7.1. I Can See Clearly Now
The Director sat back and smiled reflectively. “George, if Karl Marx were here with us now, I’ve a feeling he’d be pretty disappointed with how things have turned out.”
“You’re probably right,” agreed George, somewhat sanguine. “And I expect he’d also be wondering why he was sitting in this bougie bar at half past one in the morning.”
“That too!” Agreed the Director smiling. “The first thing he’d probably want to know is how the revolution was coming along.”
“And we’d have to tell him it’s not looking great,” chimed in the bartender, clearly feeling she was now among comrades.
“I’m afraid you’re right,” agreed the Director.
Warming to her theme, she continued, “We’d also have to break the news that the workers of the world, despite having nothing to lose but their chains, have yet to unite and grasp the means of production.”
“Right again.” Agreed the Director, smiling, “I’d have to explain how the bourgeoisie had ruthlessly clung to power through a heady mix of cultural hegemony, gaslighting and good old-fashioned intimidation. Turns out, they were much better at selling the Capitalist dream than Karl could have ever imagined.
“The proletariat were far too willing to lap it up”, added George, sounding disappointed. “They wanted to join the middle-class party.”
“And if Gramsci, Žižek, and Mark Fisher were here too, they could fill him in on all the gory details.” Finished off the bartender.
“Woah! It’s getting crowded in here!” Laughed George.
“I’d better put some more glasses out!” added Faye with a chuckle.
“However,” continued the Director, enjoying the injection of energy, “We could inform him of a plot twist he might not have seen coming.”
‘Spoiler Alert!” Shouted George, while the bartender leaned in closer, keen to hear this new insight.
“We could tell him that, thanks to global warming and the increasing likelihood of mass extinction, the bourgeoisie has finally seen the writing on the wall, switched allegiance and joined the workers in challenging the status quo.”
“You’re right! I did not see that coming!” Confirmed Faye, now pouring herself a whisky to help digest this new information.
“They’d had a good run: I mean, 200 years of rape and pillaging, but hey, all good things must come to an end.” Said the Director ruefully. “and when the middle-class no longer supports the system, the game’s up.”
“A house divided against itself cannot stand.” Quoted Faye.
“To Abraham Lincoln!” Toasted the Director, lifting his glass.
“Abe Lincoln!” Agreed, George and Faye, clinking their glasses. The Director was increasingly impressed with this intelligent young lady.
“And when that happens, we enter uncharted waters”, he continued, “The Titanic is going down, and everyone who can still walk is fighting to get into the lifeboats.”
“Capitalist rats are leaving a sinking ship,” added George tartly.
“Precisely,” agreed the Director, “yet the GRiFTers still insist there’s nothing for us to worry about and tell the band to play on. But we’ve all seen how this movie ends.”
“Yeah, with DiCaprio’s pasty face sinking beneath the icy waves.” Reflected George, clearly irritated by the memory of yet another leading part he auditioned for but didn’t get. “Apparently, Winslet thought I was too short, the cow.”
Choosing to ignore this great injustice, the Director continued. “You know, it will almost be funny to see the first-class passengers finally having to mix with the huddled masses in steerage.”
“Oh, the irony!” Smiled Faye as she imagined this scene.
“At least, it would be funny if it wasn’t so tragic,” agreed the Director, “but, I’m sorry to say, this is precisely what’s going to happen if the GRiFTers are steering the ship. They’ll plough on regardless, heading for the nearest iceberg because they don’t believe we can sink, and they won’t stop until we’re all floating face down in a sea of hubris.”
“Please explain.” Requested Faye politely, having not heard the Director’s hubris speech earlier in the evening.
“Well,” responded the Director earnestly, “there are hundreds of solutions to the energy crisis just waiting to be developed, but if we carry on the way we are, by the time we do something about it, it’ll be too late.”
“Why’s that?” Asked Faye, sensing she knew the answer but wanted to hear it from the horse’s mouth.
“Because our hubris is getting in the way,” he confirmed. “There are many ways we can avoid pumping billions of tons of carbon into the atmosphere, but we will never develop them if we first have to ask, ‘Yes, but will it make us money?’ If the answers to the climate crisis also have to provide the GRiFTers with a profit, then we’re never going to make it.”
“We’ve got Kamikaze pilots steering the ship!” Shouted George in a state of comical panic. “We need a mutiny!”
“You’re a regular Fletcher Christian.” Smiled Faye affectionately.
“That’s me!” Agreed George, cheerfully. “A modern-day Mel Gibson!”
“Do you draw all of your references from movies you watched as a kid?” asked the Director, genuinely curious.
“Pretty much.” Confirmed George. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“Maybe,” replied Faye a little sceptically while trying not to sound superior. “But I’d take Brando over Gibson any day: Sexier and much less antisemitic.”
“One thing’s for sure,” said the Director, returning the conversation to his nautical trope. “We can’t keep going on the way we have. Something has to change, but it would be unwise to think we can just throw the Capitalists overboard and paddle to safety. The truth is, even if we knew which way to go, there’s no telling we’d make it.”
Whisky in hand, the Director took a moment to look into the two keen, if somewhat squiffy, faces looking back at him, awaiting his next pearl of wisdom.
“The answers won’t come in the form of a silver bullet or a one-size-fits-all solution. To save ourselves, we must use all of our imagination and ingenuity. It’ll be messy sometimes, and some of our actions might even make things worse. But, in the long run, so long as we all pull together in the spirit of enlightened self-interest, we can still snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.”
George felt a little blinded by this blizzard of cliches. Still, he clung on grimly in the hope that, somewhere within these platitudes, the Director would deliver the answers he was seeking. After all, the Director’s diagnosis had seemed plausible so far, so he hoped the prescription for recovery would be equally easy to swallow.
“That’s great, Sir,” he queried, “so if we remove the profit motive from the process, are there enough new ideas out there to save us?”
“Certainly there are!” Confirmed the Director reassuringly, now sounding like a kindly uncle. “There are hundreds, if not thousands, of clean energy alternatives if we could just be bothered to look. But, up to now, there hasn’t been the urgency to develop them. The reality is that so many clean energy sources are incredibly cheap and need almost no effort to produce.”
“That’s a problem?” asked George incredulously. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely, I am,” the Director responded emphatically. “Did you know we can now power our cars using salt?”
“Salt?” Asked Faye in surprise. “You mean the stuff I dip my margarita glasses in?”
“The very same,” confirmed the Director. “Up to now, there’s been almost no interest in developing sodium batteries because, I mean, how the hell do you make money out of something you can get from seawater? Where’s the markup in that? Right now, sodium batteries are bulky, but that’s only because we haven’t tried very hard to make them small and lightweight.”
George and Faye were both flummoxed by this.
“Then look at air-source heat pumps. Any government serious about reducing its carbon footprint would have fitted air-source heat pumps to every house in the country free of charge! I mean, they’re only a glorified fridge in reverse. A straightforward piece of kit that would cost a fraction of what they charge for them. But that would be too easy. Where’s the money in that? So, instead, they’re put on the market at £10 grand a pop and an army of dodgy salesmen calls us every day to see if we want to buy one.
And then, there’s the most boring but effective alternative of all.”
“Oh yeah, what’s that?” asked Faye sceptically.
“Insulation, my friend.” Replied the Director with a hint of satisfaction.
“Insulation?” asked George, yawning to show his lack of interest.
“Damn right!” Confirmed the Director, undeterred by this lack of enthusiasm. “Net Zero is a lot easier to reach when you don’t waste energy in the first place. I know it isn’t sexy, but you don’t need to warm a house that’s warm already. But of course, there’s not a lot of money to be made from putting your old socks and jumpers in your loft, so nobody bothers. That’s not how Capitalism works: The idea that the profit motive drives innovation is the great myth. Capitalists are only interested in innovation if there’s money to be made, and there’s certainly no money in salt and old socks, so we’re all left to die instead!”
“Oh, come on!” exclaimed Faye defiantly. “What about Thomas Edison and James Watt? They were great Capitalists and made a ton of money from their inventions.”
This was a completely valid challenge to his theory. For a moment, the Director felt disappointed with himself for assuming this bartender had just been a pretty face with a cocktail shaker.
“Maybe so,” he conceded, “but what do computers, the Internet, the sat-nav in your car, non-stick frying pans, and polio vaccines have in common?”
“Don’t tell me.” Replied George facetiously. “They’ve all been prizes on Jeopardy?”
“Not exactly,” replied the Director. “But close. They were all developed thanks to public funding.”
“Ah… that was going to be my second guess.” Lied George.
“And without public money, which taxpayers like me and you provided, by the way, those rockets that Bezos and Musk are so proud of would never have got off the ground.”
“Just phallic symbols anyway.” Muttered Faye, unimpressed. “They must have tiny dicks.”
“Yes, and without public money, they’d have never got them up.” Chuckled the Director.
“Projectile dysfunction.” Added Faye with excellent comic timing.
“The same’s true of hundreds of inventions we now take for granted: They all needed public money. If we’d have left it to those genius entrepreneurs like Bezos and Musk, we wouldn’t have developed vaccines, and the hospitals would still have polio wards.”
“But Amazon would now be doing a roaring trade in callipers and iron lungs.” Suggested George flatly.
“So pat yourself on the back, George, and…” The Director had forgotten Faye’s name again, so he squinted at her tag. “…Faye, because you’ve certainly played your part in making the world a better place.”
“No thanks to those assholes who think they’re so superior to us little people.” Added Faye.
“… And to whom they avoid paying their taxes!” added George pointedly.
At this, the three friends clinked their glasses in a mutual ‘cheers’ of self-congratulation. “To Vaccines!” Offered George.
“FINALLY!” exclaimed Faye suddenly, banging her shot glass onto the bar so abruptly that George thought she might smash it.
“What have I said now?” Asked George, concerned by her sudden outburst.
“I’M NOT CRAZY! I’ve been saying this for years!”
“Saying what?” asked George.
“Those egotists on Dragon’s Den really ARE idiots!” she exploded.
“Couldn’t agree more.” Confirmed an amused George. “They call it the Shark Tank in the States, but they’re more like clownfish than sharks.”
“Apparently, being filthy rich isn’t enough for them,” added the Director. “So they’ve got to be on our tellies to remind us how superior they are.”
“But they’re no smarter than I am!” rejoined Faye. “Bezos, Branson, Zuckerberg and Musk: Just attention-seeking narcissists, all of them!”
The Director nodded in agreement. “Have you noticed how the people we hold up as the most successful examples of Capitalism are also borderline sociopaths? It’s no coincidence. Capitalism works best when you’re an extremist who doesn’t conform to social norms. Normal people just aren’t ruthless enough.”
George thought about this momentarily and wondered why this had never occurred to him before.
“They just happened to have been in the right place at the right time or had a rich daddy or something. So why do we treat them like they’re so special?” Mused Faye.
“Bezos, Branson, Zuckerberg and Musk: Sounds like a firm of second-rate tax advisors.” Smiled the Director.
“From Des Moines.” Added George drily, “Specialising in small-time tax avoidance schemes.”
“… with bad suits, dandruff and halitosis.” Muttered Faye, relishing the chance to add detail. “Just privileged white men, somewhere on the autistic spectrum, who think they’re superheroes. They could have just as easily served us all drinks here tonight.”
“Like in Sliding Doors!” said George, happy for another chance to show off his extensive knowledge of popular cinema.
“Oddballs with limited social skills. And behind them are thousands more like them, minus the lucky breaks, so we don’t hear their stories.” Concluded the Director, “But you don’t read THAT in Time Magazine.”
“… It’s just like you were saying before, Sir.” Reflected George.
“What’s that?” asked the Director. After all, he’d said a lot over the past 6 hours, so he wasn’t sure what George was getting at.
“You know, the bit when you explained why computers still use crappy Windows software when there’s plenty of better alternatives out there.”
“And that’s also why we still use the putrefied remains of tiny creatures that died on the ocean floor millions of years ago to power our cars.” Added Faye dismissively. “Sooo sophisticated….”
“Precisely!” Agreed the Director. “The pair of you really have been listening!” patting both George and Faye paternally on their shoulders.“But while it’s fun to laugh at dysfunctional entrepreneurs and see them for what they are,” concluded the Director, steering the conversation back to his thesis. “The one thing we need to be very clear about is that the answers won’t come from a specific political ideology. As I said before, if we waste time arguing about whether our salvation will be Capitalist or Socialist, we’ll all be dead anyway, so it really won’t matter. Those are the sorts of conversations for a dinner party or over a glass of malt in a late-night bar like this. But this isn’t that sort of conversation. This isn’t even about politics. I’m not a socialist trying to win an argument; I’m just a human trying to stay alive. This is about survival, and, trust me, we’ll all be quick to discard our political allegiances when there’s a gun pointing at our head.”
This stark image brought George back into the present and made him want to focus again.
“I know I’ve been critical of Capitalism today.”
“Critical!” said George, smiling ironically. “You can say that again!”
“But I hope you can see that my point isn’t motivated by politics. I’m really not interested in politics. Actually, it bores me. It’s dull. It’s redundant. It doesn’t offer us the solutions we need. Look, if you’re a right-wing Trump-loving bigot, I may not like you; I might even think you’re a bit of a moron, but that doesn’t mean I can’t co-exist with you. What I have more of a problem with is knowing a Trump supporter’s lifestyle is incompatible with a sustainable planet: If we all behave like Trump, everyone will die, and not just the reds and commies in China, but all of us. The climate doesn’t care how we vote.
“So, the underlying point of the movie we’ve just made, and even this conversation I’m having with you now, is all geared towards explaining this idea as simply as I can.”
George paused to consider what the Director had just said and, after a few moments of reflection, offered: “I guess that explains why the dragon was addicted.”
“How’s that?” asked the Director, curious to understand what George was getting at.
“I’ve seen those Trump supporters. They’re pretty addicted to whatever brand of Kool-Aid Trump is selling them.”
“DAMN RIGHT!” Exclaimed the Director in a moment of triumph, sensing that the penny might have finally dropped.
“Trump supporters are like alcoholics. They probably know what they are doing breaks the rules, but want to do it anyway because they’re addicted to the feeling of power and freedom that Trump promises.”
“You seem to have hit the nail on the head there, my friend.” Agreed the Director approvingly.
“And trying to reason with them is pointless because they’re a little crazy. They can’t think rationally.”
“Exactly.” Confirmed the Director.
George continued to pursue this thought: “It would be like trying to talk those Kamikaze pilots out of steering our ship. They wouldn’t listen because they’ve been brainwashed.”
The Director looked at Faye, who looked back knowingly at him as if to say, “George seems to be having an epiphany.”
“But at least alcoholics generally know they have a problem.” Resumed George, following his own idea down the rabbit hole. “The problem with Capitalism is that everything is designed to make you even more of an addict. In fact, a Capitalist society encourages us all to believe we can ONLY fit in if we’re motivated by money and power!”
“By George, I think you’ve got it!” Congratulated the Director.
7.2. Where Do We Go From Here? (From Ideology to Ontology)
As this crescendo of excitement abated, the three collaborators were left to gather their thoughts and try to combat the booze, which was now really taking a toll on their mental faculties.
To lighten the mood, Faye leaned over the bar and, for no particular reason, whispered into the Director’s ear, “The first rule of Fight Club is you don’t talk about Fight Club.”
“And the second rule of Fight Club is you don’t talk about Fight Club.” Whispered the Director back.
“But the most important rule of Fight Club is: Fuck the rules!” Laughed George loudly, causing the few guests still in the bar to look around to see the source of the expletive.
“Yes, well, that may be so.” Conceded the Director, somewhat confused by George’s increasingly erratic behaviour, “But what I’m trying to get at is that whether you agree with Capitalism or not, it’s a fact that it’s killing us. So I suggest we all begin to find genuine solutions as quickly as possible: Solutions that have nothing to do with making money and everything to do with staying alive.
“Ah ah ah ah, staying alive, staying alive, Ah ah ah ah, staying aliiiiiiive !” Sang George and Faye together, now a little giddy and getting on like a house on fire, bumping fists at the end of their chorus.
“Well, I’m pleased you find our imminent destruction amusing,” muttered the Director in mock annoyance. “But if we want to avoid hitting that iceberg, we need to start doing things very differently.”
The three friends nodded in solemn solidarity.
“It’s like that thing Einstein said,” observed Faye.
“What?” asked George, trying to calm down and contain himself.
“You know, the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.”
“You’re right,” agreed the Director. “We’ve got to look seriously at alternative ways to solve this problem — and it can be done. Suppose you’d asked someone 300 years ago whether they should scrap Mercantilism. They’d have said ‘no way’, but then Capitalism comes along, and Mercantilism is suddenly about as cool as wearing socks with sandals.”
“That’s a lot like Buckminster Fuller .” Observed Faye.
“Buckminster Fuller now!” Exclaimed the Director, “My all-time hero! Wow, you really are the queen of quotations!”
“So what did this Bucking Mister say?” Asked George, trying to dampen Faye and the Director’s love-in.
“You never change things by fighting the existing reality,” replied Faye. “To change something, build a new model that makes the existing model obsolete.”
“Damn right!” Agreed the Director emphatically. “But what is someone who quotes Buckminster Fuller off the top of her head, working behind a bar at 2 in the morning?”
“I’m studying for an MA in Political Science,” she confessed. “I tend bar to pay my student fees. Do you know how much it costs to get through college?”
“I know it’s extortionate. I’ve no idea how you do it.” Replied the Director, embarrassed at what students had to endure in modern Britain.
“It’s hard.” Confirmed Faye. “A lot of the time, I fall asleep in lectures.”
The Director felt the need to show support: “When I went to college in the 70s, we were handed a grant and accommodation, but no strings were attached. They just let me focus on why I was there.”
“Fornication and alcohol?” asked George sarcastically.
“That’s right,” laughed the Director. “That’s another thing that’s changed since Capitalism took over of the British education system. It’s just another way of GRiFTing profits. I feel so sorry for you.”
Faye just shrugged and returned to drying her glasses.
“It’s funny, but back in the ’60s and ’70s, we assumed everything would just keep getting better.” Mused the Director, “We’d put men on the moon, and if we’d been asked what we thought 2024 would be like, I imagine we’d have assumed we’d have colonised Mars by now. But, of course, none of that happened. Instead, we went into reverse, and almost everything got worse. And that’s a direct result of Capitalism tightening its grip on our lives. It’s like Japanese knotweed strangling society.”
“I guess that’s just the way it is…” responded Faye with another shrug.
George feared this might prompt another Bruce Hornsby number, so he quickly inserted himself into the conversation.
“So what are we going to do instead?” he asked hurriedly.
“An excellent question,” replied the Director. “Stick with me, and let’s see if we can find the answer. In my book, the solution isn’t so much political as it is ontological.” To which he noted George’s puzzled expression. “where did he say “You never change things by fighting the existing reality.” replied Faye. “To change something, build a new model that makes the existing model obsolete.”, my friend, refers to questions about the nature of existence. You know: Why are we here? What’s the purpose of life? That sort of thing.”
George nodded, but he still wasn’t sure he understood.
“If we’re going to survive this mess, we’ll have to ask the Big Questions, which are not political at all. At this point, arguing about politics is like arguing over how to arrange the deckchairs on the Titanic. We need to think much, much more than that. We need to ask how we can avoid hitting the iceberg in the first place, and that’s a different order of question altogether.”
George was still puzzled by his mentor’s drift yet nodded as if he understood.
“The answer has to come from a paradigm shift in how we see the world and our place in it.”
At this, Faye paused her glass drying and leaned on the bar to listen more carefully.
“A long time ago, even before telescopes were invented, a guy called Copernicus looked up at Jupiter in the night sky and noticed how its moons went around their mother planet. From this, he understood how the Earth more or less did the same thing when it went round the Sun and, in a eureka moment, realised that the Earth was not the centre of the Universe at all and that Man, therefore, was not the sole focus of God. And all that came from squinting at a few little dots in the sky. And that’s what I mean when I talk about a paradigm shift! That’s how paradigm shifts work. Once you’ve seen the answer, you can never go back to seeing it the old way again. Everything changes.”
“I used to like looking at those puzzle book pictures of Dalmatians and ducks and things. First, they just look like splotches, but you suddenly see the spotty dog and can never unsee it.” Remembered George.
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” Agreed the Director. “So, thinking about the situation we’re in now, I’d say that realising Capitalism is not the long-term solution for success doesn’t seem such an Ah-Ha! Moment. I mean, Copernicus’ great moment of clarity killed God, for krissakes! We’re only trying to kill Jeff Bezos!” (Dear reader, this is a joke — don’t take it literally – ED)
Faye snorted into her drink in amusement at this. However, George was more preoccupied with whether he preferred Coke or Pepsi with his Jack.
“It’s that hubris thing again.” Continued the Director. “It must be in our DNA because we’ve got previous form on this sort of thing.”
“What sort of thing?” asked Faye.
“You know, thinking we know best when, in reality, we’re actually being incredibly foolish. Take the Easter Islanders for example, who carved all those stone heads? It seems to have been their main purpose in life and took them hundreds of years. Eventually, they cut down all the trees and killed off all the animals on their little island, making it uninhabitable. And they all died off. And for what?”
George shrugged as if to say, ‘Don’t ask me’, because he couldn’t see how this was relevant.
“You think someone might have pointed out that carving hundreds of stone heads was a stupid idea. I think it was some sort of religion – a bit like our own ‘religion’ where we worship luxury watches and fast cars. I wonder if it ever occurred to any of them how ridiculous they were being?”
George looked at his Richard Mille. It was 2 am.
“Arguing about whether Capitalism or Socialism is the best political system to get us out of this existential crisis is a lot like arguing over whether the carved heads should have round or square noses. In the grand scheme of things, who gives a shit?”
“And there’s me, thinking you were a Marxist.” Said Faye, leaning on the bar and sucking a cocktail stick.
“Not anymore.” Replied the Director. “I’m just a regular human now, enjoying life on this little planet, and not wanting it to end sooner than it needs to. Sure, it’s pretty evident that Capitalism no longer gives us what we need, but fighting about it will only waste time. We’ll just be fighting each other instead of fighting the climate. But there’s one last thing I wanted to mention.” He said, changing gears. “You might not know this, but before I wrote the Dragon screenplay, I spent a couple of years trying to write a book all about Trust. I call it ‘Trustonomics’™. I was inspired to write it after the Great Satsuma became President, and we didn’t know who to trust anymore. So, being a sad old advertising man, I wondered whether anyone was still willing to trust advertising. Eventually, I came to the conclusion that Trust and advertising are actually oxymorons. They can’t exist together in the same space because there is always an ulterior motive: to sell me something. You never get something for nothing. It’s always a conditional affair. And that’s fine, so long as we understand that’s what’s going on. And I realise this might sound bloody obvious, but, at the time, I was still stuck in the Capitalist Matrix, and it’s hard to see what’s real when you’re in there. Anyway, that whole experience got me tugging this thread of Trust down the Capitalist rabbit hole, and that’s how I ended up where I am now, making movies about dragons. Tug on the thread of Trust, and the whole Capitalist illusion falls apart.
“Just like the Dragon’s suit!” Slurred George.
“Exactly like the Dragon’s suit,” agreed the Director nodding.
Faye, the bartender, looked baffled by all this talk of dragons again but decided not to ask. She was sure she’d understand better if she just continued to listen.
“But the point I wanted to make is that if we’re going to build a new world out of the wreckage of the old one, we’re going to need to learn to
Trust again. We must realise that other people are more than just an opportunity to make money. This isn’t going to be easy because we’ve been told just that for generations. As we leave Capitalism behind and head into the unknown, we must be brave and learn to trust again.”
George nodded with approval, swaying a little as he did so, now almost too tired and drunk to stay upright.
“And that’s why I was in Bhutan, researching how other societies work and how they measure success. And this will all be the subject of my next film.”
“So, we’ve established you’re not a Marxist.” Affirmed Faye again.
The Director bowed his head and shook it slowly from side to side.
“And you don’t think politics is the answer? Continued Faye.
Again, the Director shook his head slowly in confirmation.
“So you’d better tell me all about this ontology thing then because otherwise, I’m lost,” she concluded.
“I’m glad YOU said that!” Concurred George.
7.3. What A Wonderful World
“OK,” Agreed the Director, drawing a deep breath and taking up the challenge. “Did you know that astronauts often return from their trips into space with something they call The Overview Effect?
George shook his head. He hadn’t heard of such a thing. In fact, at that moment, he was experiencing an ‘overview effect’ of his own or, to be more accurate, a ‘room spinning around’ effect, thanks to too much booze.
“It describes an overwhelming feeling of being part of the planet and it being part of you. It happens when a human sees how beautiful the Earth looks from Space. It’s a sort of profound moment of connection with our Earth.”
“Sounds like Taoism,” offered Faye, to which the Director gave her a long sideways glance as if to say, ‘I’ll come back to that comment in a minute.’
“Quite so.” Agreed the Director before continuing. “And when these astronauts get back to terra firma, they often need to act on this epiphany and set up charities and the like to help the rest of us feel the same. Edgar Mitchell, who was part of the Apollo 14 crew, started an institute that explores the relationship between consciousness and the environment. Mae Jemison, the first African-American woman in Space, developed a science education programme for poor communities. Ron Garan founded a charity called Fragile Oasis, which promotes international cooperation.”
“Sounds cool,” agreed George. “I’ve got my ticket for that Virgin Galactica thing Branson’s selling. Keeps crashing, though, so I’m not so sure now.”
The Director rolled his eyes at this. The thought of being trapped in a spacecraft with Richard Branson triggered memories of Alien again. A film he’d actually worked on early in his career. So, to change the subject, he asked George: “Have you ever come across Carl Sagan?”
George shook his head again. The name sounded familiar, but he guessed the Director probably wasn’t referring to the Carl Sagan he used to bully in third grade.
“He was an astrophysicist who wrote a book called The Pale Blue Dot.”
The Director began to fumble inside his jacket before pulling out a dog-eared postcard that looked like it had been tucked away for years.
“Sagan was inspired by this photograph, taken by Voyager when it was 3 billion miles from Earth. Can you see that little dot?” The Director’s sausage-shaped finger pointed at what looked like a speck of dust on the postcard. George nodded. He could just about make out the speck. ”That dot is the Earth.”
The Director looked down dramatically as if to gather his thoughts, and then, in the next moment, he looked up to the ceiling. He began to recite what might have been a Shakespearean soliloquy:
“From this distant vantage point, the Earth might not seem of any particular interest. But for us, it’s different. Consider again that dot. That’s here. That’s home. That’s us. On it, everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. Every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilisation, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every “superstar,” every “supreme leader,” every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there — on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.
Think of the rivers of blood spilt by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds.
Our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, is challenged by this point of pale light.
There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we’ve ever known.”
When he’d finished, the Director paused, his eyes moist with emotion.
“That’s from Sagan’s book, and it’s what I’ve been trying to get across all this time, George. This is what we’ve got to grasp if we are to have any chance of saving ourselves. We live on an incredible planet and enjoy this experience of a lifetime. And if we’re going to save ourselves, we’ve got to learn to properly appreciate this incontestable fact. This is bigger than politics. It’s bigger than religion. It’s certainly bigger than wondering if we can afford the down payment on that new car.
“If we don’t, we’ll kill ourselves and everything living on this incredible planet. And what for?”
At this, the Directors voice trailed off as though he was walking away down a long dark tunnel.
“Reminds me of what Captain Kirk said”, replied George.
For a moment, the Director felt hopeless. He’d just spoken perhaps the most profound words ever to leave his mouth, and now George was going to parrot something about seeking out brave new worlds. But this wasn’t what George was getting at all.
“Yeah, Shatner went into space in the Blue Origin rocket that Bezos had built, but it didn’t turn out like he’d expected. He thought going into space would be a celebration, but it was more like a funeral. He said:
“It was among the strongest feelings of grief I have ever encountered. The contrast between the vicious coldness of space and the warm nurturing of Earth below filled me with overwhelming sadness. Everybody else was shaking bottles of champagne, but I didn’t feel that way at all. I was not celebrating. I was shaking my fists at the gods. Every day, we are confronted with the knowledge of further destruction of Earth at our hands: the extinction of animal species, of flora and fauna … things that took 5 billion years to evolve, and suddenly, we will never see them again because of mankind’s interference. It filled me with dread.”
It was the Director’s turn to be impressed with George’s powers of recall.
7.4. All Together Now
“Well, that’s sobered you both up,” said Faye, who’d been listening intently. This was the most fascinating conversation she’d ever had while working behind this bar. In fact, it was the most exciting conversation since her boyfriend had tried to impress her by taking her to a Noam Chomsky lecture called Manufacturing Consent (it worked). On top of that, the two customers sitting in front of her were a world-renowned actor and a formidable director, the latter also being an outspoken socialist. She wasn’t going anywhere soon…
However, that didn’t stop her from asking awkward questions.
“That’s very profound and very, very sad, and clearly it’s our duty to try to do something about this,” she now challenged, looking hard into the director’s eyes, “ but are you telling me that all we need to do to save the planet is to be a little nicer to each other? That sounds a little lame. I think Marx would have dismissively called it Utopian Socialism.”
“What’s that?” asked George, feeling increasingly marginalised by the two political propeller-heads sitting beside him.
“Well,” explained the Director, taking up the baton, “Back in the 19th Century, a bunch of political movements sprang up claiming that Capitalism was inherently bad and that a better world was just around the corner.”
“Not unlike the vision you’re selling us now.” Chided Faye playfully.
Choosing to ignore this, the Director pushed on. “Robert Owen was a good example. He was a remarkable Welsh mill owner who created his first model village, as he called it, up in Lanarkshire. Later on, he built a utopian society in a place called New Harmony in the United States. Sadly, these grand schemes never stood a chance because the Capitalists saw him as a threat to their access to cheap labour, so they closed ranks, undercut the goods his community produced and refused to trade with him and, as a result, these little islands of utopia were gradually reabsorbed into the selfish Capitalist marketplace.”
“So what’s to stop the GRiFTers from squashing your ideas just like they squashed Robert Owen?” Asked George, genuinely intrigued.
“Another good question!” replied the Director. “Well, as I’ve said before, I’m hoping that a clear explanation of how we got into this mess will mobilise not just the working class but the middle class as well. And once we’ve got the middle class to join us, the GRiFTers will have no one to sell their products to. We’ll do to them what they did to New Harmony!
And when that happens, Capitalism as we now know it will simply fade away.”
“I hope you’re right.” Agreed Faye, wanting to believe him but unable to hide the scepticism in her voice.
Noting her doubts, the Director said: “I’ve also got a couple of ideas up my sleeve that might speed up the process.”
“Really?” she asked.
“Allow me to describe them?”
“Be our guest”, replied George, looking to Faye for agreement and almost falling from his chair in the process.
“The first thing we have in our favour is Spontaneous Order: If we can agree we’re on the road to self-destruction and prefer that not to happen, we might decide to get together as a species and do something about it, just like the starlings and sardines fending off a mutual enemy. It won’t rely on someone in charge or a rule book or a manifesto — we’ll just take matters into our own hands and do it ourselves — but miraculously act as one. And this, in turn, might go viral and grow into a global movement because, after all, it’s a global crisis. I don’t think there’ll be any turning back once we’ve all uploaded these ideas into our Collective Unconscious.
“Ur?” slurred George, concerned he might have had a micro-nap and missed something, “the collective what?”
“Ah, yes! I should have mentioned that earlier.” Replied the Director, momentarily excited by the concepts he was now describing. “It’s an idea that occurred to Carl Jung when he noticed the same cultural references cropping up in different societies at different historical points. He thought it was a sort of shared memory. Something that links us all together on an unconscious level. And I believe that when we realise how dangerous free-market Capitalism is to our survival, we’ll upload this information into our Collective Unconscious and decide to act as one. It will work like a virus on the Capitalist software, infecting the operating system and shutting the whole thing down, just as HAL was shut down after it threatened to kill the crew in 2001: A Space Odyssey.
“If we stick with the computer analogy, this collective unconscious is a sort of memory storage in the cloud we unknowingly access and draw on. Perhaps another name for it might be the Zeitgeist. Maybe starlings know how to fly in those intricate patterns because they share the same Collective Unconscious programme? We’ll probably never know, but it’s fun to speculate.
“The biologist Rupert Sheldrake came up with a similar idea he calls morphic resonance, and the French philosopher Pierre Teilhard de Chardin thought that individuals can share information and ideas at an
unconscious level. For example, think about that Nirvana album cover with the baby swimming underwater.”
Nevermind. Replied George.
“No, I think this is a good example of our collective survival mechanism,” insisted the Director. “A vital tool we’ll need if we’re going to escape the Capitalist straitjacket.”
“Nevermind,” replied George again. “That’s the name of the Nirvana album my dad used to play.”
“Quite so!” Exclaimed the Director, realising what George was getting at. “Isn’t it weird how babies remain serene and don’t panic when submerged in water? I’d say that was an example of the collective unconscious. It’s important survival information we subconsciously share with each other as part of our programming.”
“So when we seed the idea that Capitalism is killing us into our collective unconscious, critical mass will be achieved, and spontaneous order will kick in. And when that happens, we’ll miraculously see how our best hope of survival comes from cooperating rather than competing.”
Faye listened carefully to all of this, trying hard to keep an open mind. Everything she’d learned through the Hegelian Dialectic of thesis, antithesis and synthesis made her want to scream, ‘THIS IS SUPERSTITIOUS BULLSHIT!’. But, for fear of upsetting her guests, she kept her counsel. Instead she said: “And when that happens, I suppose Capitalism will collapse, just as Marx predicted. Only if your theory is correct, it won’t be because the working class withheld their labour but because the middle class withheld their consumption. Oh, the irony!”
“I have to admit, it’s an amusing thought.” Agreed the Director, smiling in appreciation of Faye’s astute analysis, even if he sensed she hadn’t entirely bought into all of his ideas yet.
“OK,” said George, hoping to speed things along so he could get some sleep. “Any other ideas before we turn in for the night?”
“Funny you should ask,” replied the Director keenly. “As a matter of fact, I have one more card up my sleeve.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Replied George, becoming increasingly monosyllabic. “Come on then, let’s hear it.”
“Well,” proceeded the Director, “it’s this idea that if our best hope of survival is the pursuit of Mutual Enlightened Self-Interest – which I somewhat playfully call MESI – I hope you don’t mind if this all now starts to get a bit new-age and woo-woo.”
“You’re telling us this will be even more woo-woo than Spontaneous Order and the Collective Unconscious?” Asked Faye, concerned she wouldn’t be able to contain her inner Hegel for much longer.
“I know!” Chuckled the Director, aware he was asking a lot of his audience. “This is difficult to imagine when our minds are so conditioned to be rational and pragmatic but stick with me. Would it help to remind you the whole point of the Capitalist hegemony is to keep us rational: We’re easier to control if we don’t think outside the box.”
Faye thought about this for a moment and had to agree the Director was probably right — at least about this.
“You see,” began the Director again, “the GRiFTers would like us to see the world as orderly and predictable, making it easier for them to manage and monetise it. However, I’m suggesting that the world isn’t orderly, linear and predictable at all. In fact, it’s a very MESI place. Like it or not, it doesn’t conform to the Newtonian model of physics, which assumes it can be divided into nice little tidy packets of ‘stuff’ that can be measured and sold. Instead, we live in a Quantum universe which is fluid and mysterious. It’s the difference between classical and quantum computers: One uses electrical impulses like a telephone exchange while the other plays at a sub-atomic level where electrons exist as particles and waves. This means they can be in two places simultaneously, which breaks the laws of physics as we know them. Even though Einstein thought this was spooky, lots of experiments have proven that, despite sounding crazy, this is actually how the universe works. As Niels Bohr said, Anyone who isn’t shocked by quantum theory doesn’t understand it, and he should know as he more or less discovered it.
“All of which is far too complicated to go into at 2 o’clock in the morning, but this is real, and this is important for our survival because the more we embrace the concept of a quantum universe, the less Capitalism is applicable or relevant. Take the debate around Artificial Intelligence, for example. If the hype is to be believed, AI is likely to put huge numbers of people out of work; they will simply become surplus to requirement. But if that’s the case, what happens then? When we reach this point, we have to ask if the system is working for us or if we are working for the system. The GRiFTers have no answers. Or perhaps they have, but they’re just not telling us. Capitalism is a predictable algorithm, yet the Universe is MESI, and we will have to learn to be far more flexible and MESI if we want to survive. The current system requires the Capitalists to be in control, but that, quite simply, doesn’t work for the rest of us. We can’t always be in control of what’s happening around us, but what we can do is be much more relaxed about it. We can learn to just trust the Universe and trust the people we share that Universe with. We’ve got to learn to go with the flow and help each other along the way. All of which will mean we can survive the climate crisis and get more out of life into the bargain.”
“Yeah,” said George approvingly. “You mentioned this already when you said that people who look after other people end up feeling happier.”
“Exactly!” agreed the Director. “There’s a powerful link between acts of kindness and feeling happy. When we help others, our brains release dopamine and endorphins; the little chemical rewards for our good deeds.
“So it really is better to give than receive!” said Faye, smiling now and feeling more open-minded.
“When we help each other and experience happiness, it creates a positive feedback loop, making us even more likely to keep helping.”
“Acts of kindness also give us a sense of purpose, lowering our stress levels and increasing our sense of well-being. When we stop obsessing about ourselves, we also feel less neurotic, which, as we agreed, is the scourge of modern life.”
“Tell me about it.” Replied George, sounding sanguine. “I pay my therapist a fortune to tell me I’m neurotic. So where do I sign up?”
“Hold on,” said Faye, not wishing to rain on the Director’s parade.”I still have one last lingering doubt.”
“What’s that?” Asked the Director, “Let’s see if I can reassure you.”
“Well, I more or less buy into your views on Capitalism, and I certainly agree we need to find a different way. It’s just that I’m afraid that nothing I do can really change anything. I mean, I’m up against the whole world, and I’m just a bartender, and I need this job. If I do what you suggest, I might lose this salary, and if I do that, how will I eat or pay back my student loan?”
“I hear what you.” Replied the Director sympathetically. “We all feel vulnerable when challenging the orthodoxy, especially when it threatens our livelihoods.”
At this exact moment, George raised both hands in surprised enlightenment. “I get it!” he shouted, pointing at Faye. “You’re the hummingbird!”
“I am?” Replied Faye, genuinely confused.
“Yes!” Confirmed George. “My niece told me about this the other night when we were talking on Skype.”
“Please explain.” Pleaded the Director, equally nonplussed.
“OK.” Began George. “One day, a fire had started in the rainforest, causing the jungle animals to panic and run away from the flames. But, as they reached the river’s edge, they saw a tiny hummingbird flying in the other direction. “Where are you going, little Hummingbird?” asked the Panther. “I’m putting out the fire!” replied the Hummingbird breathlessly before gathering two more drops of water in her tiny beak. “Don’t bother?” said the Snake. “There’s nothing you can do. Your beak is so small, and the fire is so hot, you might get burned.” The Hummingbird didn’t answer; she was too busy taking water from the river to the fire. She repeated this all afternoon until the Monkey begged her to stop, “Dear Hummingbird, you are fearless but also very small. Why don’t you stop?” To which the Hummingbird replied. “Because I’m doing what I can.”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about!” Shouted the Director, pointing at George and patting him firmly on the shoulder. “And I’m saying that if we all do what we can, even if it doesn’t seem much on its own, collectively, we can make a real difference.”
“Oooh! Oooh!” exclaimed the bartender, as though she’d just remembered something, before spinning around to look under the bar.
George assumed that talking about rainforests had prompted Faye to make monkey noises.
Meanwhile, the Director continued his point. “Some people will think we’re mad for trying to make a difference, but what’s the alternative? Should we give up and watch the planet burn? You might, but I’m not.”
At this, George ran through a few water-carrying scenarios in his head.
“I’m not going to sugarcoat this, George, but we’ve all got to decide where we stand. We can continue to be part of the problem or realise our only hope is to be part of the solution.”
“Have I got to make that choice now?” asked George, somewhat concerned as he was having trouble staying awake.
At that moment, Faye returned, holding a scrap of paper and a calculator like a schoolgirl, hoping to get a house point. The Director paused to allow her to speak.
“On average, a hummingbird’s beak holds 7 millilitres of water.” She said excitedly. “And there are about 8 billion people on Earth.”
“Go on,” said the Director, now guessing where she was going with this.
“Well, let’s assume there’s a hummingbird for every person on Earth, which means 8 billion hummingbirds.”
“OK,” said George, joining in.
“This means that 8 billion hummingbirds would be able to carry the equivalent of 57 million litres of water per trip, and if we assume each hummingbird makes 3 trips a day, that would come to about 171 million litres, or, if you prefer, 68 Olympic-sized swimming pools!” concluded Faye, very pleased with herself, slapping both hands on the bar.
“That will soon put the fire out!” said George enthusiastically.
“Quite so!” Said the Director, “Especially if we do it day after day for the rest of our lives. You make my point perfectly, Faye. Thank you.”
“And that doesn’t include the jaguars, monkeys or snakes joining in too!” Said George, to which the Director and the bartender smiled at each other, quietly amused.
“But it doesn’t work if we are unwilling to be the first hummingbird.” Observed the Director more seriously.
“And that answers your question, George: Yes, you have to make your choice now because if you leave it until tomorrow, the forest will have burned down! But I have some last thoughts that might give us hope.”
“What are they?” asked George, looking for good news.
7.5. With a Little Help from My Friends
“Look, I understand and sympathise with your sense of helplessness.” Said the Director sympathetically. “Sometimes, I wake up at night and wonder whether I’m going mad because everyone else seems to think Capitalism is perfectly normal.”
“I mean, we grow up thinking our parents know what they’re talking about when they say they want us to grow up and get a good job. And then we go to school and assume our teachers must have the answers, or they wouldn’t be standing at the front. And then we get a job and take for granted that our bosses must be cleverer than us because they’re more successful than we are. Then, when we get home, we turn on the television and listen to the politicians stringing coherent sentences together, and we at least hope they know what they’re talking about. After all, they’re the ones driving the bus. The world seems to be a sensible place with our best interest at heart if we all just buckle down, work hard, and pay our taxes.
“So when I wake up with that uncomfortable feeling that things don’t feel normal, I find it hard to tell if the problem is with me or them; after all, there’s a lot more of them than there are of me. But, after 25 years of examining this problem, I’ve concluded that the people in charge don’t have a Scooby Do about what’s happening. They’re mostly just following orders and doing what’s expected. And they don’t ask too many questions for fear of appearing odd.
“The Hegemony.” Confirmed Faye in a deadpan, matter-of-fact tone.
“The Hegemony.” Confirmed George, equally matter-of-fact.
“The Hegemony,” agreed the Director nodding. “We just keep taking the Blue Pill. So allow me to offer the same crumbs of comfort I fall back on when I start to doubt myself.”
“Please do,” invited George, looking for emotional support (in addition to the physical support he needed to remain upright.)
“Well, first off,” began the Director, in his most avuncular tone, “There are plenty of examples where, probably to the great surprise of Adam Smith, altruistic societies that weren’t driven by money have flourished.”
“Enlighten us!” Invited Faye.
“OK – You might think, for example, that the Spartans were just a bunch of loin-clothed macho weirdos. Yet, they were also the most successful city-state in Ancient Greece for over 700 years, which is twice as long as the British Empire lasted. Spartans were much more interested in the well-being of their fellow citizens than in personal wealth and materialism. Each Spartan was allotted an equal portion of land, which they farmed collectively to prevent wealth disparities. They also ate together and shared necessities that fostered camaraderie and discouraged individual excess.
“Sure, Sparta wasn’t perfect. They kept slaves, but let’s not allow that to spoil the point I’m trying to make: you don’t need to be driven by individual wealth to be a prosperous society.
“Something similar happened in Japan in the 12th century, when Bushido values such as loyalty, respect, integrity and compassion were considered more important than personal glory.
“And, as I’ve already said, indigenous societies such as those in Australia and North America emphasise shared values and collective well-being.
“There’s a great quote from a Sioux teacher called Lame Deer, who wrote a book called Lame Deer, Seeker of Visions, in which he humorously criticises ‘civilised’ European values. He said something along the lines of: “We were too uncivilised to give great importance to private property. When someone couldn’t afford a horse, a tent or a blanket, he would receive it all as a gift. We don’t have money, so the value of a human being isn’t determined by his wealth. I don’t know how we managed without the fundamental things necessary for a civilised society.”
“It’s a sad but funny book. Look it up if you get a chance.”
“Who says Americans don’t get irony!” Said George proudly and without a hint of irony.
“So, it’s just not true that society has to be driven by the selfish love of money. In fact, the more I think about it, the more it seems we’ve allowed ourselves to believe that a dog-eat-dog existence is preferable to empathy, shared values and cooperation. And the bizarre thing is, I don’t think we’re half as selfish, mean, or nasty as we are told we are. That’s just another Capitalist ruse. Given half a chance, most of us are kind and generous: We’d happily give up our seat on a bus for an elderly passenger and help out a homeless person if we can.
“Would you mind if I tell you one of my favourite little stories about Prince Peter Kropotkin George?”
“The Russian dude?” asked George, scrambling back through his recent mental notes, which were now scattered all over the place. “Be my guest.”
“OK. Kropotkin was a Russian, but while living in England, he became a great admirer of the Royal National Lifeboat Institution, the RNLI, which he thought was a great example of Mutual Aid. In 1902, there were more than three hundred lifeboats stationed around the coasts of Britain, and Kropotkin reckoned there would have been a lot more if the fishermen who provided the service hadn’t been so poor themselves. All the crews were volunteers, just as they are today, and, as he said, they were ready to sacrifice their lives to rescue strangers, again, just as they still do today. And, every year, many of them drown in their efforts to save people they don’t know and have never met.
“After one particular shipwreck in Kent, Kropotkin asked the volunteers why they’d gone out in such a terrible storm. When trying to save a ship stranded on some rocks, their lifeboat capsized; one crew was lost, and the rest had swum back to shore. The last coastguard to be found alive had spent all night on the beach in a snow drift. Kropotkin asked him why they’d gone out when it had been so dangerous. He was told that when they’d heard about a ship in distress, the village had stood on the beach and watched as five men clung to the shipwrecked mast. They stood there for two hours as the storm grew gradually worse until, as the gale dropped for a moment, they thought they could hear a boy crying.
“It was at that moment that we could no longer stand it.” Said the lifeboatman. “All at once, we decided, “We must go; we must try.”
The Director completed the story as if channelling the lifeboatman.
“You see, George, we have it within us to be magnificent. And yet we are forced to conform to a shitty system that squeezes that magnificence out of us. And despite being exploited by it, many of us are still willing to put our lives at risk to provide a service that Capitalism chooses to ignore because there is no financial gain to be made from it.
“So we do these noble things in our spare time when we aren’t earning a living… And, incidentally, isn’t earning a living a horrible phrase? It makes us sound as though we have to justify our existence. So let me tell you that nobody should have to earn a living. Being alive isn’t something we have to earn; it’s a gift that no one should be allowed to take from us. And if it hadn’t been for Adam fucking Smith and his misplaced faith in the ruling classes, we might now be living in a much kinder world that isn’t trapped in some sort of death spiral.
“But it isn’t too late: We can’t rewind the last two hundred years, but we can start a new chapter of compassion and consideration for each other and stop doing the things that stoke the Capitalist furnace. And if we do that, the fire will go out, and the dragon will die.”
