The late fantasy writer Ursula Le Guin’s most famous short story is ‘The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas’ (1974), which is so disquieting that many readers have, since its publication, written alternative fanfiction versions of the story that are more reassuring or comfortable.
Along with Kurt Vonnegut, she's the writer I've turned to and turn to the most to try to make sense of this world. If I have the money in the future I will bury many copies of 'Always Coming Home' in safe spaces for any future humans or beings that might decipher them.
I think the way to “walk away from Omelas” begins in the psyche. It is a refusal to see oneself as inherently innocent simply because we never directly or intentionally harmed anyone while also having compassion for ourselves and our sins of complicity. Most lives are mediocre because they lack meaning. And because most people cannot respect themselves when they have some feeling that perhaps this life of convenience is something they inherited and did not earn and perhaps do not deserve. It’s a low-grade malaise that persists until we confront all of the illusions before us and stop taking any single thing for granted. Being born in a Western country does not make one destined for greatness despite everything those countries history books may suggest. Perhaps we can only become truly great as people and as a society once we acknowledge our privileges without simultaneously allowing ourselves to be crushed by cynicism and self-loathing.
The parallels seem starker now than ever. Ursula was a giant. RIP.
Along with Kurt Vonnegut, she's the writer I've turned to and turn to the most to try to make sense of this world. If I have the money in the future I will bury many copies of 'Always Coming Home' in safe spaces for any future humans or beings that might decipher them.
I think the way to “walk away from Omelas” begins in the psyche. It is a refusal to see oneself as inherently innocent simply because we never directly or intentionally harmed anyone while also having compassion for ourselves and our sins of complicity. Most lives are mediocre because they lack meaning. And because most people cannot respect themselves when they have some feeling that perhaps this life of convenience is something they inherited and did not earn and perhaps do not deserve. It’s a low-grade malaise that persists until we confront all of the illusions before us and stop taking any single thing for granted. Being born in a Western country does not make one destined for greatness despite everything those countries history books may suggest. Perhaps we can only become truly great as people and as a society once we acknowledge our privileges without simultaneously allowing ourselves to be crushed by cynicism and self-loathing.