A Humbling Bundle
I’m reading Cixin Liu’s “The Dark Forest” right now, and there’s a facet that discusses the transition in humanity to interplanetary travel. Liu writes science fiction in a deeply empathic, human voice that almost hurts at times. In the context of this particular story element, Liu comments on the size difference between the ships and the humans constructing them quite often. Not just the physical scale, but also the difference in magnitudes of endeavor between the two objects. The humans are discussing plans they will never see bear fruit, and have to grapple with that.
Maybe it’s just the day, maybe it’s the all-too-human words on the page, or just the natural abstract cadence of my thoughts but I am quick to bundle this idea with a few others that ground me in humility today.
In 2019, my sister treated me for my birthday with a trip to Spain. We spent several days in Barcelona, and among the whirlwind of culinary delights and marvelous locality of the city we took a tour of arguably the most famous structure within the city limits. The Sagrada Familia puts megachurches to shame; it’s an architectural masterpiece spurred by the creative mind of Antoni Gaudi. In much the same way that the spaceships Liu describes are designed beyond the human capacity for living, La Basilica de Sagrada Familia could not have seen completion in Gaudi’s life. To date, it is still not complete with the current estimated end date for construction somewhere within the next five to ten years. The structure strikes awe immediately and in multiple ways, such that it is hard to imagine anyone not being dumbfounded upon discovering the massive landmark. Gaudi’s style is distinct and easily recognized for it’s whimsy, but the church also features an entire facade dedicated to harsher geometric lines that directly counter Gaudi’s trademark bubbly wonder. And the inside…
For the purposes of stirring magic, and for lack of adequate descriptors I am left with more naive words. Being inside the basilica was how I imagine it felt to live within a rainbow. It is open and full of colorful light, and the hard bones of the building seem to breathe effortlessly into the organic levity of the art therein.
It did not — and likely could not have — hit me at the time the austerity of this work of art. Gaudi planned for a construction that would outlive him to make a piece of art that would bring beauty to a world he would never know. What’s more, Gaudi never married and may well have no lineage to speak of. Gaudi did not make his masterpiece for his progeny to revel and benefit.
Antoni Gaudi started a plan that would take a century and a half because that was the dream he had.
Again, maybe it’s the day and my human brain is finding patterns that only barely exist. In any case, I cannot help but consider the works of Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. on this day meant to forever memorialize his efforts. The Reverend was not the sole face of the Civil Rights movement. He was not the first Black American to stand up for himself or the rights of his kin. He was not the last, either. The Civil Rights movement, in line with the Abolitionist movement has been a concerted effort spanning multiple centuries and fought by countless faces and voices against the efforts of White imperialism and colonialism. Unlike Gaudi, the Reverend had more direct stakes in the future of his dream. Yolanda King is currently the Reverend’s only grandchild and was born into a world still grappling with oppression of White colonialism and systemic oppression. With some preparation and good timing, perhaps her grandchildren will inherit a world that has already deconstructed these oppressive structures and built more equitable ones in their stead. All the same, that would be the manifestation of a dream put forth by their great-great-great grandfather, easily eighty to a hundred years prior. And flatly, it would be the culmination of efforts that have been at work for well over five centuries, if not for all of human history.
As a White Jewish male-bodied person, I’ve known privilege in a few ways. This is a way in which I am still struggling and learning.
I see all of the roil and suffering around me. To me, it’s unavoidable. It feels like the majority of the human race is crying out in agony so often, and I just want to wave a magic wand and fix it. Or even more earnestly, I want to do my part and help fix these problems. What hits me every time I consider my own efforts is the stark fact that I may never see the fruits of my labors — really our labors because I am only part of a larger movement. It hurts my ego, certainly. But it’s also a thorn deep in my side to sit with the idea that my Black peers, along with my female-presenting peers, and queer peers, etc. will suffer with me in this life. That despite knowing the sword above our necks quite well, and being equipped with a keen knowledge of one or more solutions, we may not live to see these solutions come about entirely.
I am hurt in other ways. With my privilege, I am more quick to connect with the pains that I know more personally. That means I don’t connect as easily with the suffering of Black or Brown individuals, or women, other-abled individuals. All the while, I have been acutely aware of the systemic issues facing our mental health for the majority of my life because of my direct connection to those issues. Selfishly, I want to talk about mental health a lot because it’s my issue but also because I do believe in belies the other harms we face.
It hurts to feel like as a species we don’t have the capacity to have earnest discussions about euthanasia, or alternative living for those with mental health issues. We are still grappling with issues of race and gender, and whether or not I’ve settled my own feelings in those arena, they are complex and deserve time. It hurts to feel like I won’t be alive to see the world where we decide how we can equitably serve a diverse set of neurological processes. Sometimes, it’s exactly the reason I consider killing myself.
Full circle — Liu talks about this exact idea and it shows the strength I see in figures like MLK Jr.
Liu refers to defeatism as a psychological threat toward humanity in that it can greatly impede our ability to progress beyond our lifespans. The reality of generation ships and interplanetary travel is that these are plans set forth like the Sagrada Familia. Ground will be broken by one generation and the project completed by others well down the line. There’s a humility there that I am still learning, and in the meantime I have to sit with (or fight or cede to) my defeatist urges. It seems to me that it did not matter to the Reverend that he would not gain immediately from his actions. It feels more like the Reverend did a extra-human thing and tended a garden that might bloom for children that aren’t his.
I may not be strong enough to do everything MLK Jr. did. I may not be the front-facing personality he was and I may not weather against the natural defeatist urges that arise in a plan this many years in the making.
While I am here, I will do what I can to learn humility in his memory. That I am not fighting for me and my pain, nor even for the pain of my friends who suffer more directly at the hands of White bigotry.
This has taken time, and will take some more.
Humility. Patience. Intention. Effort.
I appreciate the example MLK Jr., Stacey Abrams, James Baldwin, Shirley Chisolm, Malcom X, Rosa Parks, and countless others have provided in these areas.
Today my thoughts are there, with their dreams and efforts. And how I might best pay homage to our shared goals for a future well beyond all of us.
