I suppose that means that somebody isstill using dial-up. Me? It’s been at least a quarter century since I stopped plugging my computer into a phone line. About the only thing a dial-up internet connection would be good for these days is to send text-only messages. I’d be tempted to say that you could also use it for reading news websites, but those have become so feature-rich that a 56K baud modem isn’t going to cut it.

Reading about the termination of this seemingly antiquated service raised other questions. Back in the day, you paid for internet service by the minute. So you would first write all your emails, connect to the web, press Send, and then promptly disconnect.

I’m reminded that technology comes and goes, with the rate of change apparently accelerating. In the world of audio, vinyl was king for a very long time. Eight-track tapes followed, then cassettes, followed by CDs, followed by MP3 players. Now all-day connectivity has put our music into streaming services.

The same thing has happened with digitally based Bible study. It used to be that you had to purchase Bible software and install it. Then Bible websites made things a little easier, followed by intensive (and expensive) software packages such as Logos and the White Estate CD-ROM. Just try to think back to the ways you’ve studied your Bible with digital assistance during the past few decades, and you’ll notice something important: few people, if any, still keep a physical concordance handy, because it seems so unnecessary now.

Overall I’ve enjoyed the advent of technology. I’ve used it to its full potential. I’ll admit, I was at first hesitant to give up my trusty typewriter; but my wife eventually convinced me that preachers with a PC wasted far less time in sermon preparation. I bit on her advice and was quickly hooked. 

There’s a definite downside, however: as technology improves, we have to rely on our own brains less and less. Consider the GPS you have in your phone. Once upon a time you had to use a map and navigate the streets of a strange city by visualizing the route in your head. Once you’d arrived at a destination, chances were that you didn’t need the map to find your way back out. With the GPS, however, we can stop paying attention to navigation almost entirely, and many of us would be hard-pressed to describe how we managed to travel to a given location.
The same holds true for phone numbers. Once upon a time you had to memorize important numbers or jot them on a sheet of paper near the phone. Now? Few people bother to learn them by heart, because your phone has a contact database. I have no idea what my own daughters’ phone numbers are, because I call them by tapping their names. The act of making contact no longer requires the same mental skills that it once did. That’s not necessarily bad; it’s just interesting to note.

Some have conjectured that something similar happened with the advent of literacy. Once upon a time, the theory goes, we had to remember everything that was important to us. Stories were passed down from generation to generation orally, often with the help of a bard or community storyteller. Once we began symbolically recording our ideas in books, we didn’t have to rely on our memories nearly so much, and it has weakened our capacity for things such as recall and memorization.

Use It or Lose It

When it comes to the Scriptures, they were originally provided in scrolls—at least in the Old Testament period. (The New Testament church shifted to codices,the paginated form with which we are now familiar.) Since it was devoid of chapter and verse markings, you had to become quite familiar with an entire book of the Bible if you wanted to find important previously read sections. In my younger days I highlighted key passages carefully so that I could easily find them later.

Today? Remembering a single word from a passage can help you quickly search for it. And somehow, easily highlighting many hundreds of passages has not made them more memorable—not the way it did on a physical page. 

Not to be an alarmist (the general tenor of prophecy in the Bible is hope, not alarm), but let’s suppose someone decides to explode a high-altitude nuclear device, causing an electromagnetic pulse that wipes out everything electrical. It wouldn’t even have to be a human-made device. Back in 1859 a massive spike in solar activity wiped out telegraph systems across the Western world—an incident now referred to as the Carrington Event. 

It happens. And of course, if you’re like me, you’ll probably still have a physical copy of the Bible lying around. It might feel strange in your hand if you’ve become accustomed to your phone, but you’ll have it. The question will be: How familiar will the Bible seem when you’ve returned to an analogue version? Will you be able to find the Bible promises that have meant so much to you? If you’re giving someone a Bible study, will you be able to find the relevant texts? 

I’m not condemning digital Bible study—not at all. Most Sabbaths I carry just an iPad to church, and I enjoy having my favorite research tools readily available. I’ll use it to enlarge my understanding of a point being made or occasionally to fact-check something that didn’t quite sound kosher. I love the technology that has made my studies so much more efficient.

I’m familiar with the tools, but am I as familiar with the text as I once was? Here’s a test: Back in the day, Christian kids were required to memorize the books of the Bible in order, so that they’d be able to find them. On a phone you have to type in only a couple of letters to find a book such as Obadiah. Grab a physical Bible and see how much you have to leaf back and forth to find it.

I’m sure that some will react by suggesting that I’m stuck in the past, and perhaps I am. But this is not entirely analogous to the loss of things such as cursive writing or telling time on an analogue clock. Most of us don’t read sundials because we’ve never needed them, and many things from my childhood no longer serve a useful purpose.

Other things? I’m convinced that we are becoming too dependent for our own good.

Another example: food preservation. When I was a kid, my parents spent long hours each summer canning and freezing the produce that grew in our garden. It was enough to live on all winter long. Now? Few people see the need; we find inexpensive canned and frozen foods at local grocery stores.

But when COVID hit, supply chains were suddenly disrupted. I remember walking into a grocery store during my lunch hour to find the produce department completely empty, with the exception of a single bag of yellow onions. That was it. It looked like pictures I’d seen back in the 1970s of barely stocked Soviet grocery stores.

The shortages following COVID lasted only a matter of weeks, but if they had persisted, how many of us would be equipped to grow and preserve our own food? What have we lost in the name of advancement?

Again, just to be clear: I’m excited about progress. I love the fact that so much of what was laborious in my childhood is now simple and nearly effortless. I’m incredibly thankful for high-speed gigabyte fiber connections, and apart from the nostalgic memory of a noisy modem, I do not wish to return to CompuServe or AOL. And all of the fearmongering about AI aside, I can hardly wait to see what tomorrow will bring. 

I’m also aware that we all have different learning styles. My wife, for example, can readily listen to audiobooks, but I find my mind wandering without the printed word in front of me. We each may absorb information differently: some are auditory, others visual, some even primarily kinetic. I am not suggesting that your way of learning is incorrect. I simply wish to be aware of what we’re losing in the process and ask important questions about how it might affect those quiet moments I spend alone with God each morning. God is a personal being, after all, and not a ChatGPT search. You can no more deepen your relationship with Him by merely querying a digital service than you can build a marriage using text messages alone. It requires you, in person, to be present for your spouse—as well as the One who longs to commune with you.

“Open my eyes, that I may behold wondrous things out of your law” (Ps. 119:18, ESV).