Yes, thanks indeed.  And PLEASE, no new myths or ideals about how good things 
were in the past and how good the future could be, if only......  We aren't 
ready for them now and probably never will be.

Ed
  ----- Original Message ----- 
  From: Arthur Cordell 
  To: 'RE-DESIGNING WORK, INCOME DISTRIBUTION,EDUCATION' 
  Sent: Tuesday, January 01, 2013 2:59 PM
  Subject: Re: [Futurework] old myths falling away


  Thanks for this.  Both powerful and frustrating at the same time.  I like the 
saying

  " some people can't read the writing on the wall until their backs are up 
against it".  Will this hold true for the US as well?  And perhaps in a lesser 
way, in other ways, for Canada?

   

  arthur

   

  From: [email protected] 
[mailto:[email protected]] On Behalf Of 
[email protected]
  Sent: Tuesday, January 01, 2013 12:17 PM
  To: EDUCATION RE-DESIGNING WORK INCOME DISTRIBUTION
  Subject: [Futurework] old myths falling away

   

  Ray, could this kind of thinking be what the Mayans were alluding to with 
their cyclic calendar?

   

  Hope you all have a very pleasant and fruitful new year!

   

  Barry

   

  
http://www.alternet.org/visions/everything-we-tell-ourselves-about-america-and-world-wrong?akid=9884.111339.4V9uzZ&rd=1&src=newsletter769265&t=3

   

   

  Everything We Tell Ourselves About America and the World Is Wrong
  Why we need a new story that gives meaning to the world.

  December 29, 2012  |   

  Every culture has a Story of the People to give meaning to the world. Part 
conscious and part unconscious, it consists of a matrix of agreements, 
narratives, and symbols that tell us why we are here, where we are headed, what 
is important, and even what is real. I think we are entering a new phase in the 
dissolution of our Story of the People, and therefore, with some lag time, of 
the edifice of civilization built on top of it.

  Sometimes I feel intense nostalgia for the cultural mythology of my youth, a 
world in which there was nothing wrong with soda pop, in which the Superbowl 
was important, in which the world's greatest democracy was bringing democracy 
to the world, in which science was going to make life better and better. Life 
made sense. If you worked hard you could get good grades, get into a good 
college, go to grad school or follow some other professional path, and you 
would be happy. With a few unfortunate exceptions, you would be successful if 
you obeyed the rules of our society: if you followed the latest medical advice, 
kept informed by reading the New York Times, and stayed away from Bad Things 
like drugs. Sure there were problems, but the scientists and experts were 
working hard to fix them. Soon a new medical advance, a new law, a new 
educational technique, would propel the onward improvement of life. My 
childhood perceptions were part of this Story of the People, in which humanity 
was destined to create a perfect world through science, reason, and technology, 
to conquer nature, transcend our animal origins, and engineer a rational 
society.

  From my vantage point, the basic premises of this story seemed 
unquestionable. After all, it seemed to be working in my world. Looking back, I 
realize that this was a bubble world built atop massive human suffering and 
environmental degradation, but at the time one could live within that bubble 
without need of much self-deception. The story that surrounded us was robust. 
It easily kept anomalous data points on the margins.

  Since my childhood in the 1970s, that story has eroded at an accelerating 
rate. More and more people in the West no longer believe that civilization is 
fundamentally on the right track. Even those who don't yet question its basic 
premises in any explicit way seem to have grown weary of it. A layer of 
cynicism, a hipster self-awareness has muted our earnestness. What was once so 
real, say a plank in a party platform, today is seen through several levels of 
"meta" filters to parse it in terms of image and message. We are like children 
who have grown out of a story that once enthralled us, aware now that it is 
only a story.

  At the same time, a series of new data points has disrupted the story from 
the outside. The harnessing of fossil fuels, the miracle of chemicals to 
transform agriculture, the methods of social engineering and political science 
to create a more rational and just society - each has fallen far short of its 
promise, and brought unanticipated consequences that threaten civilization. We 
just cannot believe anymore that the scientists have everything well in hand. 
Nor can we believe that the onward march of reason will bring on social utopia.

  Today we cannot ignore the intensifying degradation of the biosphere, the 
malaise of the economic system, the decline in health, or the persistence and 
indeed growth of global poverty and inequality. We once thought economists 
would fix poverty, political scientists would fix social injustice, chemists 
and biologists would fix environmental problems, the power of reason would 
prevail and we would adopt sane policies. I remember looking at maps of rain 
forest decline in National Geographic in the early 1980s and feeling both alarm 
and relief - relief because at least the scientists and everyone who reads 
National Geographic is aware of the problem now, so something surely will be 
done.

  Nothing was done. Rainforest decline accelerated, along with nearly every 
other environmental threat that we knew about in 1980. Our Story of the People 
trundled forward under the momentum of centuries, but with each passing decade 
the hollowing-out of its core, that started perhaps with the industrial-scale 
slaughter of World War One, extended further. When I was a child, our system of 
ideology and mass media still protected that story, but in the last thirty 
years the incursions of reality have punctured its protective shell and have 
ruptured its essential infrastructure. We no longer believe our storytellers, 
our elites. We don't believe the politicians, we don't believe the doctors, we 
don't believe the professors, we don't believe the bankers, we don't believe 
the technologists. All of them imply that everything is under control, and we 
know that it is not. We have lost the vision of the future we once had; most 
people have no vision of the future at all. This is new for our society. Fifty 
or a hundred years ago, most people agreed on the general outlines of the 
future. We thought we knew where society was going. Even the Marxists and the 
capitalists agreed on its basic outlines: a paradise of mechanized leisure and 
scientifically engineered social harmony, with spirituality either abolished 
entirely or relegated to a materially inconsequential corner of life that 
happened mostly on Sundays. Of course there were dissenters from this vision, 
but this was the general consensus.

  When a story nears its end it goes through death throes, an exaggerated 
semblance of life. So today we see domination, conquest, violence, and 
separation take on absurd extremes that hold a mirror up to what was once 
hidden and diffuse. The year 2012 ended with just such a potent 
story-disrupting event: the Sandy Hook massacre. Even realizing that far more, 
equally innocent, children have been killed in the last few years by, say, U.S. 
drone strikes, it really got under my skin. No one was immune. I think that is 
because its utter senselessness penetrated every defense mechanism we have to 
maintain the fiction that the world is basically OK. Unlike 9/11 or Oklahoma 
City, and certainly unlike the horrors that go on around the world, there was 
no convenient narrative to divert the raw pain of what happened. We cannot help 
but map those murdered innocents onto the young faces we know, and the anguish 
of their parents onto ourselves. At the base of our Story of the People is 
separation, of humanity from nature, of me from you, of each from all, and this 
event united everyone, of whatever culture, nationality, or political 
persuasion. For a moment, we all felt the exact same thing. For at least a 
moment, I am sure, most people were in touch with the simplicity of what is 
important; I am sure many people had that fleeting feeling, "It doesn't have to 
be that difficult, if only we could remember what is so obvious now, that love 
is all there is." We humans have made such a mess of things, forgetting love. 
It is the same realization we have when a loved one is going through the dying 
process, and we think, "Ah, how precious this person is - why couldn't I see 
that? Why couldn't I appreciate all those moments we had together? All the 
arguments and grudges seem so tiny now."

  Following that moment, of course, people hurried to make sense of the event, 
subsuming it within a narrative about gun control, mental health, or the 
security of school buildings. Maybe I am imagining things, but I don't think 
anyone really believes deep down that these responses touch the heart of the 
matter. Gun culture, we know, is a symptom of something deeper, and the 
violence that finds expression through guns would, even in their absence, come 
out in some other way. Mental illness too is a problem so vast that it is 
essentially unsolvable in our current system; it too comes from a deeper 
source. As for school security, a Chinese saying describes all the measures 
proposed: they stop the gentleman but not the villain.

  No one would say that Sandy Hook was more horrible than the Holocaust, the 
Stalinist purges, or the imperialistic wars of the 20th century and 21st, but 
it was less comprehensible. Try as we might, we cannot fit it into our Story of 
the World. It is the anomalous data point that unravels the entire narrative - 
the world no longer makes sense. We struggle to explain what it means, but no 
explanation suffices. We may go on pretending that normal is still normal, but 
this is one of a series of "end time" events that is dismantling our culture's 
mythology.

  The evident futility of the responses that we are capable of imagining also 
points to this deep ideological breakdown. The responses are all about more 
control. Yet control, as we may or may not realize, is a key thread of the old 
story of humanity rising above nature, imposing technology and reason on the 
wild world and the uncivilized human. All around us, we see our efforts at 
control backfiring: wars to fight terrorism breed terrorism, herbicides breed 
superweeds, antibiotics breed superbugs, psychiatric medications lead to 
explosive outbursts of violence.

  Looking back on the community schools a couple generations past, where 
children and parents could walk in and out of any door, can we say that the 
inexorable trend toward fortress schools in a fortress state is something 
anyone would have chosen? The world was supposed to be getting better. We were 
supposed to be becoming wealthier, more enlightened. Society was supposed to be 
advancing. Here I am in America, the most "advanced" nation on Earth, yet even 
as our financial wealth has doubled and doubled again in fifty years, we have 
lost wealth of a more basic form; for example, the social capital of feeling 
safe, feeling at home where we live. Is more security the best we can aspire 
to? What about a society where safety does not equal security? What about a 
world where no human being wields an assault rifle? What about a world where we 
mostly know the faces and stories of the people around us? What about a world 
where we know that our daily activities contribute to the healing of the 
biosphere and the well-being of other people? We need a Story of the People 
that includes all of those things - and that doesn't feel like a fantasy.

  Various visionary thinkers have offered versions of such a story, but none of 
them has yet become a true Story of the People, a widely accepted set of 
agreements and narratives that gives meaning to the world and coordinates human 
activity towards its fulfillment. We are not quite ready for such a story yet, 
because the old one, though in tatters, still has large swaths of its fabric 
intact. And even when these unravel, we still must traverse the space between 
stories, a kind of nakedness. In the turbulent times ahead our familiar ways of 
acting, thinking, and being will no longer make sense. We won't know what is 
happening, what it all means, and, sometimes, even what is real. Some people 
have entered that time already.

  I wish I could tell you that I am ready for a new Story of the People, but 
even though I am among its many weavers, I cannot yet fully inhabit the new 
vestments. In other words, describing the world that could be, something inside 
me doubts, rejects, and underneath the doubt is a hurting thing. The breakdown 
of the old story is kind of a healing process, that uncovers the old wounds 
hidden under its fabric and exposes them to the healing light of awareness. I 
am sure many people reading this have gone through such a time, when the 
cloaking illusions fell away: all the old justifications, rationalizations, all 
the old stories. Events like Sandy Hook help to initiate the very same process 
on a collective level. So also the superstorms, the economic crisis, political 
meltdowns. in one way or another, the obsolescence of our old mythos is laid 
bare.

  We do not have a new story yet. Each of us is aware of some of its threads, 
for example in most of the things we call alternative, holistic, or ecological 
today. Here and there we see patterns, designs, emerging parts of the fabric. 
But the new mythos has not yet emerged. We will abide for a time in the space 
between stories. Those of you who have been through it on a personal level know 
that it is a very precious - some might say sacred - time. Then we are in touch 
with the real. Each disaster lays bare the real underneath our stories. The 
terror of a child, the grief of a mother, the honesty of not knowing why. In 
such moments we discover our humanity. We come to each other's aid, human to 
human. We take care of each other. That's what keeps happening every time there 
is a calamity, before the beliefs, the ideologies, the politics take over 
again. Events like Sandy Hook, for at least a moment, cut through all that down 
to the basic human being. In such times, we learn who we really are.

  How can we prepare? We cannot prepare. But we are being prepared.

  Charles Eisenstein is an essayist and author of the books Sacred Economics 
and The Ascent of Humanity. He is a contributor to Shareable, where this 
article first appeared.  



------------------------------------------------------------------------------


  _______________________________________________
  Futurework mailing list
  [email protected]
  https://lists.uwaterloo.ca/mailman/listinfo/futurework
_______________________________________________
Futurework mailing list
[email protected]
https://lists.uwaterloo.ca/mailman/listinfo/futurework

Reply via email to