I am currently reading a wonderful novel by John Ehle called The Landbreakers. Ehle wrote historical novels about Appalachia and died in 2018; Harper Lee, author of Whoever disturbs the nightingale, called him America’s “leading writer of historical fiction.” I can see why.
The Landbreakers is the story of the early American settlers who set out for the Appalachian Mountains at the edge of the 19th century, most of them from the state of Virginia, and their struggle for survival. Set just a decade after the American Revolution, many souls burned with the desire to explore and settle the vast unknown.
I haven’t finished the book yet, but it’s gripping, beautifully written, and so far it’s given me a simple reminder: It’s really hard to build things and survive.
It’s easy to take survival for granted, but that wasn’t the case for the early settlers. They had to toil day after day to build a simple hut that could withstand the winter cold and keep out the rain. They had to carefully tend their few livestock. They had to fight bears.
In short, they had to essentially build their lives and legacies from the dirt. They couldn’t just go on Zillow or scroll through an app to get a new Jeep. No, they had to grit their teeth and fight through mud, snow and brush just to make a living.
It was a hard life, sustained by hard work and a burning vision of life on the edge of a dangerous and beautiful frontier. They had received nothing from previous generations. They had to create a world that they could pass on to their children.
Although that kind of life seems the last thing anyone would aspire to today, I wonder if the book offers a clue as to why so many modern Westerners, especially young people, lack a sense of what is essential. Is it because we no longer build on the edge of the world we know? Is it because we have been given the world they built but don’t know what to do with it?
While this is largely a metaphor, the implications are practical. How many twenty-year-olds can build a chair to sit on, or make a fire to keep warm, or make a bow and arrows to kill a pig? Probably not many, because either we don’t have to, or because those things have already been built. for us.
Homes are built in a few months, furniture is mass produced, cars are remodeled every year, our food, coffee and water come effortlessly, and most of us just have to press the accelerator or click around a bit to get what we want. Of course, not everyone has that privilege, and it makes one much more grateful for the construction worker who actually understands how things are put together. And of course there are still those at the forefront of innovation and progress in technology, manufacturing, construction, etc., but the majority of us no longer need to build things or hunt game to survive. Most of us are beneficiaries of the infrastructure and technology that already exists. We receive and consume rather than give and create.
Could this be part of what is behind the new industry of “content creation”? Content creators, social media influencers, and online personalities and personal brands have formed a new ecosystem curated exclusively for online audiences. We have built entire worlds online, perhaps because it is the final frontier, a site of infinite possibilities where anyone can have a say, where anyone can write a post, where anyone can elevate themselves to a particular brand. Except that often, on these online platforms, what is being built is not a product, but a Identity. The self is what is created and sold. It is not about physical survival, but Social Survival – a strategy to compete against a cybernetic universe of other avatars.
The question is, is that enough? Is building an online world of videos, photos and “content” an appropriate parallel to the American settlers who cut down pine trees and fended off wolves at night to survive?
Maybe we have a restless urge to build and innovate, but at certain points in the development of a society we benefit from an amazing structure of civilization, but then no longer have the motivation to continue the hard work of expanding and maintaining it. It is truly amazing when you just think of the complexity involved in installing an electrical system in a house that functions.
When we no longer need to build to survive, perhaps we’ll build for other reasons: to communicate with others, to create lasting works of art, and to make life easier and more comfortable. The benefits of modern technology, from air travel to air conditioning, are numerous. But the conveniences that technology provides are no substitute for purpose. And I’m not sure creating content on the internet alone is enough, either. I count myself in the category of online “creators” because I’m a writer who works primarily in online spaces like Substack, but I also know how easy it is to feel disembodied and need concrete things to do with your hands, just to remind yourself of the goodness of the physical world.
How can we build beauty instead of glass bricks? Cathedrals instead of shopping malls? And how can we avoid simply building a modern version of Babel that reflects our own hubris and desire for power?
We need a new vision. We must become craftsmen and farmers again. We must, I dare say, go out again.
Cross-posting to Battle the Bard.
