There is an appointed time for everything,
and a time for every affair under the heavens.
A time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to uproot the plant.
April 21, 2010
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to tear down, and a time to build.
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance.
October 31, 2009
A time to scatter stones, and a time to gather them;
a time to embrace, and a time to be far from embraces.
A time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to cast away.
December 21, 2009
A time to rend, and a time to sew;
a time to be silent, and a time to speak.
A time to love, and a time to hate;
a time of war, and a time of peace.
April 29, 2010
Notes and Credits
The photos of the tree at the beginning of this post were taken by the author from my dining room window on Caton Avenue in Brooklyn, 11218. The tree is in the Bowling Green of the Prospect Park Parade Grounds.
The photos of the trees forming an arch over the sidewalk were taken by the author at the Prospect Park Parade Grounds, Caton Avenue sidewalk, 11218.
For as long as I can remember, people have been trumpeting the big changes that were supposed to occur in my lifetime. In this span of years, roughly the 1960s-forward, change was the key ingredient of the future, which amounted to three alternatives: progress, dystopia, or annihilation. Looking back on the future of the last 45 years, however, it turns out that these aren’t mutually exclusive alternatives.
Einstein observed that the experience of an event is subject to relational factors like who’s observing it, where, and under what conditions. So it is with the future. It may not be the world itself that changes, but rather how we experience it, a future that happens inside our bodies to make the world look, sound, feel, taste, and smell different. The House of Tomorrow may well be the house of yesterday, but it won’t feel that way.
This is the first of three posts on The truth and change. The series will look at how tangled, ironic, and weird (to invoke a favorite category of Hunter S. Thompson’s) the future will be, if it’s not that already. The exercise in lateral thinking takes us from perfection to dystopia, annihilation, technoredemption, slacker paradise, Qoheleth, Big Pharma, and cyberchange.
From perfection to dystopia
The future, change, and progress are products of The Enlightenment. For millennia, people were assumed to be what they were. Thinkers in the West and the East had explored all sorts of ideas about how to create good societies, find peace, and achieve enlightenment (The Buddha’s kind) – but there was no belief in a “future” that would be different from the past. Differences in politics, spirituality, or technology were seen as superficial, and the great wheel of history rolled along.
Vanity of vanities, says Qoheleth, vanity of vanities! All things are vanity! …
One generation passes and another comes, but the world forever stays …
What has been, that will be; what has been done, that will be done.
Nothing is new under the sun. [Eccl. 1: 2, 4, 9]
Then in the eighteenth century the philosophes in France and other spots around Europe started to think about the life we could have on Earth through science, reason, and (in one form or another) “democracy.” The twin notions of change and the future became tangible, captured in a repurposing of the word “progress.” In The Invention of Air, Stephen Johnson shows how these ideas were tied together across science, politics, and religion. Ben Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, and Joseph Priestly (the nominal subject of Johnson’s book) were scientists and radicals who imprinted the American Revolution with the Enlightenment’s vision of the future.
As Jefferson wrote to Priestly after the presidential inauguration in 1800, “We can no longer say there is nothing new under the sun. For this whole chapter in the history of man is new.” In another context, Jefferson famously quipped, “Every generation needs a new revolution.” Compromised as Jefferson’s revolution was, eventually even the enslaved and formerly enslaved African Americans, written out at the beginning, would build their own revolution to insist on (some of) Jefferson’s ideals, among others. The times, they would be a-changing, and the early Abolition movement itself was a part of the Enlightenment’s vision of change.
New industries and the “New World” conjured an image of humankind’s infinite malleability – we were blank slates on which a better world would be drawn. People were, in a word, perfectible. Yet perfection was a contestable quality, and disagreements over perfectibility would draw the lines of ideological battles that lasted from 1776 to 1989. One of the central lines in the struggle over change was who would make change happen best — freely acting individuals, private corporate entities, or the state.
These conflicts underlay Adam Smith’s own writings. He placed great faith in individuals and very little in either the state or corporations. In Smith’s ideal world, we were a self-correcting society of individuals guided “by an invisible hand to promote an end which was no part of [their] intention.” In other words, people following purely individual motives could create social good, almost accidentally.
Smith applied his faith in individuals to economic life, but he saw a conflict between the capacity of individual action to create a moral world and the effects of capitalism’s main motor for change, the division of labor. Far from perfecting mankind, the nature of industrial production (and with it, the creation of wealth) would render the bulk of people ever more ignorant even as democracy expanded their ability to affect their world:
The man whose whole life is spent in performing a few simple operations, of which the effects too are, perhaps, always the same, or very nearly the same, has no occasion to exert his understanding, or to exercise his invention in finding out expedients for removing difficulties which never occur. He naturally loses, therefore, the habit of such exertion, and generally becomes as stupid and ignorant as it is possible for a human to creature to become. The torpor of his mind renders him, not only incapable of relishing or bearing part in any rational conversation, but of conceiving any generous, noble, or tender sentiment … Of the great and extensive interests of his country, he is altogether incapable of judging …
This would be the product of capitalism, said Smith, “unless government takes some pains to prevent it.” Smith never resolved this conflict in his understanding of change, and his fans have ignored it and instead dwelled on the “invisible hand” alone, taking this half-premise to logical extremes.
In Atlas Shrugged, Ayn Rand made a grand dystopian plea for her version of capitalist utopia that in general (if less radical) terms is part of everyday political discourse in the United States, where faith in powerful, dynamic individuals is strong. The fear of the state is great, and the relation to mass politics is complicated. The masses are fickle and in general not to be trusted (even by the masses). To wit: In the wake of the economic collapse of 2008, “going John Galt” has become the calling card of dissident financiers holding out against the reactions of the federal government and the populist fervor aimed at them, though this fervor was short-lived and now is turned against the government and health care reform.
Over time, dystopia transcended the narrow limitations of the conflicts between capitalism and socialism, seeing in both a massification of industrial society that used technology to dampen the very urges toward freedom and expression unleashed by the forces that Jefferson and Priestly heralded with such optimism. Yevgeny Zamyatin’s novel We combined his experiences in the Russian Revolution and in the British factories of World War I to describe a true dystopia that was the forerunner of Orwell’s 1984. Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World concentrated our gaze on the manufacture of pleasure as a way of breeding conformity and social order from the “torpor of mind” that Smith lamented in 1776.
Yet numbing sameness wasn’t the only threat to Jefferson and Priestly’s House of Tomorrow. The rocket scientists who stood on their shoulders (among so many others) eventually helped us create weapons of unparalleled destruction that could end all life as we know it. Beyond dystopia, the future created by reason might actually annihilate us all. These were our choices by the time I was growing up: Smith, Marx, Rand, Huxley, Orwell, Dr. Strangelove, or Charlton Heston on a beach some time in the distant future.
The Apes were able to perfect themselves greatly with people out of the way. The surviving humans, able to carry on through accidents of history and rocket science, became vermin and slaves until the moment in which Taylor and Nova became a new Adam and Eve under the ruins of the Statue of Liberty, now a fallen, man-made Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. If you look hard enough, you can see in the background the shadows of Priestly, Paine, Jefferson, Franklin, Einstein, Oppenheimer, and Teller. Thoreau and Whitman are nowhere to be found. They were buried by the knowledge of good and evil.
Notes and Credits
The quotation from the opening of Ecclesiastes is taken from the New American Bible, Eccl. 1: 2, 4, 9.
My quotations from Adam Smith are taken from The Essential Adam Smith, ed. Robert L. Heilbronner (New York: W. W. Norton, 1986), pp. 265 and 302. Read this book, which includes abridged versions of both the Theory of the Moral Sentiments and The Wealth of Nations. They are indispensable critiques of the world that Smith’s fans seem to adore.