February 2-5. The Dramatic Rise of Anxiety and Depression in Children and Adolescents: Is It Connected to the Decline in Play and Rise in Schooling? Yes. Another question is: why exactly are kids being more and more controlled? I think it has something to do with ratcheting: For some reason, we humans find it easier to gradually tighten than to gradually loosen. This terrible habit has led to almost every unbearable tightening and catastrophic loosening in history. I don't know what to do about it. Meditation?
The article also mentions that kids are being trained to have extrinsic goals: money, status, material possessions, power over others. In almost any time and place in history, that value system would be foolish. But in the USA from 1950-1985, it actually made sense. Americans had so much power that you could reasonably expect to set and achieve extrinsic goals. Now that the Empire is declining, extrinsic goals are no longer realistic, and we need to shift back to an intrinsic value system, where we do what we find most meaningful and follow it where it leads. Here's the Amazon page for Alfie Kohn, who has spent his life researching how much better people perform when they have freedom to do what they love.
February 7. Today I watched the Super Bowl ads, because I believe they are a window into the American collective unconscious. Of course, the surface message, that the meaning of life is to purchase products, is pure top-down propaganda. But there can also be a bottom-up message, if the ads are resonating with popular feelings.
The big theme I noticed was people overcoming dangers and disasters, usually by doing nothing or being completely irresponsible. A guy gets away from a Road Warrior gang by throwing his wife out of the car. A guy sleepwalks past deadly wild animals. Montgomery Burns loses his entire fortune but becomes happy when someone gives him the advertised product. Astronomers discover that an asteroid is about to strike, and spend their final hours partying, and then the asteroid turns out to be tiny and harmless. In the most troubling ad, a plane crashes on an island, a woman finds a radio to call for rescue, and everyone ignores her to happily consume the advertised product. Again, I see this as a glimpse of how people are feeling: We find ourselves in the middle of a catastrophe, cut off from the rest of the world, but rather than try to reconnect with it, we want to indulge in shallow pleasures and not think about our long term needs.
At least there was one ad where a guy uses his knowledge of tornadoes to actively save a bunch of people, and in the most encouraging ad, a bridge collapses and the people spontaneously self-organize to form a human bridge so the advertised product can get across. Even though it's the same crappy product as above, it has a different meaning: something we gain by creatively engaging with the wider world.
February 8-10. Everyone is talking about the Audi Green Police Super Bowl ad. Here's the reddit/environment comment thread about it, which covers the popular reaction, "Yes, we're headed for a green police state," the green reaction, "Oh no, this is discrediting our whole movement," and many other perspectives. I don't think the people who made the ad had any sinister plans at all. They were simply noticing a popular sentiment, fear of an ecological police state, and going with it.
So the deeper question is: why are Americans so horrified of a police state justified by saving the Earth, when they have happily accepted a police state justified by fear of the enemy tribe? I can think of three answers. First, the story of the war-on-terror tightens and solidifies the tribal identity, or you could call it the collective ego. It makes people more certain of their existing ideas about who they are. But the story of save-the-earth challenges the tribal identity. It asks people to dissolve and expand their sense of who they are, and most Americans find that painful.
A second answer is related to the first. If you're an ordinary propagandized American, the war-on-terror is always against somebody else. Even if they treat you like the enemy by making you walk through body scanners, you know you're not the enemy, so you don't mind. But save-the-earth turns everyone into the "enemy", because everyone's present habits are unsustainable and we know it.
The third answer is that the war-on-terror doesn't ask anyone to give up anything, and save-the-earth does. This is directly related to the second, and also to the first: Andy points out that "American identity involves a sense of entitlement to convenience and luxury."
For all of these reasons, an ecological police state is politically impossible. Given present human nature, the only thing that can stop consumption of resources is exhaustion of resources, or collapse. And even then, some people won't believe it. They'll say that the collapse was engineered, and that a few evil people are secretly hoarding enough wealth for us all to live like kings forever.
February 19-20. Interview with Jeremy Rifkin on the third industrial revolution. Rifkin is not a doomer and seems pretty close to the centers of power, and yet he's talking about a global culture based on empathy, and the end of the top-down economy. Aaron has done some more research and found this loooong transcript of a talk he gave in 1991, An afternoon with Jeremy Rifkin. It's a wide-ranging critique of the mythology and culture of the industrial age, including stuff about the enclosure movement, cartesian metaphysics, economic growth, and utilitarianism. There's also some stuff I haven't seen before, like analyses of sight vs smell, digital vs analog watches, and "hot evil" vs "cold evil".
It's also interesting that he predicted "a leap of consciousness by an entire generation" within the 1990's. Ha. I think our consciousness is changing, but it's even slower and more subtle than the collapse. Hardly anyone who lives through it will notice it, but in 500 years they will look back and see it clearly.
February 22-23. I've been thinking more about why exactly I don't save everything I post, and why even my favorite posts get edited down for archiving. It's not to save myself work, because it would be less work to just keep everything. And it's not because I don't care about preservation. It's because I care more about preservation, and I understand that preservation is not a function of storage space, but a function of human attention.
How much storage space do you have for physical stuff? A few closets? Maybe a big house? What if you had a magical extra-dimensional space, on the outside as small as a closet, and on the inside as big as a warehouse? And what if almost all physical items were dirt cheap or even free? Suppose you also had a genie who could instantly store and retrieve anything you put in there. Then how much stuff would you have? Maybe you would fill the warehouse and get another storage unit the size of a jet airplane hangar.
And then what would happen when you died? The genie can store and retrieve but it cannot judge quality or usefulness. Who's going to sort through it all? What if your heirs have their own magic warehouses, and they have the option to fold yours up and throw it in the trash? And then what happens when they die? Also, what if the lifespan of genies is only 10-20 years, and the new generation can't recognize the stuff stored by the old?
Obviously, I'm talking about the way we treat information. I know someone who works in the field of information archiving and retrieval, and she says we are now living in a lost age: when historians look back at our time, they will have no idea what happened. The ancient Maya carved their records in stone. Medieval scholars wrote on vellum, which can easily last 1000 years. How long does a CD last, or a flash drive? And who will be able to read it? After only 20 years, with no tech crash, it's already very difficult to recover data from 5¼ inch floppies. Even our books are almost always written on self-consuming acidic paper. And there is little or no effort to sort out what's most important. According to my source, book-archiving warehouses file them by size and date of arrival.
What if you took a handful of diamonds, scattered them in a massive pile of gravel, mixed it all up, and then took a few handfuls out? What are the odds you would get a diamond back? What if the diamonds were disguised as gravel and could only be identified by close examination? What if the whole pile gradually disappeared? This is what we're doing with our information.
To preserve our story, we need to do three things: 1) practice sorting information and editing it down to the very best stuff; 2) put it in a form that will be readable in the remote future; 3) if possible, build a human tradition of keeping track of the archives. I'm also wondering if there's any way to store music for thousands of years. Turntable records made of titanium?
Related links: the Long Now Foundation, and an article by one of them about about Avoiding a Digital Dark Age. Their best idea is the Rosetta Disk, 13,000 pages of text and images, micro-etched into a small piece of metal, and readable after 2000 years with just a few lenses. Someone should be mass-producing those, or better yet, mass-producing machines that will let us make our own.
After more reader comments, I see that I confused readers, and myself, by failing to clearly define what kind of information I'm talking about.
The most overrated category is how-to-do-it information. Anne points out that the best way to preserve knowledge of how to do things, or maybe the only way, is to make it part of a living culture. Others suggest that our how-to-do-it information might be harmful, since we've nearly destroyed the world with it. And since we're talking about thousands of years, and not ten years, there's really no point in telling people how to grow squash or tan hides.
Another category is history. On the broad scale, it will be obvious to everyone that we mined all the metal and built giant steel-framed buildings. But what about medium-scale history, the stuff historians write about? If we find it helpful to read Herodotus, people of the future will want to know the same kind of thing about us.
What I find most interesting is human-scale history. If you imagine going back in a time machine, what exactly is exciting about it? Most of us are not looking for the technical details of Damascus steel. We're wondering what it's like to live in a different time. And if you could go thousands of years in the future, what would you want to talk about? And what would they ask you about?
Diane points out that everyone will know how wasteful we were by digging up our landfills. But will they know how we felt about it? Will they see us wallowing in hedonistic pleasure, or will they know how many of us were depressed? Will they know that garbage bins had locks to keep scavengers out, because people who could live off garbage could avoid having jobs, which would drive others into a jealous rage because they hated their jobs, but could not admit it consciously? Will they guess that at the all-time peak of energy consumption and individualism, so many of us felt individually powerless?
Will they know what made us happy? That's too big of a subject! But I can't think of anything there that's easy to send into the future.