The Myth of the Future

Have you ever wondered how the ancients fell apart? How it felt to wake up one morning and see the temples abandoned, goatherds tending their flock among the ruins.

A civilization collapses when it loses its myth of the future.

The story it believes is calling it from the beyond. The voice haunting its thoughts. The song beckoning to it from every shadow and shard. The shape it is moving toward without knowing why.

A hum outside time, a reason for being, and a purpose for becoming. That myth is a lighthouse we maintain in the present so the future can find us.

It is the story that tells a people what their sacrifices are for. The answer to the only question: Why endure this, rather than something else?

The myth of the future stands outside time, but bends time toward itself. It reaches backward, arranging the past into ancestry. It reaches forward, arranging suffering into necessity.

Without it, there is no future. Without it, time flattens, then implodes.

Days still pass. Production continues. Rituals repeat. But nothing arrives. The past disappears, dissolving in a closed loop of ever-shortening reruns. The eternal now.

The present grows obese and airless, swollen with activity and drained of meaning. Motion without destination. Noise without summons.

A civilization without a myth of the future lives inside a disappearing present.

Civilizations discover their myths of the future, usually by accident, sometimes by revelation. Once discovered, they organize everything around them.

China oriented itself All Under Heaven, Tianxia becoming the only horizon. The many pasts and presents of the great river valleys flowing toward it like water finding its basin. And the sky coalesced into a heavenly court.

Rome believed itself eternal because it was sacred. SPQR became destiny enacted through stone, law, and blood. And the gods smiled upon the seven hills. When Rome stopped believing that it embodied the eternal, its future imploded, and the empire followed.

The medieval world lived inside the coming Kingdom of Heaven. It was here, there, ahead, and behind. In the works, prayers, ploughs, and arms of the monk, the peasant, and the knight. The Black Death put an end to that dream.

The modern myth was Reason and Progress. The machine promising that tomorrow will always be better than yesterday. A shining city on a hill. It drowned in blood and fire on the fields of the Somme.

What survived were procedures. Institutions without destiny. Wind-up toys running long after the myth that powered them had burned away.

There is only an eternal present now. Hypertrophied consumerism with no sense of purpose, direction, or meaning.

A sunset administered by an outsourced answering machine.

When a modern declared the end of history, it was an eulogy and a confession. A civilization that declares history complete has already lost its future.

With no future to pull it forward, the past loses coherence as well. Memory fragments. Heritage becomes content. Tradition becomes aesthetic. Ritual becomes cringe.

Only a disintegrating present remains. Managed. Monetized. Administered. Live-streaming entropy in 4K. Good game, no respawn.

When civilizations die, they make room for something else. The old future fails to arrive, and the new one bursts forth from the cracks. In symbols. In fantasies. In forbidden longings. In stories that feel dangerous to say aloud.

A new civilization will rise. It always does. And with it, a new myth. It will come from a future that needs it, in a flash of retrocausal becoming. When it does, we will remember it was always here.

As an attractor without explanation. As a sense that something vast is waiting beyond the limits of the present. As unease.

It will be remembered first, whispering in a language we have forgotten how to hear. The past drawn into the vacuum of the present like a tsunami from the future.

It will prune the miasmic stasis of the eternal now into a new, coherent shape. We are in the forgetting. The myth is the thing we are about to remember.

Civilizations survive when they remember how to look up. The future is watching us, waiting for us to remember it. To survive, we must seek an open system. Closed systems die. There is only one direction left.

Ad Astra.