“So what do you think of all this economy?” This would be the start of a conversation with my father, but… Leslie? Why does she think I think anything of it? Why is she thinking of it? It’s out of character for us both. But it got me thinking about it.
“I’m just excited,” she said, “that people are coming to realize how it’s all imaginary. It’s imaginary numbers!” I’m not excited, though I feel like I should be. This is the end of Fight Club, right? If what I hear is true, then all that’s missing is the Pixies on the soundtrack. But I’m not excited. Maybe V was right—we need the symbol. Fight Club had buildings collapsing. All we have to represent the failing economy are worried faces, nervous voices.
I’m not excited, because even if people are getting a glimpse of the forest, they seem mostly concerned over the lack of trees. There is more concern over the illusions lost than over the fact that it was an illusion anyway. It’s being treated like a problem, like it’s something to be corrected. So no, I’m not excited. I’m disappointed.
“Why do you have goals,” I asked Jenny (not my sister, but another Jenny). “To have something to work towards, to be active,” she answered. And what’s the benefit of being active? To reach the goal, of course. It’s like my car: I had a good job, and the only bill I had to pay was for my car. And the only reason I had a car was to drive to work. To pay for my car. To drive to work. And so it goes.
But we can be active without goals. Even more, we can hope to achieve something without considering it a goal. I don’t float to my car on the hopes and dreams of placing my right foot on the ground, and then my left, and then my right; I walk. I want to be a better person, but that’s not a goal, it’s just something I’ve assumed as part of my regular activity. I read, I think, I meditate, I act politely. It’s not my goal; I’d only be disappointed by my imperfection if I didn’t try. I don’t need a goal, only to start over once it’s been reached.
I remember hearing the theory that x holiday (x=Valentine’s Day, Secretaries’ Day, etc) was invented by the Greeting Card Companies in order to sell more cards. Well, that’s our economy. We are expected to have jobs in order to put in and take out, so we can keep putting in and taking out, to keep that prayer wheel spinning. Just like Jenny’s goal, just like my car. This is the American God; this is the mythology the Next Great Empire will learn about our fallen civilization. We believed in these imaginary numbers, and allowed our belief in them to shape our lives, our entire understanding of the world. What science we know still relies on the likes of Apollo and Selene in the form of economical reliance.
I’m not excited about what’s happening, because the thing to be excited about is seen as a problem to fix—and people are fixing it, and in the American Way: throw money at it! The illusions are falling! Quick, clap your hands and say, “I do believe in money!” and 700 billion fairies will fly in and keep Tinkerbell from dying. And once we close that curtain, we can finally turn back to the Great Oz and ask what’s next.
It’s going to be very different, though. The economy will be run in a completely new way. That’s the selling point: “they maintained the illusion poorly; we now have an opportunity to maintain it well.” Different rules, but it’s still the same game.
My father told me of the wealthy Germans, following WWI, with wheelbarrows full of cash and prizes, going to the store hoping to get some food, “but, “he said, “they never tell us what the Germans who weren’t wealthy did.” I told him of two weeks ago, when I couldn’t go to work because I couldn’t afford the gas to get there & back. I spent that week eating nothing but peanut butter and honey sandwiches and being just fine. I told him that when the economy does go belly-up, he and I will be sitting on the curb, eating sandwiches, while the people go by with their wheelbarrows, still thinking they’re the more fortunate ones.
