Would you have been on a ship? Or back home complaining?

By David McElroy · May 22, 2011

On April 10, 1607, three ships left England with 214 passengers who were the original settlers of Jamestown, Va. When I think about what they faced, I really wonder whether I would have had the guts to get onto my ship.

When I think about the changes that are going to be necessary soon as this world transforms from one based on the nation-state to one based on multiple competing models, I realize that it’s going to be people like those earlier settlers who are going to make the difference.

Change can be very difficult for some people, but even for those of us who embrace and enjoy change, some changes can be scary. The people leaving Europe to come to America in those days were sometimes seeking financial gain and sometimes fleeing oppression. It was a high-risk gamble, because other English groups had tried colonies and failed. Many had died.

Today, many of us are ready to seek new opportunities and escape the oppression of the state — and the risks of finding alternatives to the nation-state are going to be dangerous, too. We might not face a month-long ocean voyage to get here. We might not face conflicts with people whose land we are trying to take. But we face different challenges. We face a world where we’re told all the available land is taken. We face a world where governments collude to prevent challenges to their authority. And we face a world where many who might help us believe in the morality and necessity of the state having authority over us. Our challenges are different from those of the Jamestown settlers, but they’re very, very difficult.

Many of us — including me — have been complaining about what we face here for a long time. Most of the people around us don’t understand the things we’re concerned about. And some of those who understand why we want change don’t believe that change is possible. So very few people have started taking concrete steps to start the change. It’s time for more of us to join the few who have already been working on the societies of tomorrow. How? I’m still not sure, but I’m working on it — and I’m trying to make contact with others who are also working on it.

When the Jamestown settlers got onto their three ships for the trip to America, there were 214 of them. After two years in the New World, only 60 of those remained alive. But out of that tiny seed grew a great new civilization. We have the same opportunity to start something new today, but it’s not going to happen for those who just complain and wish things were different.

I’m honestly not sure whether I would have had the guts to get onto one of those ships in 1607, but I’m certain that I’m already on the ship for the next big transition — even thought I’m not sure where the ship is going. Sitting at home and complaining and wishing people would leave us alone is no longer enough.

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There was a time when I was idealistic enough to believe that if a writer expressed his thoughts clearly and simply enough, any bright and honest person would understand his point. I know better now. We all bring so many unconscious assumptions to the things we read that we often see what we expect to see instead of what the writer intended. This is incredibly frustrating to me as a writer, but I’m trying more and more to just say what I need to say — as clearly as I know how — and then ignore the inevitable responses which show that others perceived something which was not intended. I have to write for those who “get” where I’m coming from, not for those who see my words through personal filters that change my meaning. I hope my intentions are clear to you and I hope what I write can be useful to you, but if not, maybe my work just isn’t right for you. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

I found out this evening that someone I casually knew killed himself last Wednesday. I didn’t know him well — and I never found him personable — but he had started work a couple of months ago at a restaurant where I go. He was a 26-year-old who struck me as a confused and unhappy person, but I didn’t think much about it since he stayed to himself and resisted my efforts to chat with him. It turns out that he had a history of depression and had a lot of gender confusion. He seemed very androgynous to me and I learned today that he presented himself as female in some situations. He was rejected by a romantic interest last week, so he went to the woods and killed himself. His body wasn’t found for three days. It’s tragic how miserable people around us can be and how we so rarely know the truth about things they struggle with.

I’ve been with people for most of this day, but I feel lonely tonight. I’ve had things on my mind for the last few days that I feel the strong need to talk about. I need someone to share my thoughts with — someone who’s interested in ideas and how they affect us. Someone who gets excited to discover new things and can find joy in seeing new ways those things might change our lives. I feel lonely tonight because I painfully remember what it feels like to have that — and I’m craving that sort of connection. I miss having someone I can call and say, “I’ve been reading something and it’s sparked some thoughts I want to share with you.” Those sorts of conversations have lasted for hours for me in the past — or for thousands of words if it’s an exchange of mail — and it feels wrong that there is nobody who wants to hear such things from me tonight. I used to think being lonely was about being alone, but I understand now it’s a longing for one particular person. The loneliest place to be when you need one person is in a crowd composed of people who cannot be who you need.

I don’t agree with everything the late Neil Postman wrote, but I would argue that no other recent scholar gives coherent structure to the last few hundred years in the way his books do. I’m currently re-reading his book, “Technopoly,” and I’m comforted to have a scholar give structure and definitions to things which I’ve observed and barely understood. I was enough of a technophile when I first read this book that I bristled at much of what it said. I didn’t want him to be right and it was easier to dismiss him as a Luddite. But as I see technology continue to enable an information glut which is changing society for the worse, I find comfort in his explanations for how we got here. I don’t yet know the solutions, but I finally understand the problems more clearly. I suspect that much of what we need to make life more meaningful can be found in things we accidentally threw away in the past to make room for technologies. I strongly urge you to read the book and think about its implications.

I’d like to write a modern version of “The Emperor’s New Clothes” — a more cynical one — with a realistic ending for today’s audience. In this new version, the little boy points out on social media that the emperor is naked but nobody listens to him. Instead, everybody keeps posting grander and grander praise for the emperor’s non-existent clothes. The cognitive dissonance makes the people unable to hear the child who tells them the truth, because they’re getting social media praise — likes and so forth — for their lies. The confused child eventually feels so defeated that he shuts up and walks away. He’s so hurt and disappointed by this that he withdraws from the world and spends years in therapy, trying to figure out whether the rest of the world is crazy or if he’s the crazy one. Ever since I was a child, I wanted to be that little boy, but few want to hear the truth today. Either I’m crazy or else our culture has gone insane.

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