Is there anyone who still really thinks the Internet is not transforming the world -- or at least those spreading patches of the planet that are connected to it? Every day, some new swath of mental territory falls prey to the Web, as if a gigantic, benevolent spider had suddenly taken control of humanity and its basic functions. And this goes far beyond shopping, the usual poster child for the Internet age.

Just this month, for instance, six of the West's most elite academic and cultural institutions -- from the London School of Economics to the New York Public Library -- joined forces on the Web in a cooperative intellectual service dubbed "Fathom." Acknowledging that the quest for online information is unstoppable, they are setting up Fathom to provide information that is "authoritative" and "trustworthy." To earthbound scholars of old, this would have seemed like heaven flinging open its library. There can be no turning back from the literally fathomless possibilities such ventures represent.

Coincidentally, however, in faraway China, the Internet was extending a toe into heaven itself by getting involved in an activity even older than buying or learning: the universal human instinct to bury the dead. Overwhelmed by the problem of having to bury 100,000 people each year in a dwindling amount of space, the Shanghai government last week announced plans for a virtual cemetery: a Web site where bereaved relatives could post pictures of their deceased, along with personal messages, flowers, prayers and music. The great thing about this online "mourning hall," say city officials, is that it will occupy no land. These graves will exist on wholly electronic terrain.