I stopped reading contemporary literature about 20 years ago. Truth be told, the only so-called 'contemporary' writers I liked were Kurt Vonnegut, Joseph Heller, Hunter S. Thompson, and some of the 'Beat Generation' writers like Charles Bukowski and Richard Brautigan. Beyond those, most of the writers I admire grew up in the early years of the 20th century or prior, among them Ernest Hemingway and John Steinbeck. Once I had read everything the aforementioned had written, I looked around for new material, but couldn't really get through anything 'modern'. So I started at the beginning and re-read the works that I could enjoy.
Lately, I've been re-re-re-reading The Grapes of Wrath, by John Steinbeck. While his prose is a bit more flowery than Hemingway's, Stenbeck knew how to turn a good sentence and was an extra-ordinary story teller. As I've been working my way through this powerful epic, I started seeing parallels to what is happening today. The inventions have changed, but the core events we see unfolding mirror the gut-wrenching narrative of Grapes.
Economies are cyclical beasts by nature. They rise and fall, being lifted by, or succumbing to, various so-called 'market forces'. These forces are driven by the emerging technologies. The 1920's and 30's, saw the maturation of mechanization and industrialization. Those who were skilled enough to master the machines -- to design, build and maintain them -- weathered this watershed moment and were able to make a decent living, or in some cases, a fortune. Those unable to make the shift to the emerging technology were discarded, often with extreme prejudice. As the industrial revolution blossomed, it forced out the agrarian farmers and local craftsman by the thousands. Those who were unable or unwilling to accept the new paradigm found themselves out of both life and livelihood. Labeled as outcasts, they were forced to the fringe of society, jostled from place to place, brutalized, traumatized and stigmatized until they vanished from the landscape. This massive culling of the herd, as it were, was instigated by the wealthy, engineered by the politicians, orchestrated by the banks, and implemented by those self-centered individuals of low moral character who were willing to follow marching orders for a price -- mercenaries, in a name. The end result was the demise of the family farm, and the rise of industrial agriculture and the assembly line.
So the Industrial Age reached it's zenith shortly after World War II, and then began to whither slowly, giving way to the Technological Age. Now those who had mastered machinery were obsolete. Once again, a culling was required. Over the next two decades, slowly and systematically, city by city, factories were shutdown, liquidated, disassembled and moved overseas, and those who unable to adapt were once again shown the door to the fringes of society, ostracized, stigmatized, traumatized and brutalized until they, too, vanished from the landscape.
The Technological Age peaked a decade later, then plunged, giving way to the Information Age, which brings us to where we are today: the next culling of the herd.
These cyclic and purely economics-based culling instances are, of course, blatant violations of the Social Contract. The Social Contract is something ubiquitous in modern civilization, but the roots go back many thousands of years. Any individual born into a nation-state becomes an instant signatory to this contract, like it or not. I don't write this to advocate for the Social Contract. While it contains many inherent advantages for the individual, it contains far more advantages for the State. The Social Contract basically posits that an individual voluntarily gives up certain freedoms in trade for protection by the State. The issues that arise from this agreement are self-evident, so I won't go into them in greater detail here. Suffice to say that the one thing the State agrees to do in this contract is protect the individual from the malfeasance of the everyday life, both natural and social.
Thus in the matter of this cyclical culling at the behest of the wealthy, the state is clearly in violation of this already specious contract. This is important because this contract is, for all practical intents and purposes, involuntary, at least insofar as the individual goes.
There is a scene from the movie Braveheart that provides an ideal allegory for this paradox. It takes place shortly after William Wallace is captured, and brought before the court, accused of treason against the king of England.
Wallace: "I've sworn allegiance to no king."
Inquisitor: "It matters not. He is your king."
In this brief exchange we see the crux of the Social Contract. You enter into it by being born. There is nothing that you sign, nothing you consent to, nothing to which you extend your proxy. The extent to which you are required to submit to this contract depends simply on the nation in which your born. Conversely, it is up to the nation-state to determine just what you receive in return. It's a very typically tilted playing field that favors the state over the individual.
Planned Obsolescence is a term most commonly associated with industrial design, a term coined during the industrial revolution. But since the advent of this 'revolution', the focus for planned obsolescence has applied not only to products, but to individuals as well. This is apparent in all areas of the work force, both blue collar and professional. Once you hit a certain age, you're out. Period. If you haven't made enough money to retire, you'll find yourself out of your field, out of your career, and find yourself bagging groceries at the local supermarket.
And herein lies my premise, buried deep at the end of this blog: There is no Social Contract. There is only Planned Obsolescence.
As technological advances become more rapid (they operate on the law of halves), so goes your shelf life as a valuable member of the work force. Be prepared to be obsolete, because the Grapes of Wrath grow much faster today than they did just a few years ago, and much slower than they'll be growing tomorrow.
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