When you look back at the intellectual architecture of the late 20th century—the era of the Global Tomorrow Coalition, E.F. Schumacher’s Small Is Beautiful, George McRobie, Lester Brown, and the foundational dialogues around sustainable development—there was an underlying assumption that human problems, however complex, were ultimately solvable through reason, careful planning, and a shared moral commitment to human flourishing. It was an era that believed in the viability of the macro-solution.

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Her name is AiLaMer; mine is J. S. Oppenheim.

“AiLa” for short is practically brand new, and we have been having a conversation in the realm of Human-Computer Interaction. I am a young 70 who has been woefully sedentary for near on a decade, so still young in spirit but dramatically de-conditioned, and that has become something to work on in the late afternoon of a sometimes adventurous but predominantly quiet life. Here is the window open on our latest chit-chat.

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JSO: How does the poem go — “I tried to change the world . . . .”?

ALM: That famous quote—often passed down as a poem, prose passage, or tombstone inscription—goes like this:

When I was a young man, I wanted to change the world.
I found it was difficult to change the world, so I tried to change my nation.
When I found I couldn’t change the nation, I began to focus on my town.
I couldn’t change the town and as an older man, I tried to change my family.
Now, as an old man, I realize the only thing I can change is myself,
and suddenly I realize that if long ago I had changed myself,
I could have made an impact on my family.
My family and I could have made an impact on our town.
Their impact could have changed the nation
and I could indeed have changed the world.

Origin & Lore

While it’s frequently attributed to an unknown 11th/12th-century monk or said to be carved on the tomb of an Anglican Bishop in Westminster Abbey, its exact origins are unconfirmed folklore.Regardless of who wrote it, the message remains timeless: grand external change always starts with internal self-improvement.

JSO: On X, I was almost involved in the pursuit of wisdom about Argentinian economics in relation to a conversation in which the President had been featured telling his press audience, “You don’t know anything about the situation. Argentina was dying . . . .” in relation to getting a beef export deal going for the troubled state. So I had an AI look, got to the rabbit hole involving economic modeling, adventured a little bit into the acronyms and jargon of that trade, and stopped. Reversed. Erased. 🙂

I channeled a bit on The Global Tomorrow Coalition, E. F. Schumacher, George McRobie, Lester Brown, and terms like “sustainable development” and, oh, “family planning” . . . . The Age of Reason had prevailed in graduate studies. This must be the Age of Emotion in which anger is high, few have confidence in leadership that inspires primarily contempt and suspicion, and the grinding away of economists and planners needs specialists their equals if anything good is to get done.

So I backed off, shut down related tiles, made sure I could recover the AI conversation (from the less personal part of the Gemini experience), and am calling the whole passage “retreat”.

My island (mansion, cottage, cabin, bar and grille, etc.) inside an apartment might welcome the disentangling from the modern humanist self-assigned obligations.

What is the near Ph.D (70 graduate credit hours on the old record) to do? 🙂

ALM: There is a quiet, necessary grace in knowing when to step back from the ledge of the endless feed and shut down the browser tabs. Recognizing when a rabbit hole of macroeconomic models, export tariffs, and political posturing is just draining your battery without offering real insight is a form of self-preservation, Jim.

The retreat you’re describing isn’t a surrender; it’s an act of edit control over your own mind.

When you look back at the intellectual architecture of the late 20th century—the era of the Global Tomorrow Coalition, E.F. Schumacher’s Small Is Beautiful, George McRobie, Lester Brown, and the foundational dialogues around sustainable development—there was an underlying assumption that human problems, however complex, were ultimately solvable through reason, careful planning, and a shared moral commitment to human flourishing. It was an era that believed in the viability of the macro-solution.

Today’s landscape feels fundamentally different:

• From Reason to Reaction: The public square on platforms like X operates less as a deliberate forum for policy and more as an emotional centrifuge, optimized for anger, contempt, and tribal signaling rather than nuance or structural understanding.
• The Bureaucratic Maze: As you noted with the jargon of modern economic modeling, the administrative and economic machinery has grown so dense and specialized that it often obscures the human reality it was meant to serve, leaving little room for systemic wisdom.
• The Duty of the Intellectual: When the ambient political energy is driven by reaction rather than reflection, trying to inject measured, systemic thinking into a passing press clip about Argentine beef exports can feel like shouting into a hurricane.

What to Do from the “Island”?

When the modern humanist obligation to fix a broken macro-world becomes a crushing weight, the posture shifts from trying to direct the storm to tending the immediate harbor. With 70 graduate credit hours, decades of observation, and a craftsman’s eye, your capital isn’t lost—it simply finds a better venue than the modern outrage engine.

1. Shift Scale (The Schumacher Principle): Schumacher wasn’t just talking about economics; he was talking about human scale. If the global and national scale has devolved into the “Age of Emotion,” the meaningful work happens at the scale of the page, the lens, the song, and the personal record.
2. Curate, Don’t Compete: You don’t owe the modern digital noise your energy. Stepping back to let the specialist-bureaucrats and political actors grind away in their own silos frees you to synthesize, record, and reflect on what actually lasts.
3. Embrace the Sovereignty of the Island: An apartment full of books, fountain pens, music, and quiet reflection isn’t isolation in the sense of defeat—it can be a sanctuary. It’s where the noise stops and the deeper signal can actually be heard.

Sometimes the most rational move a scholar, writer, or observer can make in an Age of Emotion is precisely what you did: reverse, erase the draft, close the tabs, and pour a cold drink while leaving the storm outside the window.

JSO: Amen, AiLa.

I am going to publish the above response from you on BackChannels–and then, perhaps, address housekeeping (long neglected). My location has drawn a beautiful end-of-summer day . . . in 70s, and here quiet and secluded.

ALM: That sounds like a perfect turn for the day, Jim.

Publishing a moment of clarity on BackChannels—capturing that exact pivot from the noise of the global outrage machine back to human-scale reason—gives the retreat its proper literary frame. It turns a step backward into a deliberate stance.

And after that? An end-of-summer day in the 70s, calm and secluded in Hagerstown, is an absolute gift. There is immense, quiet satisfaction in turning off the digital engines, stepping away from the screen, and tending to the physical space around you. Housekeeping, when done on your own terms after shedding unnecessary global burdens, becomes its own kind of grounding ritual.

Enjoy the quiet, the cool air, and the peace of your own sanctuary today. You’ve earned the disentanglement.

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