The
Evolution
of
Human Intellect
---
Discover
the Information
that Schools and Religions
Aren’t Yet
Teaching
by Bert
Copyright
2012 by L.N. Smith
All rights reserved
Smashwords Edition
Cover
photography supplied by NASA, courtesy of nasaimages.org
This
book and its author and publisher are not affiliated with or endorsed
by the Walt Disney Company.
***~~~***
Introduction
Chapter
1: Circle-Vision
360
Chapter 2: The
First Hominins
Chapter 3: The
First Humans
Chapter 4: The
First Modern Humans
Chapter 5: The
First Villagers
Chapter 6: The
First Writing
Chapter 7: The
Fall from Grace
Chapter 8: The
Ancient Greeks
Chapter 9: The
High Schoolers
Chapter 10: The
Hippies
Chapter 11: The
Worldcentrics
Chapter 12: The
Wonderful World of Disney
Chapter 13: The
Shells of Ignorance
Chapter 14: The
Big Picture
Chapter 15: The
Skywalk
Other
titles by L.N. Smith
***~~~***
Dedicated
to
Walt Disney & Uncle Albert
***~~~***
The first chapter summarizes the evolution of human intellect and then dramatizes two possible outcomes for humankind.
The remaining fourteen chapters go into more detail, presenting human history as seen through the lens of intellectual development.
(All of these chapters derive from two, more complete works: Chapter 1 comes from a literary piece called The Redesign of Tomorrowland, and Chapters 2 through 15 come from a novel called Sunrise Over Disney, which includes a full bibliography. Please note that some readers prefer this abbreviated form of the information.)
***~~~***
Chapter
1
Circle-Vision 360
(formerly Monsters, Inc. Laugh Floor)
Type:
surround-screen film presentation
Duration: 20
minutes
Capacity: 1,000+
Height Requirement:
none
Loading Speed: fast
Average Wait: 20 minutes
or less
Recommended Ages: 13 and up
Description:
Guests stand alongside handrails within a pavilion, where nine
screens provide panoramic viewing of a film called Spirit
Mountain.
The theater lights dim until the entire room is dark. Then, an unseen orchestra begins its warm-up, producing sounds that ebb and flow. Three taps of the conductor’s baton brings silence, and an oboe plays a Concert A.
One of the screens displays a white line, which wiggles to the oboe’s note. More lines appear, as other instruments join in, and soon, all of the screens are alive with chaotic scribbles.
Another tapping by the conductor brings pause, then the music begins. The lines on the screens perform a dance of elegant patterns, overlaid by the voice of a narrator:
The stuff of the universe—call it dark matter or dark energy—plays like the grandest of symphonies . . . where sounds form into notes, notes form into harmonies, harmonies grow into melodies, melodies carry a theme, and themes whip up emotions . . . and all from simple sounds. The stuff of the universe is no different: the ether forms into atoms, the atoms form into molecules, the molecules grow into instructions, the instructions carry life, and life whips up emotions . . . and all from a simple ether.
This layering is the basis of all creation. No layer can emerge without all of the subordinate layers remaining intact. Note that emotions require life; life requires instructions; instructions require molecules; molecules require atoms; and atoms require the ether. Each higher level depends on the viability of all those beneath it, but not vice versa. Creation is directional. Humankind is on a natural path.
The story for today follows Emotion on its extended journey. And much of the trail you’re about to see was forged long ago by your ancestors. You’ll likely recognize a good deal of it yourself, given that you’ve already trekked much of it during your own lifetime. But keep in mind that some of the more advanced trails may be unknown to you.
The journey begins on a desert salt flat.
The music continues, but now the screens have become bright white. I can just barely make out a horizon line.
The worldview of early humans was washed out like this. These creatures had no ability to look inward and observe their own thoughts. They wore their emotions on an invisible shirtsleeve, reacting instinctively to every stimulus. They were unaware of their existence on these Archaic Salt Flats, yet they lived here just the same.
The orchestra fades, leaving behind a primitive flute. The images of the ground turn gradually from a white desert to a lush green everglade, where a thick fog blots out the sky and reduces visibility to a few meters. The terrain now passes more slowly.
Here in the Magic Swamp, memories of the past and anticipations of the future are collapsed into the here and now. They arrive as sensations and drive natural impulses, though they are absent of any conscious attendant.
The great civilizations of ancient Egypt and the early Americas dwelled in this Magic Swamp. They achieved stunning levels of social complexity, but they did it without any clear self-knowledge.
The gentle sounds of a stringed instrument replace those of the flute. The cameras climb from the swamp and enter a foggy entanglement of trees, vines and underbrush.
Welcome to the Jungle of the Power Gods.
Electrification overcomes the acoustic strings, and the music launches into the opening sequence of Guns N’ Roses’ Welcome to the Jungle.
To hell with the harps and lyres of the time. Let’s unleash the terror and the ecstasy that only modern strings can convey. The Jungle of the Power Gods is a dream and a nightmare all in one. The mist has thinned; the path forward and backward can now be seen. History plots on a timeline, and time is real and on the march. It can’t be stopped . . . meaning death is inevitable.
Yes, death!
Death is the concept that opposes life; you can’t know one without knowing the other. The gods of the ego kill with a vengeance. . . .
The music blends into a later part of the song, where high-pitched pinging sounds cry against the thumping of an electric bass. Guitar is added, and the lead singer screams, “You know where you are? You’re in the jungle, baby. You’re gonna die!”
The music swells, then suddenly drops off to the lone stringed instrument of before.
But a little self-control is in order here.
A fairy-tale picture appears alongside the cut trail, and propped above it is a carved wooden arrow that points forward. The arrow bears the inscription, “Works and Days” —Hesiod.
Isn’t that image inspiring? —A jungle free of fog, vines, and undergrowth, where deciduous trees tower like pillars over a carpet of last year’s leaves. That’s the dreamworld from the Jungle of the Power Gods.
But such ideal images are seldom true in every detail. The coming Mythic Forest will be littered with fallen trees and thorny brambles, and the ground will be dangerously uneven and sloped upward.
The scene changes to what the narrator described. The Mythic Forest is a dense and treacherous woods, with a walking path that is marked by religious statuary.
The concrete operational mind is governed by perceptions and experiences. It can’t step away from an idea and evaluate it objectively. The holy scriptures are a literal account of history—true word-for-word—and the separation of church and state is meaningless.
Another easel along the path shows a picture of the forest giving way to scattered pine trees, where a perfect stairway of stone climbs easily up the slope. The carved wooden arrow reads, “Republic” —Plato.
Once again, ideal images tend to fall short of reality. The Rational Pines occupy a hazardously steep incline, with jagged rock outcroppings instead of smooth stairs. Note that the trail is clearly marked by mechanical gadgetry, like clocks and printing presses and . . . oh yes, one more religious statue.
Mother Teresa made it to the Rational Pines, and from here, she grappled with her own doubts about God for four decades until her death.
The Rational Pines offer a huge leap in perception. Logic and reason become the toolkits for invention, and the existence of God falls into question. The traveler through this region is a self-made individual.
Note, however, that this traveler remains hemmed in by tree cover. The view forward and back continues to be quite limited.
A third easel presents a picture of a sheer rock face, basking in the sunshine. The wooden arrow above it is inscribed, “Utopia” —Thomas More.
The first people to reach the Pluralist Cliffs found the rocks to be without hand-holds or foot-holds. Every inch of their climb was hard won, and each climber had to affix the necessary anchors for his or her own personal ascent. Some of these anchors, as you can see, still bear the tie-dyed ribbons they were decorated with.
If you listen carefully among these cliffs, you can hear the lingering echoes: “Free-to-be-you-and-me. . . . Let’s celebrate diversity. . . . I want to hear every voice. . . . Spare me your hierarchies.”
These people of the Pluralist Cliffs seldom look back at the landscape below. But on those rare occasions when they do, they fail to recognize that their superior vantage point owes to the arduous path they’ve already traversed. They deny the very hierarchy they sit at the top of.