From Web to Cocoon
The Metamorphosis of Our Digital Lives
In a recent interview with Steven Bartlett (Diary of a CEO)1, Yuval Noah Harari—historian, philosopher, and author of Sapiens and Homo Deus—offered a provocative metaphor for our age. He suggested that we’ve moved from the “web” to the “cocoon.” This shift, subtle yet profound, encapsulates a transformation that’s reshaping our world in ways we’re only beginning to understand.
I’ve referenced Harari before and love to discuss his books and thought leadership, so forgive more of the same. I haven’t read his new book, Nexus: A Brief History of Information Networks from the Stone Age to AI, but it’s hard to deny that it is saying something cogent about our current circumstance. When I read or listen to Harari, my repeated thought is, “yes, in a nutshell, this is what’s happening.”
Remember the early days of the internet? We marveled at the World Wide Web, a vast network connecting us all, promising a new era of global understanding and shared knowledge. But something changed. Our digital experiences, once expansive and exploratory, have become increasingly insular and isolating.
Harari’s cocoon metaphor is unsettlingly apt. We find ourselves wrapped in personalized digital environments, algorithms curating our feeds, tailoring our news, and shaping our worldviews. The very technology that promised to connect us is now, paradoxically, dividing us into separate realities.
This metamorphosis from web to cocoon isn’t just a cute analogy—it’s a fundamental shift with far-reaching implications for democracy, society, and our sense of shared reality.
Consider how we consume information. In the age of the web, we sought out diverse sources, cross-referenced facts, and engaged with differing viewpoints. The cocoon era, by contrast, feeds us a steady diet of information that confirms our existing beliefs. It’s comfortable, reassuring—and dangerously limiting.
Harari also talks about AI in the conversation and, evidently, in his upcoming book. But not the fabulist, sci-fi supercomputer that dominates humanity from a Hollywood blockbuster—but a far more boring, and therefore more pernicious, kind of bureaucratic AI. One that rules the world through the mundane, making abrupt, life-changing decisions about your banking, employment, passport, driving licence, property ownership, and other critical yet tedious details because it has decided, on the weight of probability, that you might not be exactly as you are supposed to be on paper. In other words, you are human. It’s all reminiscent of the procedural nightmares of Franz Kafka.
This is what cocooning will do, as we absolve ourselves of the responsibility of self-government and hand over the reins of these messy, increasingly complex and frankly thankless tasks of administering society over to artificial intelligence. Furthermore, democracy thrives on shared truths and common ground. But what happens when we’re all living in different informational ecosystems? How can we have meaningful debates or make collective decisions when we can't even agree on basic facts?
The cocoon doesn’t just separate us from those with opposing views—it can isolate us from reality itself. In our digitally-curated bubbles, it’s all too easy to lose touch with the messy, complex world beyond our screens. We risk becoming like the citizens of Plato’s cave, mistaking shadows for substance.
As writers and thinkers, we face a particular challenge in this new landscape. How do we reach audiences fragmented across countless digital cocoons? How do we craft narratives that resonate across these divides? Perhaps more importantly, how do we resist the temptation to retreat into our own comfortable cocoons, surrounding ourselves only with like-minded voices?
The shift from web to cocoon also raises profound questions about identity and self. In the cocoon era, our digital selves—curated, filtered, and algorithm-approved—can begin to feel more “real” than our messy, contradictory offline selves. What does this mean for authenticity, for genuine human connection, for our understanding of who we are?
Harari’s metaphor leaves us with more questions than answers, which is perhaps as it should be. We’re in uncharted territory, navigating a transformation as significant as the invention of the printing press or the dawn of mass media.
But unlike a real cocoon, which eventually opens to release a transformed creature, our digital cocoons risk becoming permanent. The challenge we face is how to break free—how to maintain our connections to a broader, shared reality while still benefiting from the personalized advantages of our digital age.
There are no easy solutions here. Regulation might help curb some of the more pernicious effects of algorithmic curation, but it can’t solve the underlying human tendencies that make cocoons so appealing. Education in digital literacy and critical thinking is crucial, but it’s a long-term project in a world that seems to change by the minute.
Perhaps the first step is simply awareness—recognizing the cocoons we inhabit and making conscious efforts to peek outside them. It might mean actively seeking out perspectives that challenge us, engaging in good-faith discussions with those we disagree with, or simply spending more time in the messy, unfiltered world beyond our screens.
As we navigate this transition from web to cocoon, we must grapple with fundamental questions about the kind of society we want to build. Do we want a world of isolated digital tribes, each living in its own reality? Or can we find a way to maintain our connections, our shared truths, our common humanity?
In nature, the cocoon is a temporary state. It’s a place of transformation, not a permanent home. Perhaps, if we’re thoughtful and intentional about how we use our technology, we can emerge from our digital cocoons not as isolated individuals, but as a more connected, empathetic, and enlightened society.
But that’s a big “if.” The path from cocoon to butterfly is far from guaranteed. It will require conscious effort, critical thinking, and a willingness to step outside our comfort zones. As we continue this grand experiment in digital living, the stakes couldn’t be higher. Our democracy, our society, and our very sense of shared reality hang in the balance.
Writing
9/10. I am in it.
Reading and Listening
Bad Cree by Jessica Johns.
The Two Towers, narrated by Andy Serkis.
Quote of the Week
“Questions you cannot answer are usually far better for you than answers you cannot question.“
― 21 Lessons for the 21st Century by Yuval Noah Harari
I dig this interview series, but dislike how they are promoted and marketed. This one in particular uses clickbait wording like, “This Election Will Tear The Country Apart! AI Will Control You By 2034!” The actual conversation is far more nuanced and tempered.