A Modest Supposition
Suppose for a moment that the end of the world won’t take place in our lifetimes.
It’s a bit of a big supposition, isn’t it? On the same sort of scale as “suppose there are ghosts in your fridge” or “suppose Frosty the Snowman’s magical hat fell into the wrong hands and was used to reanimate the embalmed remains of Joseph Stalin”. We seem to have this grudging acceptance that the world as we know it is probably going to end quite soon, or at the very least be plunged into an unspecified dystopian or post-apocalyptic future. What if it’s not going to?
Suppose technology saves us from climate change. Suppose we save ourselves from it. Suppose a series of new innovations revitalise the global economy. Suppose social reform leads the African continent into an era of mechanised transit and industry, bringing wealth and education to all its people. Suppose the quality of life of every social grouping in the world continues to steadily increase for the rest of our lifetimes, and the lifetimes of our children and grandchildren.
Suppose violent conflict continues to decrease; you might not think it to look at the news, but over the course of pretty much any statistically meaningful timeframe you want to measure it, wars are becoming less and less common on a global scale. So is crime, poverty and infant mortality. At 52%, the UK currently has the lowest rate of cancer survival in the developed world. Better than even odds, and if you’re in the other 48%, you’ll still live a longer and more functional life than you would as little as five years ago.
Suppose the world is actually a wonderful and continuously improving place. Suppose the high profile exceptions to this are fed into our congenitally paranoid brains by an exploitative media, which cares too little about representing reality and too much about keeping our attention. Consider this notion on a regular basis, especially when putting your trust in a third party news organisation.
We’re happy to question authority when it tells us what we want to hear, but when given a series of world events which we explicitly don’t want to hear, we just accept it. “Doesn’t surprise me”, we’ll say. The idea of everything going horribly and unavoidably wrong seems to be a bit of a comfort to us, but we all still keep paying pension contributions and having kids. Yet we know where we stand with a ticking time-bomb of a planet, slowly chugging its way to oblivion. It’s a disturbingly nice idea.
Suppose the world isn’t rubbish. You don’t even have to believe it, just play along at home for as long as you can bear to do so. Suppose everything’s going to be alright after all. If we’re so convinced of this handbasket’s inevitable infernal destination, why not pretend otherwise until we get there? It’ll certainly be a less obnoxious attitude to wave under the noses of our fellow passengers. Where’s the harm in it?
Suppose we’re optimistic. What’s the worst that can happen?
