jordan peterson
par billygrahm2655Ladies and gentlemen,
We stand today, bewildered — intoxicated, even — by a technology so pervasive, so insidiously seductive, that we scarcely comprehend its power over us. I speak, of course, of the Internet — that vast, digital cathedral of distraction, novelty, and pseudo-connection.
Let us not be naïve: we are not simply using the Internet. It is, in many profound ways, using us. And if we do not reckon with this fact — urgently, courageously — we risk sacrificing our very capacity to think, to attend, and to act as sovereign individuals.
Consider this: the human brain is the most complex structure in the known universe. It is shaped — sculpted, even — by what it habitually attends to. The ancient wisdom of neuroplasticity tells us: neurons that fire together, wire together. Well, what does that mean in the age of infinite scrolling, ephemeral likes, and algorithmic outrage? The human brain is not a static organ. It is a living, adaptive system that changes continuously in response to how we use it. Neuroscientists have long understood that the brain’s neural pathways strengthen and solidify based on repeated behaviors, thoughts, and experiences. This principle — often summarized by the phrase “neurons that fire together wire together” — explains why repeated practice builds skill, why habits become second nature, and why our attention is so crucial to our development as thinking, feeling beings. In other words, what you choose to focus on does not merely reflect who you are; it actively constructs who you become.
In the past, this process unfolded more or less naturally within a context of books, conversation, art, nature, and contemplation. While distraction certainly existed, it did not exist at the scale and intensity we now face. The Internet, and especially the modern smartphone-driven, social-media-saturated version of it, represents a radical transformation in the environment in which our brains develop and operate. It bombards us with stimuli engineered specifically to capture and hold our attention, regardless of whether that attention serves our deepest interests or aligns with our consciously chosen goals.
Consider what happens every time you open a social media app. A thousand engineers and behavioral psychologists have worked tirelessly to ensure that your mind encounters an endless feed of novelty — images, comments, outrage, laughter, heartbreak — all interwoven to keep your thumb flicking and your eyes darting. Unlike the static page of a book, which waits patiently for your focused engagement, the digital feed competes aggressively for your attention by constantly refreshing, personalizing, and surprising you.
This has profound consequences for the way your brain processes information. Sustained attention is a cornerstone of higher-order thinking: reflection, problem-solving, creativity, empathy. These functions require the ability to hold ideas in mind, connect them, challenge them, and integrate them into a coherent worldview. When your attention is continually fragmented by pop-up notifications, trending headlines, and the next dopamine-boosting meme, these deeper processes are starved of the uninterrupted mental space they require to flourish.
Moreover, your brain adapts to this new mode of engagement. What you practice, you become. If you habitually train your brain to switch tasks every few seconds, to skim headlines without reading the article, to glance at comment sections without digesting the full argument, you wire your mind for surface-level thinking. Over time, sustained focus becomes not merely difficult but uncomfortable. Boredom feels intolerable because your mind craves the next spike of novelty. The muscles of your attention, so to speak, atrophy through disuse.
This is not mere theory; it is supported by a growing body of research. Studies have shown that heavy Internet and smartphone users often exhibit reduced capacity for deep reading and concentration. They are more prone to distraction even when the phone is out of sight but within reach — a testament to how thoroughly this environment has conditioned their attention. Students who multitask with digital devices while studying, for instance, perform worse on tasks requiring understanding and retention. Adults who compulsively check notifications report higher levels of stress and lower levels of satisfaction with their work and relationships.
But the problem extends beyond academic performance or productivity. There is a moral and existential dimension here. If your attention is continually hijacked by trivialities, you risk losing touch with what truly matters in life: relationships, meaningful work, and personal growth. The Internet’s relentless pull toward novelty and instant gratification can drown out the quieter, more enduring signals of genuine purpose. The philosopher Simone Weil once wrote, “Attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity.” To truly attend to another person, an idea, or a craft is to give something of your very self. It is to participate in life fully, deeply, and with integrity.
When the Internet trains you instead to skim and swipe, it undermines this essential human capacity. In doing so, it also reshapes your sense of self. Rather than being the master of your own mind, you become a passive consumer of fragments. Your opinions may come prepackaged in slogans, your emotions manipulated by outrage cycles, your time devoured by distractions you did not consciously choose. Over days, months, and years, this fractured attention erodes the inner coherence that makes genuine autonomy possible.
It is important to acknowledge that the Internet is not inherently evil. It is an extraordinary human invention — a vast repository of knowledge, a bridge between distant minds, a source of genuine community for many who would otherwise be isolated. It can expand your intellectual horizons if you use it intentionally. But precisely because it is so powerful, it demands a correspondingly powerful discipline to use it well. It must remain your tool, not your master.
Reclaiming your attention, then, is not a matter of moral panic but of personal responsibility and self-preservation. It begins with awareness: understanding how your brain is wired by repeated behaviors, noticing when you feel the tug of distraction, recognizing when you are reaching for your phone not out of purpose but out of reflexive craving. From there, it requires deliberate effort: creating boundaries for device use, scheduling time for deep, uninterrupted work, practicing being present with people and ideas. It might feel uncomfortable at first, even boring — but that discomfort is the sign of your attention muscles reawakening.
In the end, the stakes are high. Your attention is finite, but the Internet’s appetite for it is infinite. If you do not learn to protect it, to nurture it, and to direct it toward what truly matters, you risk living a life dictated by algorithms rather than by your own considered judgment. The choice is not easy, but it is profoundly necessary: to take back your attention is to take back your mind — and with it, your freedom to live deliberately, think clearly, and act wisely in a world designed to keep you perpetually distracted.Human beings have always been drawn to novelty. From an evolutionary standpoint, our ancestors needed to be alert to new information in their environment — a sudden sound in the bushes could signal danger, a fresh fruit on a tree could promise nourishment, an unfamiliar path might lead to opportunity or threat. This bias toward novelty kept our species alive and adaptable. But what once protected us in the wild has become a vulnerability in the digital age. The Internet, and especially social media platforms, exploit this ancient instinct, transforming a natural curiosity about the new and unexpected into a compulsion that feeds endless distraction and superficial pleasure.
At the heart of this manipulation lies the brain’s reward system, specifically the neurotransmitter dopamine. Dopamine is not, as many people believe, the chemical of pleasure itself; rather, it is the messenger of anticipation. It fuels our motivation to seek rewards and drives us to repeat behaviors that promise a payoff. When we scroll through social media or check notifications, we are not simply enjoying the content; we are addicted to the possibility that the next piece of information will bring a burst of novelty, surprise, or social validation. This is why one can spend hours lost in an app without remembering most of what was seen. It is not the content that hooks us — it is the unpredictable reward, the next shiny thing.
This mechanism mirrors the principles that underlie gambling addiction. Slot machines, for instance, are designed to deliver rewards at variable intervals — sometimes you win big, sometimes nothing — and this unpredictability keeps people pulling the lever long after rational sense would dictate stopping. Social media feeds, notification badges, and video autoplay operate on the same principle. They create an environment of infinite possibility with intermittent reinforcement, a perfect storm for habit formation and behavioral dependency.
Over time, this reliance on constant novelty rewires the brain’s reward circuits. Activities that once felt satisfying — reading a book, having a long conversation, focusing on a challenging project — begin to feel dull by comparison. Why invest an hour in a demanding task when a few swipes can produce an immediate, effortless burst of interest? Why tolerate boredom when stimulation is always within reach? The result is a decline in our tolerance for delayed gratification, which is deeply troubling because the ability to delay gratification is one of the strongest predictors of success and well-being in life.
Delaying gratification means resisting a small, immediate reward in favor of a larger, future benefit. It is the foundation of studying for exams, saving money, building relationships, and pursuing meaningful goals. Children who can resist eating a marshmallow now to get two later — the famous marshmallow experiment — tend to do better academically and socially later in life. Adults who can persist through discomfort and monotony to master a skill or complete a project achieve more enduring satisfaction and self-respect.
When the Internet conditions us to expect constant novelty and instant responses, it undercuts this vital life skill. We become less willing to endure the inevitable stretches of tedium that accompany meaningful work. We lose patience with the slow, cumulative process of real learning and creativity. Instead, we develop a restless mind, always chasing the next spike of stimulation, unable to settle into deep flow or sustained contemplation.
This addiction to novelty has broader social and emotional consequences as well. Relationships, for example, thrive on consistency, presence, and the willingness to work through misunderstandings — qualities that are incompatible with a mind conditioned to jump from one source of excitement to another. It is easier to abandon a conversation or ghost a friend than to sit with awkward feelings and repair a bond. Likewise, constant novelty can make us more impulsive in our opinions and judgments. When we are bombarded with headlines, memes, and sound bites, we may react emotionally and share outrage before verifying facts or thinking critically. This fuels the spread of misinformation and deepens social polarization.
Furthermore, the Internet does not deliver novelty neutrally. Its algorithms are designed to feed us what keeps us clicking — often content that provokes outrage, envy, or anxiety. These emotions capture our attention far more powerfully than calm or reasoned discourse. So not only are we addicted to novelty, but we are addicted to the most emotionally charged, provocative forms of novelty. This constant emotional roller coaster can leave us feeling drained, anxious, and perpetually dissatisfied.
Recognizing this pattern is the first step toward freedom. We must understand that our craving for the next notification or headline is not simply a harmless habit but a deeply conditioned behavioral loop that exploits our evolutionary wiring. Breaking this loop requires conscious effort and the cultivation of new habits that strengthen our ability to sit with boredom and delay gratification.
Practical steps might include setting boundaries for when and how we use our devices, such as turning off non-essential notifications, setting dedicated times to check messages, or using apps that block distracting sites during work hours. More importantly, we must actively train our minds to appreciate and even enjoy activities that do not provide instant rewards: reading long-form books, practicing a skill, engaging in hobbies that require patience, or spending device-free time with loved ones. These pursuits may not deliver a rush of dopamine every few seconds, but they nourish deeper forms of satisfaction and resilience.
Finally, we must teach ourselves and our children that boredom is not an enemy but a gateway. When we stop reflexively filling every spare moment with quick hits of novelty, we create mental space for daydreaming, reflection, and creativity — the very states of mind from which true insight and fulfillment emerge. To reclaim our capacity for delayed gratification is to reclaim our capacity to live fully, rather than merely react to the next fleeting stimulus. In a world engineered to feed our addiction to novelty, choosing to resist is not just a personal act of self-care but a profound declaration of freedom and human dignity.When people think about distraction, they often treat it as a harmless inconvenience: a few wasted minutes on social media, a wandering mind in a meeting, a tendency to check messages during dinner. But distraction, when habitual and chronic, has consequences far deeper than wasted time. It weakens our capacity to think independently, to protect ourselves from manipulation, and to stand firm in our own values and beliefs. In this sense, the erosion of attention makes us profoundly vulnerable — not just as individuals, but as citizens and communities.
Attention is the gateway to understanding. Every idea you hold, every belief you defend, every decision you make is shaped by what you pay attention to and how long you can sustain that focus. If your attention is fragile, your thinking becomes shallow. You become more reactive, more suggestible, more prone to confusion and emotional swings. This is precisely the state in which manipulation flourishes.
Consider how much of the modern Internet economy depends on seizing and monetizing your attention. Advertisers do not simply want you to notice their product once; they want you to be so distracted by endless messages and seductive visuals that you lose the ability to pause and ask, “Do I really want this? Do I really need this?” Similarly, news outlets — desperate for clicks and shares — no longer compete to inform you with sober, carefully checked facts. Instead, they compete to provoke you: with outrage, scandal, fear, and moral panic. These emotions hijack your attention instantly, leaving little space for reasoned evaluation.
This pattern does not stop with commercial advertising or clickbait headlines. It also fuels political and ideological manipulation. Bad actors — whether they are unscrupulous politicians, conspiracy theorists, or trolls — thrive in an environment where people react impulsively rather than think carefully. When our attention is fractured by constant notifications, sensational posts, and polarizing content, we lose the mental quiet needed to question information, weigh evidence, and detect falsehoods. Instead, we become quick to adopt the loudest or most emotionally charged story — often without realizing we have done so.
Studies in psychology and media research confirm this vulnerability. People who multitask frequently online are not only more distractible but also more likely to believe and share misinformation. They are more easily swayed by emotionally manipulative content and less skilled at distinguishing trustworthy sources from deceptive ones. The very cognitive stamina required to cross-check facts, consider context, and detect bias is weakened when attention is constantly interrupted.
This loss of mental autonomy has significant consequences for democracy. A healthy democratic society relies on informed citizens capable of weighing competing claims, listening to opposing views, and participating in reasoned debate. When public attention is scattered and superficial, we become easy targets for demagogues who promise simple answers to complex problems. Polarization deepens, discourse shrinks to slogans, and fear or anger becomes the dominant currency of politics.
At a more personal level, the same dynamic erodes our sense of self-direction. Imagine a young student who sits down to study but checks their phone every five minutes. The habit seems harmless, but the student is training their brain to tolerate only brief bursts of concentration. Over time, deep study feels impossible. Without the ability to sustain focus, mastery of complex material becomes unreachable. So too with adults at work: the more we permit ourselves to be pulled in a dozen directions, the more our work becomes reactive rather than creative or strategic. We become busy without being truly productive.
Even relationships suffer when attention is compromised. True listening — the kind that builds trust, intimacy, and understanding — demands that we give another person our undivided presence. Yet many find it increasingly difficult to sit through an entire conversation without glancing at a screen. When this becomes habitual, it signals to others that they are less important than whatever notification might arrive. This subtle but constant neglect weakens the bonds that hold families, friendships, and communities together.
What makes this vulnerability so insidious is that it often masquerades as freedom. We believe we are freely choosing what to click, what to watch, what to share. But in reality, our attention is being shaped by algorithms designed to maximize engagement, not wisdom. These systems learn, with astonishing precision, what triggers our curiosity, fear, or desire — and they serve us more of it, keeping us trapped in cycles of distraction and reactivity.
This does not mean we should reject the Internet outright. It is a tool of incredible potential: for learning, for connection, for innovation. But we must recognize that, like any powerful tool, it carries risks that demand conscious management. If we do not learn to discipline our attention, someone else will direct it for us — toward their profit, their ideology, or their influence.
Reclaiming our mental sovereignty starts with small, practical steps. We can turn off unnecessary notifications, create device-free zones during meals or conversations, and carve out daily time for uninterrupted work or study. We can practice single-tasking rather than multitasking, training our minds to linger with one thought or task until it is fully understood or completed. We can also cultivate mental habits that protect us from manipulation: asking ourselves who benefits from a piece of content, double-checking sources, pausing before sharing provocative posts.
At a deeper level, we must learn to value attention not merely as a productivity tool but as the foundation of a free and thoughtful life. To guard our attention is to guard our ability to know ourselves, to choose wisely, and to live according to values we have examined and embraced. It is the starting point for resisting manipulation and for nurturing the clear, independent judgment that modern life so desperately needs.
In a world that profits from your distraction, your focused attention is an act of defiance — and ultimately, an act of freedom. To protect it is not easy, but it is necessary if we wish to remain more than passive vessels for other people’s agendas. The future belongs to those who can hold their focus when everything conspires to scatter it. It is up to each of us to decide whether we will be mastered by our distractions or master them in turn.In discussions about how the internet affects our minds and behaviors, the burden of change is often placed entirely on individuals. We are told to put our phones away, turn off notifications, practice digital detoxes, and relearn how to concentrate. These are all valuable steps, but they overlook an uncomfortable truth: the platforms and devices we use are not neutral tools. They are deliberately designed to capture and hold our attention, even against our better judgment. Therefore, if we want to address the deeper problem of how the internet is breaking our brains, we must demand accountability not only from ourselves but also from the companies that profit from our distraction and compulsive engagement.
To understand why this matters, consider how most modern internet companies make money. Platforms like Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, YouTube, and countless others rely primarily on advertising revenue. Their business model depends on keeping users engaged for as long as possible because every second you spend scrolling, watching, or clicking generates more data about you and more opportunities to sell your attention to advertisers. This creates a fundamental conflict between your well-being and the company’s financial incentives. What is good for your mental health — logging off, focusing deeply, spending time offline — is bad for their profits.
As a result, these platforms invest enormous resources into perfecting techniques that hijack your natural psychological tendencies. They employ algorithms that prioritize content likely to provoke strong emotional reactions, whether that reaction is outrage, fear, envy, or desire. They design infinite scrolling feeds that remove natural stopping cues, making it easy to lose track of time. They send push notifications calculated to trigger a reflexive check of your phone, often by leveraging social validation — someone liked your photo, someone replied to your comment. These design choices are not accidental; they are backed by behavioral science and A/B testing to maximize your engagement, regardless of how this affects your attention span, mental health, or sense of control.
Some defenders of the industry argue that people are ultimately responsible for how they use these tools. There is truth to this — personal responsibility does matter. But when an entire environment is engineered to exploit our deepest psychological vulnerabilities, willpower alone is not enough. Telling a teenager to resist TikTok or an adult to stop compulsively checking work emails at midnight ignores the power imbalance between individual self-control and the vast machinery of persuasive technology. It is like asking someone to limit their intake of junk food while living in a house where every room is lined with candy dispensers that refill themselves automatically.
This is why individual self-regulation must be paired with systemic reform. Other industries with products that pose risks to public health are regulated to protect consumers from harm. We impose rules on food companies to prevent misleading labels and harmful ingredients. We regulate the tobacco industry to limit advertising to minors and require warnings about addiction. We set safety standards for cars and medicine. Yet in the digital sphere, many tech companies still operate with minimal accountability for how their products affect our mental and social well-being.
We need to challenge this status quo. Policymakers, regulators, and the public must demand that technology companies take meaningful responsibility for the psychological effects of their designs. This does not mean banning social media or stifling innovation. It means creating rules and incentives that align the profit motives of companies with the health and autonomy of users.
What might ethical responsibility look like in practice? First, it could mean greater transparency. Platforms should be required to disclose how their algorithms prioritize and deliver content. Users have a right to know why they see certain posts, videos, or ads and how their data is used to shape these recommendations.
Second, it could involve giving users genuine control. Instead of burying privacy settings deep within confusing menus, platforms could be mandated to make them clear and accessible. Users should have the option to turn off autoplay, limit personalized feeds, or choose chronological timelines without having to navigate hidden toggles or tricks designed to revert them back to addictive defaults.
Third, it could mean restricting manipulative features altogether. Just as there are limits on what kinds of advertisements can target children, there could be rules against designing features that are knowingly addictive, especially for young users whose brains are still developing. For instance, disabling endless scrolling by default or banning push notifications that exploit social pressure would be small but powerful steps toward creating a healthier digital environment.
Fourth, there should be accountability when harm occurs. Companies that knowingly deploy algorithms which amplify disinformation, hate speech, or mental health harms should not be able to hide behind claims of neutrality. Like other industries, they should be held liable when their practices cause demonstrable public damage.
Finally, fostering ethical responsibility means changing how these companies measure success internally. As long as the sole metric of success is growth in user engagement and time spent on the platform, there will always be a perverse incentive to make products more addictive. Investors, boards, and leaders should be pressured — by policy, by shareholders, and by public demand — to prioritize user well-being alongside profit.
Of course, real change will require a cultural shift too. Citizens must recognize that digital well-being is a public good worth fighting for. Parents, educators, and communities must push for digital literacy education so that young people understand how persuasive technology works and can build habits to resist its pull. Users can organize and vote with their feet by choosing services that respect their time and attention.
In the end, the goal is not to demonize technology or to retreat into nostalgia for a pre-internet world. It is to insist that tools designed to connect and empower us must not simultaneously undermine our mental clarity, freedom, and social trust. By demanding ethical responsibility from tech companies, we assert that human flourishing must take precedence over clicks and ad revenue. It is a fight worth having — because the stakes are nothing less than the integrity of our minds and the health of our societies.
