The Internet’s Divine Plan
Op-Ed detailing the decline in religious affiliation and subsequent reign of the Internet.
The internet, once a futuristic luxury, has become the architect of our spiritual and cultural lives. Its presence is pervasive yet often unexamined, especially in its role as the successor to traditional religion in America. For centuries, religion provided moral frameworks, community, and therapeutic answers to life’s biggest questions. Today, the internet has taken up that responsibility, becoming an omnipresent force shaping identity and belonging.
But how did this transition occur? And what does it reveal about our values and vulnerabilities as a society?
A Generational Rift: From Dial-Up to Digital Devotion
Gen Z’s relationship with the internet was one of natural assimilation, unlike their parents who approached it with caution. For older generations, the internet symbolized inefficiency and indulgence, not the nourishing ecosystem it became for their children. Adults recognized the internet as a slow and clunky system which demanded a game plan before you connected to the dial up. Whereas, the maturation of the internet paralleled GenZ’s.
Dial-up was the noisy, slow-motion predecessor to today’s instant internet—a connection that relied on your phone line and often tested your patience. Imagine waiting for an old, clunky door to open with a series of creaks and beeps before finally stepping into the online world. For reference, dial up was at a speed of 56 kilobytes per second (Sprint 1992) versus about current average home’s 253 megabytes per second (Ookla October 2024), increasing 4,518 times in speed.
“It’s that damn phone” characterized millions of childhoods including my own. While parents approached the internet with caution and curiosity, all of Gen Z and some Millennials embraced it as an extension of themselves—always on, always connected. These attachment styles slowly infected older generations after the start of social media sites like Friendster (2003), Myspace (2003), and TheFacebook (2004). Platforms where GenX and Baby Boomers were offered direct invitations to explore a netscape as an accessory to their communities in real life; when the internet transformed into an extension of real-life community, bringing religion into its grasp.
Memes: a Democratic Psalm
The internet didn’t simply digitize religion; it transformed it into something malleable, accessible, and, often, laughable.
Within that period of time, Americans experienced a decline in traditional religious affiliation.
PEW Research Center’s 2019 data on declining membership of Christianity and subsequent increase of religious disaffiliation suggests there is a catalyst from the 2000s to present day. The catalyst we, as an American society, can safely assume as the internet. The internet became the medium of questioning and exploration of thoughts. As we inquired, we simultaneously created the building blocks of the internet’s towering knowledge. Every user gained authorship in what we now consider the internet, whether it be via consumer behavior, inquiry, academic contribution, or proof of life. This sense of ownership bled into our popular culture through Memes. Memes plagued digital device storages…Any one of us could make a joke, and it could be about anything—religion included. For this reason, memes raised concerns about the stability of different religions, as heterodoxy spreads rapidly online. This authority of interpretation opened many doors to: marketing, misinterpretation, and online representation.
Above are two early meme formats which demonstrate 1) marketing religion 2) community formation 3) front facing interpretations of religion. For both, we are allowing humor to connect ourselves to an anonymous author. For the meme on the left, there is an implicit advertisement of online bible applications. This meme template, named First World Problems, makes satire of not having a bible or congregation as an invalid excuse; in a way promoting the internet as a diversification of devotional practice. The memes on the right touch on my third point of authorship. The meme in the middle, the template named Cool Jesus, appropriately uses the story of Noah and his ark to paint Jesus as a laid back Jo’. Yet, there are endless possibilities to butcher both the public image of Jesus and fables from the bible; like the third one.
Memes, as seemingly trivial as they may appear, embody a profound shift in how we approach religiosity. Including this analysis is imperative because it helps visualize how misunderstood and accessible the internet is.
Memes transformed sacred texts and figures into objects of humor, inviting both reflection and irreverence. This democratization of interpretation—where every user can contribute to the internet’s infinite cultural sea—challenges the gatekeeping of religion; replacing them with a collective authorship rooted in humor and relatability. By the 2000s, these practices diluted traditional religious authority in favor of an ever-changing, user-driven ethos. The result? A digital landscape where beliefs are no longer molded by heritage or orthodoxy but shaped by likes, shares, and memes. This digital landscape which scares the majority of us. To the degree where shows like Black Mirror, premiering their latest season with 1.36 billion minutes of viewing time, solely explore the cultural consequences of technological innovation. Yet, the question remains: how did this shift initialize the statistically significant shift in religious affiliation displayed earlier?
The Covid-19 Pandemic: Faith in Isolation
Religion, like energy, doesn’t disappear—it transforms. The proposal of this piece is: the internet has become its new medium, not destroying but redistributing the sacred.
The internet’s role in reshaping religion extends beyond memes. Its influence became especially evident during the COVID-19 pandemic. As physical gatherings became unsafe, religious communities turned to digital spaces to sustain their practices. Live-streamed sermons, Zoom prayer meetings, and virtual performance became the norm. Suddenly, rituals of faith were mediated through screens.
The COVID-19 pandemic served as an undeniable catalyst for change, forcing societies to reevaluate their reliance on physical spaces and accelerating the integration of technology into nearly every facet of life—including religion. But how exactly did this global crisis reshape the way we practice and perceive faith? What happens when the rituals and hierarchies of organized religion, some even mandated with physical congregation, are stitched into the digital plane?
To illustrate the idea of integration of religiosity and technology, Donna Haraway’s concept of the cyborg does our exploration justice. Haraway defines cyborg as a hybrid of human and machine that blurs the boundaries between the natural and the artificial. Applied to digital religion, this concept reveals how worship, rituals, and spiritual communities adapted to the technological demands of a pandemic. Live-streamed sermons, virtual prayer groups, and Zoom worship services became the norm, transforming not only how faith was practiced but also who held authority. With credentials and hierarchies suddenly flattened by the popularization of digital access, younger technologically savvy generations gained power in spaces previously governed by tradition and age.
The shift to online congregations has not only reframed communal experiences but also enacted an uncommon redistribution of power. Younger community members, more fluent in the language of the internet, were sworn into the role of facilitators in these virtual spaces, in some way acting as the new gatekeepers between the sacred and the technological. This phenomenon mirrors the dynamics of authorship and influence discussed earlier in the context of memes, where the control of media or religious culture disrupts the ingrained hierarchies of tradition.
Of course, this digital transformation of rituals—prayer, communion, confession—created head throbbing theological and ethical dilemmas. The current model of religious practices is reflected within Tyler J VanderWeele’s journal, Love of Neighbor During a Pandemic: Navigating the Competing Goods of Religious Gatherings and Physical Health. Vanderweele connects the Christian command to "love thy neighbor" to declare a termination of in-person worship as heresy, even with consideration of COVID-19. Yet his solution was live streamed services and collective prayer calls. The solution we have previously critiqued for its ill-suited power structure which only illustrates the growing concern of authority in religion.
This shift raised uncomfortable questions. Did digital worship capture the intimacy of shared faith, or was it a hollow substitute? Did it democratize religious authority, or did it simply fragment it? For younger, tech-savvy generations, digital platforms became new spaces of power. They lead virtual communities and oftentimes redefined what it meant to be spiritual. The answers aren’t clear-cut. What is certain, however, is that the internet has fundamentally altered how we understand and practice faith.
Netizens: A Generation Unaware of Its Power
Religion has always adapted to its cultural context. The internet is merely its latest medium. Just as the printing press revolutionized Christianity during the 16th century Reformation, digital platforms are reshaping faith in the 21st century.
This tension, between innovation and the undying force of tradition, reverberates beyond religion. Traditionalists deem digitizing religious practice as heretic, while skeptics see it as a sign of poor devotional values. Both of these groups simply share the concern of allowing religious experience to be manipulated by technology—the new inescapable force. This experience being curated by younger and arguably less credible people over time.
It calls to mind the term Netizens, citizens of the internet. This term’s conception (1990s) derives from the social and political implications of the internet explored by Michael and Ronda Hauben. The Haubens were studying and in some way materializing a citizen who was inherently more engaged in a political society because of the internet. What the Haubens may not have known was the power dynamic shifts which would manifest through netizens. These younger generations began reclaiming narratives once controlled by institutional gatekeepers. From fandoms to political activism, the internet enables decentralized movements. Religion was no exception.
Younger generations use digital platforms to reshape religious practices, such as creating TikToks explaining scripture, hosting unfacilitated debates on theology through Discord, or sharing memes critical or in approval of religion.
Today’s youth stand at the forefront of the internet-driven transformation of cultural and spiritual life. Yet many are unaware of their role as leaders in this change. They create the memes, set the trends, and redefine norms, but often without recognizing the weight of their influence. Their control over popular media is unquantifiable, but it’s also unstable—constantly swayed by fleeting moments of virality and drowning in the cesspool of content they must wade through.
This instability is reflected in phenomena like “is this real chat?” a phrase born in online gaming and livestream cultures. It’s a call for affirmation, a way to confirm reality in the face of shocking digital stimuli. Similarly, the coining of the noun “brain rot” serves as the linguistic recognition of contemporary culture. A gesture capturing a collective acknowledgment of our cultural diet. Oxford crowning brain rot as the word of the year demonstrates the anxiety we share about online life draining our energy. These phrases reveal a deeper truth: the internet demands not only attention but also constant validation from its users.
Platforms encourage this behavior. Whether through likes, comments, or reposts, social media reinforces the need to perform for invisible audiences. Young people, raised in this system, often find themselves trapped in cycles of seeking approval from anonymous or undefined groups. This dynamic echoes the user-driven nature of all religiosity, where individuals construct their identities in communal but ultimately in spaces with strangers.
These trends highlight the paradox of youth influence. While they hold immense sway over digital culture, their relationship with it remains precarious. The internet magnifies their voices but also exposes their vulnerabilities, turning moments of creativity into fleeting phenomena rather than sustained change. For young people, this means their leadership in cultural transformation, including faith, is largely reactive and shaped by the volatile nature of digital life. Drawing another line in the history of the internet which we have built up to. Yet, this instability also highlights the evolving relationship between faith and technology: while traditions adapt to survive, the role of authenticity and deeper connection in this new paradigm remains uncertain. The internet was first a strenuous tool to utilize, then created efficiency, and now arriving at a tiring, performative, and parasitic resource.
Conclusion: Because of The Internet
As mentioned previously, religion is not dying. Yet, the internet can be seen as the next manifestation—an immaterial plane where ideas inform, interact, and evolve. Religion mirrors the principles of physics: an endless exchange of energy. A concept in which religion is a persistent force that adapts to the contours of modernity.
The rise of digital spaces invites an intimate contemplation of how change stirs inquiries into identity, authority, and tradition. Through the discussed historical events and studies, we can recognize the internet as not just a tool of a manifestation of progressive values but one to be highly wary of.
The internet didn’t just sneak its way into religion—it took over with a quiet inevitability, turning tradition on its head while no one was looking. Meme culture and the COVID-19 pandemic were the two big reveals, pulling back the curtain to show just how much had already changed. Memes made it clear that anyone could play with religious ideas, remixing and reinterpreting them with humor, irreverence, or even critique. COVID, on the other hand, made us realize how deeply digital tools had become embedded in our non-religious rituals, with Zoom prayers and live streamed sermons exhibiting how the archaic aspects of religion ensured its reverence.
At the heart of these transformations are the youth, who now stand as the architects of this new digital era. Their interaction with the internet is second nature; they are both passive users and active creators. Yet, their awareness of this power is still in its infancy. As these young leaders shape trends and mold public discourse, their potential to influence global practices and belief systems is immense. The next phase of this digital evolution will depend on their ability to recognize the weight of their influence and harness it with purpose. How they navigate their role—as the translators and trendsetters—will set the course for religiosity. Will they continue to create in an impulsive, ephemeral way, or will they begin to build a legacy that can endure beyond the short-lived nature of memes and viral moments? The internet, in its current form, is a mirror of the youth culture that shapes it: fast, transient, and constantly in flux. Their awareness of how this digital world reshapes faith, identity, and tradition will determine whether the internet remains a tool for playful experimentation or becomes a more profound and lasting force in redefining human connection and belief.
The watershed moments did not hand off religion’s kryptonite to the youth; they simply showed us its new form—scattered, shared, and undeniably shaped by the internet. What used to be controlled by a few is now in the hands of many, for better or worse. The internet didn’t ask for permission; it just stepped in and reshaped the conversation. It gave people a new stage to question, connect, and even believe.
On that note, I pray you don’t shy away from talking about the internet.
Isaiah Zamudio is a fourth year student in the USC School of Architecture. His fascination with both architecture and technology is their ability to discreetly govern a peoples. Through both his studies and his writing he finds it imperative to educate other people of the intentions of malicious and benevolent design—in order to ensure a collective good.
Also he won’t stop telling people he is from southside Chicago.