We're such big stuff, we Westerners, we highly-advanced, technologically-savvy, possession-addicted want-it-alls. Yeah, there's nothing that we don't think we deserve, well anything pleasurable, luxurious, flashy and envy-instilling, that is. Nah, there's not a resource so precious, not a landmass so pristine, not an environment so enlivening that we wouldn't sacrifice it to satisfy our greed, our need for more, our own personal satisfaction.
Oh, you can go to church on Sunday and pray all week that you don't get on the wrong side of G-d's wrath. You can believe for a whole monthful of Sundays that the witness you bore is some kind of get-out-of-hell free card. You can have undying faith that science is on your side or you're on science's and don't need any of that superstitious bunk. You can strut and parade and peacock your way all over town and through the mall, but in the end, I mean at the end of the day, when the sun goes down, when the cold dark of night engulfs you, you're still just another spoiled, overfed, frightened and lonely child, regardless whether your team crushed its weakly opponents or not. And when you drag your sad eyes open tomorrow morning, you'll only have the certainty that you're another cog in the wheel, a number in the system. Just when was it that you lost touch with everything that mattered?
Welcome to life in the postmodern world. Our world, t-h-e world, the only world we'll probably ever know, and it's a world of our own making. A world in which lifeless, soulless, imaginary (juridicial) entities, corporations, are people, and real people, people like you and me and our jerk of a neighbor are no longer even human. We're customers, consumers, clients who nobody listens to nor cares about once our wallets are empty. A world in which money, the love of which is the root of all evil, is free speech, and the more of it you have, the louder you can be. A world in which machines are programmed to make cookies all a bit different so that you get the feeling, have the illusion, that when you pull it out of the package, it was made just for you. A world in which we can individually customize any product or service to be delivered by a machine. A world in which machines are smarter, quicker, faster, more capable, and in the majority opinion more valuable than any single one of us.
Oh sure, you're you. You're your own person. You're in charge of your own life, but not in the least. From morning till night you're told what to wear, what to eat, how to dress, how to smell, how to talk, to be cool, to be noticed, to be twittered, if you're lucky, into your 15 seconds of fame. Sorry Andy, but we don't have minutes left for anyone anymore.
Yes, we're all our own selves, but selves disconnect from anyone who doesn't walk, talk, think, act, or like the same things we do. We're just lonely little selves. But you'll wave your home team's colors, or your school's or your company's or your country's, so that everyone can see that you belong, that you're one of whomever, but there your lonely self is merely an anonymous member/fan/alumni/citizen in the crowd.
Such is our postmodern world, and we all know, but few of us want to admit, that, well, things just can't go on like they are. Something has got to give. And it will, I can assure you. But the real question is, are you ready for it?
“You can’t crush ideas by suppressing them. You can only crush them by ignoring them. By refusing to think, refusing to change.”
― Le Guin, The Dispossessed
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