Losses and Gains

Over the last week Stephanie and I watched a six-part documentary series called "Chef's Table".  It's a Netflix Original (there are so many now!), and definitely one of the most fascinating food documentaries I've ever seen. It followed the stories of six fine dining chefs from various walks of life, and delved surprisingly deep into their personal life and philosophy of food. They were each so different in their origins and motivations, yet so similar in their goals, and the food was mind-blowing. In short, a wonderful series, and worth the time even if you're not a foodie.
But that's not what I want to talk about.
In "Chef's Table" a couple of the interviewees touched on an issue that I think about a lot. They talked about the way that ancient cultures lived and cooked, and lamented the things we have lost since those simpler times. It's a thought you've all heard before; that we're spoiled by our life of abundance, and something crucial has been subtracted from the human spirit.
I'm calling bullshit on that.
On the one hand, it's absolutely true: we have lost something. For example, I cannot tell the difference between an edible mushroom and a poisonous one. I cannot fashion a bow and arrow with my bare hands. Hell, even with the best modern weapons, I probably couldn't even kill a deer. These are skills I did not learn growing up.
But I did learn how to do algebra. And how to write (how many hunter-gatherers could do that?). And how to use email. And I spent many formative years studying philosophy; wondering after the meaning of life, wondering what this thing I call "me" actually is. I learned that Earth is but a speck in an infinitely vast universe, and I gained a casual understanding of the physics that drive that universe.
Are these things worth nothing? Are these mere vanities? By virtue of knowing these things, but not how to strike a fire with rocks, can I no longer call myself a man?
Sure, we're fat. Sure, we're lazy. Sure, we spend more time staring at LED screens than we do talking to each other. But we also know what a microorganism is, and how to kill many of them before they kill us. We know how to fly jet planes. Through those little LED screens that everyone is so proud to condemn, we have the ability to speak to each other from across the world. I have clients in England, Australia, and the Phillipines. Through our work, we are able to share our cultures with each other. Is this worth nothing?
And there are people today, in our own society--maybe just around the corner from you--who do not have the benefit of education. Who cannot read, write, or perform basic math. Do you think they're glad to be free of such burdens?  Given the choice, do you think they would choose the wooden arrow and the earth oven, or a smartphone and an air-conditioned house?
I don't condone laziness, and I don't condone taking our civilization for granted. The abundance we enjoy is nothing short of miraculous, and we would do well to remember that every day. But I REFUSE to apologize for it. Because to me, that is the greatest vanity of all. To stand in front of a world filled with people who would die to have the abundance you have, and say that abundance is your greatest weakness, and that you would give it all up if you could. To stand before a parched man in the desert, lamenting that your water-filled canteen has made you weak.
We've lost something, its true. Everybody and everything must lose in order to gain. It's called growth. We may have lost something, but we've gained something of greater value. Survival is no longer the highest goal.