Narrative
In my second book, Burying the 20th Century, published a quarter of a century ago, I warned of the imminent failure of many of our most life-critical systems - including education, healthcare, politics and a global economy based on debt and speculation. My observations pointed to the need for the burial of old and obsolete assumptions and an era of renewal.
Since then very little has changed, except on the surface of our perceptions. Indeed although some things have deteriorated still further, we seem to believe that everything is fine, that we can fix all of the problems facing us and that a radical overhaul is unnecessary. Yet, as the war in Ukraine continues, China-US tensions escalate, and Israel loses the moral authority it once had, we continue to hear whispers of our imminent extinction. So what is the truth?
Anxiety and fear from various factors are fueling a sense of foreboding. The potential for a nuclear accident, climate chaos, pandemics like the one we recently experienced, creeping authoritarianism, economic disparities, technological challenges, and geopolitical power games are just a few of the issues concerning us.
Unsurprisingly Hollywood and Netflix pick up these themes, shaping narratives that hold us either spellbound or traumatised. After watching documentaries like Seaspiracy and David Attenborough's A Life on this Planet it might seem as though we're inviting extinction with open arms. I am reminded of the scene in Melbourne Town Hall when Al Gore's documentary An Inconvenient Truth was first screened. It received a standing ovation rather than the stunned silence I assumed would have ensued.
Most people tend to dismiss claims of extinction as implausible. Just look at the world we have crafted through generations of ingenuity and determination, they assert. It is unthinkable that major coastal cities could be under water by the end of this century. It is equally unthinkable that we might empty the oceans by commercial fishing by 2048, destroy most top soils from industrial agriculture by 2060, or accidentally trigger a nuclear war that would almost instantly destroy all life on the planet.
Extinction
Be that as it may, humans share a deep cognitive inability to face up to existential crises of this nature. We willingly ignore the facts, clinging to the hope that scientists are wrong or their models inaccurate. We convince ourselves that corporations are not selfish, and governments would take instant action to protect us if any of these issues were likely to put humanity in a clear and present danger. And if, by any stretch of the imagination, any of them did turn out to be true, then we would just invent a new technology to solve the problem. Case dismissed.
But what if we are not up to that task? What if it all happens so quickly that we're caught napping? What if we are already on the edge of societal collapse? Surely it would be best to exercise the precautionary principle used in medicine and to address any doubts we might have by changing what we do and how we do it – especially if it also spawns a safer, cleaner, healthier and more peaceful society?
Others will insist we are already taking sufficient action in any number of ways. They will point to the pledges by various nations to reduce greenhouse gas emissions to net zero by 2050. They will argue, as in the past, that possessing stockpiles of nuclear weapons on active standby is a deterrent against their use. They will see gene editing, and gain-of-function trials on viruses as legitimate ways to cure disease. They will argue that industrial fishing and agriculture is the only way to feed a population of more than 8 billion people. They will bow to the billionaires even as they plan their escape routes. And if they want to live longer they might even see the dream of digital immortality by 2048 as a bonus. But all of these events without exception, including the most virtuous and well-intentioned, alongside most entrepreneurial initiatives that simply add to a stockpile of stuff we do not actually need, skirt around the main dilemmas that trap us in prisons of our own invention.
Carnival ride
Allow me to use just one example to illustrate the difficulties we face in freeing ourselves from the shackles we have conjured, schemes that are now so ingrained in our materialist culture that to change any one element would risk catastrophic failure of almost everything we accept as the 'natural' order. I call this metaphor the cycle of production and consumption. It is driven by desire, envy and avarice. Not only does this cycle seem to be imprinted into our behavioural code, but it also depicts the pile of problems we must resolve in order to shape a new and more sustainable civilisational model.
Imagine we are all packed into a fairground. The ride everyone wants to experience is the giant Ferris wheel. Tickets are paid for by a lifetime of labour and allow passengers to remain on the ride indefinitely. The only stipulation is that they must keep ordering new stuff and discarding old stuff so as to keep the machinery well lubricated and the illuminations shining brightly. The small print makes it clear that they can't get off the ride without paying a fine and being labelled a bludger. Millions are trying desperately to get on but are hampered by a lack of resources, or simply fail to gain access to the fairground because they look 'different' in some way.
Meanwhile on the carnival ride, a few people are becoming alarmed by the acceleration. They have noticed increasing turbulence and would like to get off - if only they could find the brake! Besides, marketing consultants and tax collectors stand guard, assuring passengers that the increasing speed is actually a good thing and that there's no need for alarm. Some passengers beg to differ and can be seen arguing with uniformed police who are doing their utmost to calm things down. But now the ride is clearly unstable. A few gondolas are unhinged, and cogs are falling off. The whole contraption is now in danger of coming off its foundations.
More and more people are standing up and blaming each other for the situation in which they now find themselves. Meanwhile the owners of the fairground are trying to ignore the commotion, putting on a brave face and pretending that everything is as it should be. Some of them are imploring the engineers to fix a few of the more visible faults. Fear is now palpable, effecting passengers in different ways. A riot of some kind seems inevitable. Things can't go on like this for much longer.
At this point the promise of salvation appears. Something many of the passengers had temporarily forgotten. "Buy more stuff" the marketing team begin to yell, pointing at the large advertising screens. "If you buy more stuff and throw the old stuff away the self-correcting machinery will kick in. Everything will be okay." Convinced, passengers scramble over each other to buy stuff that will extend the ride (possibly including a few tranquillizers just to be on the safe side) and that will guarantee the fun continues as before.
Endings
This is what societal collapse looks and feels like at an individual level. Consumerism has gone feral, but we are no happier than before. We have arrived at this point of bewilderment through colonisation, intimidation, slavery, and evangelical spin, all aimed at one goal - accelerating economic growth through unbridled competition and almost unlimited clout exerted by the landlords of capital and algorithms. The lessons are abundantly clear, though not yet headlines on the nightly news bulletins.
Capitalism is predatory and is killing us and everything else we depend on for life. Democracy is not working anywhere in the world. Markets are being unscrupulously manipulated. Old empires are imploding under a pile of debt, militarism, and self-righteousness. Yet still we want to play the same game; still we insist on applying the same rules; still we rush to defend the indefensible. But the game is over.
Extreme fundamentalism and intolerance are on the rise, resulting from a pathologically-induced state of panic and fear. Nation states are pushing back against their own people in an effort to maintain laws that are no longer pertinent. A population of 8 billion people has stretched the capacity of nature to provide for us in the way we had originally designed things, such that we're breaching a number of critical planetary boundaries needed to ensure our home remains habitable. To top it all we're becoming more angry and frustrated by inept rulers, empty promises that life is getting better, and failing systems.
Yet even now our civilisation could end with a bang or a whimper. There is only one sure bet: most of the beliefs on which we've built our world, along with everything we cherish, are now under threat.
Being human
Given that the pace of technological advancement far outstrips the speed of human biological evolution, there are really only three questions worth asking now. Are we as a species, essentially just 'smart' apes with exceptional tool-making talents, wise enough to survive our own success? If so, what does renewal look like? And what will it mean to be human in tomorrow's world?
Given the broad sweep of history, our single-minded notion of what constitutes progress and how this narrative is weaponized, and the addictive nature of today's gadgets, we seem to be locked into a path that seems inevitable, though not at all desirable, and even less environmentally friendly.
Having passed a number of tipping points, civilisational collapse is probably inevitable at this stage. Indeed that scenario aligns with what we know about the collapse of past societies. If resistance is futile, and extinction best avoided, then finding a viable path through the pandemonium is crucial.
In that respect we must find the courage to let go of the past and push through the pain of the present so as to liberate a shared spirit of rejuvenation. That in itself will be a renascence of the human family. It will enable us to step into new ways of knowing, for without that step we'll be unable to discover the ontological shift needed to redefine Homo sapiens relative to other forms of life. But even that will not be enough. Because that crucial reframing of what it means to be human, is only likely to manifest through a leap of collective consciousness.
Although that sounds both arduous and audacious it comes down to one sacrificial act: ridding our minds of the garbage that weighs us down, including the debris of archaic assumptions and mechanistic theories that keep us trapped in our seductive nostalgia for the past. This is the only sacrifice we need make.
I am reminded of the poem Come to the Edge by Guillaume Apollinaire:
Come to the edge, he said.
We can't, we're afraid! they responded.
Come to the edge, he said.
We can't, We will fall! they replied.
Come to the edge, he said.
And so they came.
And he pushed them.
And they flew.
Falling or flying?
I remain an optimist at heart for I hope to see the dawn of a new civilisation following the breakdown of our current world-system. I hope to see sufficiency temper the impulse for unrelenting economic growth. I hope to glimpse new species inhabiting more ecologically attuned landscapes. I hope to hear the marginalized voices of children in the global south rise above the racket of the global north's exhausted hype. I hope to hear truths about the human condition spoken openly rather than people being taken in by crass propaganda which deems some people more entitled than others. And I hope to feel the warm embrace of a human family charged with a new duty - the wise stewardship of all life on Earth.
All of this is possible of course. It's disparagingly labelled 'utopian' by those who have been captured by the current worldview. But aiming for utopia is at least more inspiring than coping with dystopia.
We must remember too... The past is sealed in our hearts. The present lodges in our minds. But the possible has yet to be imagined, and our future yet to be written. The question of whether we fall or fly is in our hands.