I don't really like encouraging people to go on the Internet too

“I don’t really like encouraging people to go on the Internet too much, we’re constantly distracted with the Internet and computers.” – Ben Howard

In this quiet yet piercing declaration, Ben Howard speaks not as a rebel against progress, but as a guardian of the human spirit. His words rise like a soft lament against the hum of machines—a reminder that in our chase for connection, we have lost the stillness that once bound us to the earth. When he warns of being “constantly distracted with the Internet and computers,” he is not condemning technology itself, but the fog it casts over our minds, the restlessness it breeds in our hearts. For what is distraction but the theft of our most precious possession—our attention, the light of consciousness itself?

The Internet, that vast web of voices and visions, was once born of hope—to link the minds of men, to spread wisdom across the world. Yet, as with all great inventions, it carries a double edge. It can enlighten, but also enslave. It can connect, but also consume. Howard’s words emerge from the heart of this paradox: he sees a generation surrounded by light yet growing dim within. The more we reach into the screen, the less we reach into ourselves. The more we scroll through endless worlds, the less we dwell fully in our own.

The ancients, though they lived without electricity or signal, knew well this danger. They spoke of the “demon of distraction”, the restless spirit that lures the mind from presence. In the monasteries of the desert, early monks called it acedia—the noonday demon, a shadow that crept into the soul when one’s thoughts wandered too far from purpose. And now, in our digital age, that same shadow flickers on every screen. Where once it whispered through idleness, now it shouts through notifications. The result is the same: a mind divided, a heart unanchored.

Consider the tale of Siddhartha Gautama, the Buddha, who sat beneath the Bodhi tree seeking enlightenment. As he meditated, the demon Mara appeared, offering visions of desire, fear, and power—all to distract him from awakening. Each temptation was like a reflection upon a screen, shimmering and false. But Siddhartha did not move; he remained still until the illusions faded and truth revealed itself. This ancient story mirrors our modern plight. The Internet, like Mara, flashes endless temptations before us—news, images, comparisons, desires—all to pull us away from the sacred silence where wisdom grows.

When Howard says he does not encourage people to go online too much, he speaks as one who values presence over performance, silence over stimulation. He knows that creativity, love, and peace do not grow in the glare of screens but in the quiet soil of solitude. His art—woven with the sound of waves, wind, and longing—is born from listening to life itself, not the noise of the digital world. He reminds us that the mind, like a garden, needs time away from the crowd to bear true fruit. Constant distraction is like constant sunlight—too much of it burns the roots of being.

And yet, his warning is not a call to reject the modern world, but to reclaim balance. The Internet is not evil, but it must be mastered, not obeyed. We must learn, as the ancients did with fire, to use it without letting it consume us. The wise do not fear the flame—they tend it carefully, keeping it within bounds. So too must we learn to limit our screens, to give time to nature, to the breath, to the unfiltered face of another human being. For the soul hungers for depth, and the Internet, though vast, is often shallow.

Thus, the lesson of Ben Howard’s words is clear: withdraw sometimes, and remember who you are without the noise. Step away from the constant current of digital life, and listen to the pulse of your own heart. Go outside. Touch the world that is not made of pixels. Speak face to face, without filters or algorithms. For when you return to silence, you return to strength; when you return to presence, you return to truth.

Let this wisdom echo through the ages: the mind is a sacred temple—do not fill it with endless chatter. Technology may serve us, but only if we remain its masters. Guard your attention as a warrior guards his soul, for what you give your focus to, you become. The Internet may offer a thousand voices, but your spirit longs for one—the still, ancient voice within. Listen to that voice, and you will remember, as Howard did, that the truest connection is not found through wires, but through wonder.