Dystopia

Historic philosophic religions tended to be of only two types. Either things had always been and always would be the same, or the world has once been much better than it is now. Sometimes there would be an apocalyptic cycle, when all would begin again .

Like many human thoughts, these were based on natural observation. The sun comes up every day. People live, decay, die – as does all life. Such can easily be extrapolated to cosmic visions .

Some of the “golden age” believers went further and extrapolated decline into horrors and dystopia. Some preached that we could hold it back for a while with moral reform. And there was always an audience to listen to how bad things could be, maybe because that made the present more endurable .

Now we seem to be in a golden age of dystopian predictions. Following a brief reversion to “progress”, civilization has returned to the old attitudes. The only question is which of the dueling dystopias will happen. Novelists all assume that we are in the golden age, and the future looks bleak indeed .

But the plain fact remains that life mostly goes on, dreamtime as always, one day after another, endlessly the same, eternally different. The certainty of individual mortal journey is, after all, always bleak .

Done Before

“Everything’s been done before” Louis Armstrong laments in an old song. A refrain often heard about ambition not long ago. Then the song slyly adds “when I’m with you, I just want to do, what’s been done before .”

There is confusion today. In terms of being human, it more or less remains true that not only has everything been done before, but it is being done right now by hundreds or even millions of others. How can anyone possibly be unique? We remain anonymous molecules in the sea. Only a fortunate few can escape .

The second part is even more challenging, because in many ways we can never do what’s been done before. The habits and societies of our ancestors are gone forever. We hardly recognize the social patterns of mere decades past. We may cheer, we may regret, but we cannot recreate.

Historians lecture it’s been that way for a while now, since maybe the Renaissance, for sure during the industrial revolution. Okay, change is normal. But the accelerating asymptotic rate of change is worrisome, possibly destructive .

Can civilization survive? Many dystopian writers and filmmakers say no. Of course, the collapse of active civilizations has also – too often – been done before .

Age: 11

When I retired in my mid-60s, I spent a little time considering what I wanted to do and how I wanted to live for the next 20 years or so. Surprisingly, the answer came down to existing as I did when eleven years old. Even stripped of nostalgia, that was a golden time . I bestrode the earth as a miniaturized colossus. I thought I knew everything, I was quite independent but freed of all the real cares of supporting myself and daily existence . I had a secure place in my family and the world .

Every day – every instant – was new and exciting. I had no desire to return to nor even remember my past. I fully believed the future would be ever more marvelous. There was always something new and wonderful to explore. I had almost no responsibilities, carefree .

All my senses were magnificent, my body tuned. My mind unafflicted. Even hormones still well under control. Energy limitless, sleep effortless. A perfect animal supporting a pristine consciousness .

Thus my desire to do all I could to return to such an existence. Much as living in the garden of Eden, an earthly paradise. Forget about what I could not control, enjoy each moment, assume the future is unknowable.

Out of control. Loving every minute .

Sanity

Darwin and Einstein are often blamed for the “relativity” crisis of modern culture. In the absence of absolutes, what is right or wrong? How can there be morality, or even sanity, if “anything goes”?

The problem of course, is ancient, as exemplified by the saying “when in Rome, do as the Romans do”. Yet our priests and philosophers still keep searching for the true eternal underlying values that they are certain must exist .

Leaving aside morality, sanity does mostly involve fitting into and surviving or thriving in your situation. And that surely varies a great deal. A Viking berserker might seem sane in 900 CE Sweden, but would be judged crazy in 2025 Times Square. A stubborn pacifist would be in a nearly opposite situation.

As far as sanity itself goes, perhaps there is a Darwinian twist. Sanity simply means continued species survival and reproduction. Perhaps not that simple – warrior army ants hardly care about their own survival while defending the queen in the nest .

Humans are more complicated than anything. For us, the continuance of ourselves within our culture may define sanity, but we easily imagine alternative patterns which we consider better. If those are pursued, we will be judged insane unless the rest of the culture changes its collective mind .

Relative, indeed.

Humble

These days, it is quite easy to feel as a god. We eat well, speed along without effort faster than birds, know everything at the flick of a screen, control vast powers. We think we are pretty close to omniscient and omnipotent. Well – compared to the past, at least, we are .

So we tend to take ourselves very seriously. What we do or don’t do must shake the cosmos. Every emotion must be huge and deep and meaningful. Our successes are tributes to our glory, our failures are – someone else’s fault .

Humble is no longer in most vocabularies. As a contrarian, I cultivate it. I do not feel in control. Kind of a god? Yeah I can’t escape that. Important? Responsible for my divinity? Nope. Just damn lucky to have been born into my time and situation. Fortunate to have adapted well . Certainly enjoying the experience. But always very aware that I hardly “deserved” or “worked for” most of it .

Sure, I’m moderately proud of who I am and what I have done. That’s it. I fight hubris tooth and nail. I simply pray that things will continue. I’m a leaf swirling down the stream, but an ecstatically happy leaf.

I know everyone is stressed, often rightfully. I wish they could step back and take a deep breath. But – hey! I’m just humble old me, so nobody listens .

Anti

We seem to find it easier to be against something than for it. Maybe hate is easier than love. What we dislike – noise, clothes, morals – is often in sharper focus than what we are for .

Accordingly it is pretty simple to form social and political groups strongly against what they are certain they do not like. Trying to get people in favor of something often comes down to defining the enemy. Protect the environment, for instance, by hating industry .

The problem with anti-groups is a proverbial observation about always using a hammer because that’s what you have. And the problem with a hammer is that it is very easily turned against almost anything. Those against gay rights easily morph into being against certain ethnicities or religions. Those against certain medicines are easily marshaled against certain foods. Those who hate one modern morality are ready to go against any others .

With luck, very strong anti-groups eventually splinter against each other and dissolve. Without luck, all bets are off .

Quantity Lies

We may not exactly count “one, two, three, many”, but we do lose ourselves as numbers become immense. I think most of us understand 100, but 1 million is hard, and anything higher does become “many”. We can easily visualize odds at “one in a hundred”, but “one in a million” is practical infinity .

Our vast outreach of instantaneous knowledge and awareness has jumbled that picture. Odds of winning a lottery may be “one in 372 million”, but – as my wife claims – “somebody always wins”. We hear about that somebody all the time. Hey, it could be me !

With the unusual reported more than the commonplace, our perception of odds becomes strangely distorted. If chances of anything are truly one in a million, then in a country like ours 360 people (each one interviewed in a media moment) will have it happen to them. In a planet of 8 billion, 8,000 folks will. Suddenly it seems like an awful lot of people. Translated to our own surroundings the odds suddenly appear as likely as 50 or more percent .

That’s why anecdotal “evidence” in medicine, science, or society is so damaging. An anecdote seems real, a statistic kind of nebulous. We think “oh, a person just like me was affected”. Winning, losing. Then we act stupidly .

My antidote has always been “how many people whom I actually know have had this happening?” That is quite sobering, and puts odds into much better perspective .

Undeserving Rich

Wealthy elites hire entertaining apologists to glorify and justify their position in society. One of the great meme inventions of such employees was the concept of the “deserving poor”. Those folks were wonderful people laid low by fortune. Obviously they deserved a helping hand .

That usefully left masses of other paupers (mostly those whose views and lifestyle the elite did not agree with) to be ignored and vilified as “undeserving poor”. Such groups should be kept miserable, oppressed, or removed for the general good .

In these days of wealth concentration I propose an equivalent expression of the “undeserving rich”. People who _ unlike Carnegie, Ford, or Gates _ did nothing to deserve their affluence. They gained it through inheritance, financial gambling (with other people’s money) or fraud. They do not deserve the adulation given to the deserving rich .

Specifically, the undeserving rich should pay a lot more to support society. Sure, limit taxes on the few magnates who actually work hard. But tax to the max their children or sycophantic associates. And stop respecting their suggestions about life, consumption, or politics .

I believe the undeserving rich should be targeted just as much as the undeserving poor. And that should give all of us just as warm and fuzzy a feeling when they are righteously oppressed .

Elder Myth

Most of us understand our lives as a narrative story. Elders tend to form that into a mythology. Like any good literature, the best exaggerate the highs and lows and often have a structure with a moral. Grandparents especially enjoy inflicting this on their young grandchildren. Or at anyone else when there is a holiday gathering. It’s a way of making a mark on the universe, claiming an importance almost as meaningful as in tales of heroes of old .

Nor is it wrong to do so. There is more to existence than daily meals and bedtime. Formulating one’s place in eternal mystery is important to all of us. And once in a while it is nice to share – even proclaim – that adventure .

Unlike many others, I do not think such tales actually help the young in their own lives. Life and circumstance were always unique, and the days change at a dizzying speed. At best this is just another form of entertainment with the added benefit of being (mostly) true .

Oh, perhaps there is some moral value. But really it helps everyone share and join internal narratives to feel far less lonely in the ineffable cosmos.

Yeoman Artisans

Jefferson expected a country of “yeoman farmers” who would have self-sufficiency by day and discuss politics by night. Never happened. He certainly was not much interested for himself, at least if slaves were not available to do the work .

For a while we did have artisan farmers, who would grow some of their own food and sell specialized items for the rest. Soon enough, artisans stopped growing stuff altogether. Then the idea was suburban nuclear families, working for a large company to gain currency. Fuzzy effect of the ongoing industrial revolution on society, as workers were turned into machines. No politics by night, just entertainment .

Now I wonder. Is AI and automation the end of that paradigm as well? More and more we seem to become a nation of “yeoman artisans” bartering our own specialties for livelihood. Not quite worked out yet, but I wonder what work and life may become in the next decade .

Not Jeffersonian. And probably far from Utopian. But the real point is – nobody knows. And hardly anyone is even sure what they would like .

I enjoyed being an artisan computer professional. Artisan pride fit me well. But the other thing I wonder is if there will remain varied niches for varied folks to fit into .