N.N. Scott

Look downward on that globe, whose hither side
With light from hence, though but reflected, shines;
That place is Earth, the seat of Man; that light
His day, which else, as the other hemisphere,
Night would invade; but there the neighbouring moon
(So call that opposite fair star) her aid
Timely interposes, and her monthly round
Still ending, still renewing, through mid Heaven,
With borrowed light her countenance triform
Hence fills and empties to enlighten the Earth,
And in her pale dominion checks the night.
That spot, to which I point, is Paradise...
   -- John Milton, Paradise Lost III:722-733

“Sir Perceval pressed on [toward the light of the Grail]… But suddenly the sky was plunged into darkness and a mighty wind struck up, bringing with it such violent, limitless rain that it seemed the earth and the whole vast forest would be swept away. Perceval was aghast; he covered his head with his shield and took shelter beneath a tree until this fearful storm had passed. He had to endure this wretched, dismal plight until it was almost dawn. But then the clouds dispersed, the darkness lifted and the weather began to turn fair. He looked ahead and all around, expecting to see the light [he had been following during the night], but there was no sign of it, and he couldn’t remember in which direction it had been. He was frustrated and downhearted, but pressed on nonetheless until he came to a glade of the greatest beauty, though it was not wide or large. It was now close to daybreak, and such a pleasant end to the night that Perceval hadn’t a care in the world, despite all he’d been through, for trouble is soon forgotten when God restores joy to the sufferer. Sir Perceval decided to rest a little and let his weary horse graze. So he halted in the glade and placed his lance and shield beneath a tall, leafy tree. The grass was fresh and new, and he took off the bridle and then the saddle and set his horse free to graze and rest. For his own part he lay down with his head propped on his shield, for he was weak with tiredness. Soon he was fast asleep, with his dog beside him, lying quietly at his feet, not leaving him or straying off at all… He made a fine companion.”
— From the Tale of the Bridge of Glass, part of the Second Anonymouas Continuation of Chrétien de Troyes’ “Perceval – The Story of the Grail” (late 12th century), trans. Nigel Bryant

When scholars in the future look back and search to understand the defining characteristics of our times, what will they wonder most about? What mystery will they debate endlessly? I venture to suggest that it will be the fact that we know so much about how to run society well, and yet fail to do so. They will remark upon the fact that we ourselves recognize this, but even having that degree of self-awareness scattered, at some level, through society we nevertheless wallow in the nonsense of warfare and squabble, bad planning, contention and strife, ignorance, estrangement, bigotry, and narrowly conceived self-interest. What ingredient do we lack? What sickness eats at our brains? I believe Colin Wilson proposed, half-facetiously, that a race of invisible mind-parasites have fastened onto us and are continuously draining away the better half of our nature, leaving us just enough working consciousness to keep ourselves from dying out and depriving them of their food supply. Or perhaps this matter will be resolved — the necessary component discovered or the mind-parasites extirpated — and thinkers of the future will regard us, right now, as we regard medical doctors of the middle ages: as people who no matter their skill and insight, just didn’t know about obvious matters that somebody would later figure out, and without which medicine was, for thousands of years, little more than a matter of tradition, common sense and laying-on-of-hands.

And what will that thing be? I believe it will be found, perhaps not at one time or in one place, but by numbers of people working in allied and contiguous disciplines, at the grassroots and in more academic and professional settings. And I believe it will be more like a technique than a substance, a recipe more than a blueprint. And my go-to example of this kind of technique is the art of reading and writing. Humans possess no biological features for reading and writing: these techniques are hacks, creative misuses of biological and mental capacities that evolved in response to other pressures, or to satisfy other requirements, such as detecting a predator in the bushes or determining where a thrown stick will land. Reading and writing are intensely non-natural: humans have to be taught to do them, and the learning process is tedious and obnoxious. We may forget all that once we have the capability, because it’s so useful. And yet these utterly non-natural techniques, that must be passed on intentionally from generation to generation, grant us almost magical powers: to speak across time and space, and to document experience with a degree of exactness never before achieved. From those powers arises the ability to manage human populations at a much larger scale, density and complexity than was previously possible — as well as the ability to reflect on the costs and responsibilities entailed by that power.

I believe we are nearing the threshold of another one of those big hacks, which will come at us irregularly from all directions, possibly over a long period of time, and will seem disruptive and destructive as much as it is enabling and empowering — just as writing seemed destructive of the old relationships, as Socrates opines in Plato. I believe humans will in time get through that gate, and from the other side of it, will look back on our times much as we do the middle ages: a confused and brilliant period of spectacle and disaster, full of people who didn’t quite know what they were doing. In brief, it’s not an invention or a particular discovery, but a hack of existing capacities, and their creative misuse to attain a higher, and even more non-natural, standing — with even greater and more burdensome responsibilities. Much of this blog will be concerned with thinking out the implications of this.