All posts by Alan AtKisson

Writer, songwriter, public servant, dedicated to advancing sustainable development, based in Stockholm

Note: Science Fiction film titles

Apple’s iTunes service had over 2,500 films available under the category of science fiction when I last checked. I ran an analysis of the most common words in the titles of those films, and here were the top 10 results, in order of frequency (not counting franchise series titles, like Marvel’s “Agents of Shield”):

  1. Time
  2. Man
  3. Earth
  4. Unknown
  5. Dark
  6. Alien
  7. Star
  8. Space
  9. Planet
  10. World

The word “Future” was much farther down the list, coming after words like “Dead”, “Apocalypse,” and even “Spielberg”. (I also looked at film director names.)

Based on that list, here is the ultimate science fiction movie title:

“The Time of Man on Earth: the Unknown Dark — like an Alien Star in Space — How our Planet became a World.”

It almost makes sense — and almost sounds like a summary of how some people view the era of humanity’s ascendancy on the “Third Rock from the Sun.”

Quote: Money was invented (King)

Money was invented in order to get round the problems of trusting other individuals. But then the issue was — could you trust the person issuing the money? So the state became the natural issuer of money. And then the question is, can we trust the state? And in many ways that’s a question about whether we can trust ourselves in the future.

— Mervyn King, former Governor of the Bank of England

Quoted in A History of the World in 100 Objects, Neil MacGregor, 2010, p. 465.

Notes: Future Justice

As a concept, “future justice” is theoretically vast, for it encompasses all the rights of all the people (and nature, as some countries have begun to recognize the rights of ecosystems) living in the future. If all goes well, the people of the future will greatly outnumber all the people alive today. Their rights to clean water, a stable climate, and a world free from oppression and war should therefore count greatly in our decision making.

In practice, however, the topic of future justice is frighteningly small, occupying no more than a few small pixels on the great screen of the world.

The early years of the 21st century saw a sudden growth of interest in future justice, and several countries began experimenting with the creation of new governmental commissioners or “ombudsmen” whose job was to safeguard those rights. Most often, the initial focus was on the environment; but issues of human rights were also in the picture. Hungary, the Philippines, and Namibia have functioning ombudsmen, with varying degrees of autonomy and authority, ranging from the ability to prosecute environmental crimes to advisory and educational activities. Perhaps the most prominent and well-functioning such office is Future Generations Commissioner for Wales.

Future justice is also a catch-all term for legal proceedings brought on behalf of children or future generations, such as lawsuits against governments for not acting on the threat of future climate change or other environmental threats. A few of these lawsuits have been remarkably successful, including a landmark decision in 2015 that forced the government of the Netherlands to accelerate its action to reduce carbon emissions. (The government is appealing that decision. A good summary of what is happening internationally, as of early 2018, was published in English by Germany’s DW, a development media organization.)

An early draft of the United Nations agreement from the 2012 “Rio+20” summit, The Future We Want, proposed the creation of a United Nations High Commissioner for Future Generations, a global role similar in authority to the  high commissioners for refugees and human rights. But the proposal — which advocates criticized as weak — did not survive the negotiating process and was dropped from the final text.

As of 2018, several non-governmental organizations continued to promote the concept of future justice generally, and the role of independent commissioners and ombudsmen specifically, including the World Future Council and the Network of Institutions for Future Generations. (For a 2-minute video on the concept, see below.)

It is surprisingly difficult to get up-to-date information on the status of these institutions, because the NGOs that promote them appear to be understaffed, or at least slow to update their websites. Nor is there a relevant Wikipedia entry. (These are just two indicators that the movement is still, as noted above, “frighteningly small”.)

But some information be gleaned through these two portals: – Global view of mechanisms recognising future generations. Includes an interactive map that shows where institutions exist, or where reference to the rights of future generations (e.g. rights to a clean environment) are included in official national documents. Not all the links are working or are updated (as of Mar 2018).

Network of Institutions for Future Generations – Members List. Provides web links to a number of relevant national institutions, which take varying forms (at least one, Israel’s commissioner, is listed as “former”). The website does not seem to have been updated since early 2017.

Video on the argument for creating a UN High Commissioner, by the World Future Council (posted March 2016):


Notes: Future Shock

In 1970, Alvin Toffler (and his wife Heidi, they wrote as a couple but used only his name) published a book that took the world by storm, selling millions of copies and introducing a phrase — “Future Shock” — that soon earned a place in the dictionary.

Future Shock was not just a book about what was likely to happen, based on trends and patterns (though it did plenty of predicting). It was a book about how human beings were reacting to a feeling that the future was arriving faster than they could prepare for it. The principal thesis of the book is preserved in its dictionary definition: “the physical and psychological distress suffered by one who is unable to cope with the rapidity of social and technological changes” (Merriam-Webster).

The Tofflers (Alvin died in 2016) were surprisingly skilled at extrapolating from the trends of the 1960s into the world that later emerged, accurately predicting personal computers, the Internet, “Information Overload,” the sharing economy, telecommuting, the role of artificial intelligence in the workplace, and the rise of informal and less-hierarchical organizational structures. Their famous “errors” look wise in hindsight: Heidi predicted throwaway paper clothes, which did not happen; but the throwaway society certainly did. Today’s “fast fashion” garments may not be made out of paper, but they are not much longer-lasting.

Future Shock was not the first book to claim that “This lifetime is … different from all others because of the scale and scope of change,” nor was it the last. But it was the first to bring the speed of change into global public discourse as a topic of debate, and to highlight the counter-intuitive features of exponential growth — a topic that would stand at the center of another mega-bestseller that followed just two years later, The Limits to Growth. The Tofflers noted that accelerating economic expansion — Japan was the China of their day, its GDP growing at an average of 9.8% per year — translated into “a doubling of the total output of goods and services in the advanced societies about every fifteen years.” The individuals coming of age in the 1960s might live to see a world 32 times as “big” in economic terms (after five doublings) because of the compounding impact of exponential growth.

As it happens, the world economy has doubled in size more than four times since 1950. Graphs of that growth resemble rocket launches.

The Tofflers were not the world’s first futurists — the term had emerged during World War II, in connection with US think tanks — but they were the first to popularize the profession on the world stage. Alvin even taught the first known university course on the subject of “future studies” in 1966.

In introducing the systematic study of the future to a mass audience, they were careful not to let it be reduced to mere trend-spotting and prediction. Instead, they gave the popular understanding of future studies a decidedlhy philosophical and analytical character. Here they are writing on the advancement of technology, in words that seem to presage the significantly more developed and coherent theories of contemporary thinkers such as W. Brian Arthur (The Nature of Technology: What it is and How it Evolves, 2009):

“[T]echnological innovation does not merely combine and recombine machines and techniques. Important new machines do more than suggest or compel changes in other machines — they suggest novel solutions to social, philosophical, even personal problems. They alter [humanity]’s total intellectual environment — the way [we think and look] at the world.” (Future Shock, p. 29)

The Tofflers noted that for humans to avoid the “shock” part of “future shock,” they would need to become more adaptable, flexible, and ready for the unfamiliar and unpredictable. It was wise advice then, and it also seems to have anticipated the emergence of an entirely new area of scientific inquiry, which is today called “resilience”. Becoming more resilient was imperative, wrote the Tofflers, because the advancement of technological civilization “offers no surcease from change. It offers no return to the familiar past. It offers only the highly combustible mixture of transience and novelty.”

While the Tofflers are usually remembered as cheerleaders for the future, their agenda was far more radical. In their book’s final pages, they called for a massive slow-down in the pace of economic, industrial and social change in order “gently guide our evolutionary destiny.” Their diagnosis of where “this wild growth, this cancer in history” was leading reads less like a prediction, and more like a hauntingly accurate premonition of the early decades of the 21st century:

“[B]efore we can build a humane future, [we must] halt the runaway acceleration that is subjecting multitudes to the threat of future shock while, at the very same moment, intensifying all the problems they must deal with — war, ecological incursions, racism, the obscene contrast between rich and poor, the revolt of the young, and the rise of a potentially deadly mass irrationalism.” (Future Shock, p. 486)

Today’s “ecological incursions” are happening at the scale of planetary ecosystems. The global “contrast between rich and poor” is wider and more obscene than ever. Phrases like “climate change” or “mass migration” or “school shooting” were not even in our lexicon when “future shock” was invented, nor was “social media,” which has become the most powerful technology ever known for spreading “mass irrationalism” in the form of conspiracy theories and fake news.

Today the “runaway acceleration” of human history appears to be speeding up rather than slowing down. The ever-faster arrival of “the future” may have become less and less shocking to us since the Tofflers’ time. It may even be that the majority of humanity is not just accepting, but even desiring, of the “novelty and transience” they worried about.

But that does not mean that we have solved the problem of collaboratively making the future that we are creating more humane, more livable, more sustainable. In fact, we appear to have just caught up to the Tofflers’ vision of how we might start.

In the closing pages of 1970’s Future Shock, the Tofflers laid out a suggested program of activity that bears a striking resemblance to something that finally occurred, at the international level, in the years 2012 to 2015. They called for “a movement” that would “broaden and define in social, as well as merely economic terms, the goals of ‘progress.'” They imagined gatherings happening “in each city, in each neighborhood” whose purpose was to “assign priorities to specific social goals for the remainder of the century.” They even proposed the use of large-scale, participatory simulation games, involving thousands or even millions of people at a time, to help us “formulate goals for the future.”

In 2015, the largest-ever gathering of heads of state convened in New York City, at the United Nations headquarters, to formally approve a document that had been developed with the input of hundreds of thousands of people, from all around the world. Called “Transforming Our World,” the document included 17 broad “Sustainable Development Goals”, and 169 prioritized sub-goals, to guide global development through the year 2030.

It was not exactly what the Tofflers had in mind. But it was astonishingly close.


Additional sources to review:

Future Shock at 40: What the Tofflers Got Right (and Wrong)

Future Shock on Wikipedia

“Future Shock” Documentary Film on YouTube (starring Orson Welles):

Notes: The origins of prophecy

Photo courtesy British Museum (Creative Commons license)

In the British Museum, there is a stunning example of a duho, a type of chair used by the chieftains of the Taino people in the Caribbean. Christopher Columbus himself was offered the honor of sitting in one of these, on the island he later named Hispaniola (now called Haiti, then called Quiqueya). Columbus took his seat at the beginning of a century that saw the Taino people enslaved, oppressed, and almost completely extinguished by European colonization and disease.

But the duho represents much more than just a seat of political power or the representation of a ritual spirit (in this case, a dog-like figure with golden eyes, named Opigielguouiran). The duho was a doorway to the future.

The Taino, like many peoples throughout pre-history, used hallucinogenic drugs and ritual to enter another state of reality where they could commune with the gods and seek information about the future that was vital to them.

Seated on a duho, high on snuff made from cohoba bark, the Taino leaders — who were both male and female — could see what was coming and decide what to do: plant crops, prepare for a hurricane, go to war. Unfortunately, these seer-chieftains had not been able to foretell the arrival of the Spanish, and therefore could not prevent the collapse of their own civilization.

The duho is a powerful reminder not just of this one people, and this one decisive moment in world history. It stands, symbolically, for an enormous variety of pre-modern traditions in the practice of prophecy. For prophecy is a seat of power.

Human civilization was divided into several great tracks of development many thousands of years ago — African, Eurasian,  Australasian and American. Some of these peoples remained quite isolated from each other over many millennia, separated by vast seas and continental distances. And yet nearly all of them, based on the archaeological and anthropological evidence, had developed methods of prophecy: techniques, often supported by technologies, for peering into the future.

Ancient prophets were not always high on hallucinogenic chemicals: they could also achieve a state of ecstatic clairvoyance through fasting, asceticism, prayer, ritual, meditation, and arduous quests into the natural world. Some were simply gifted from birth with “second sight”, the power of seeing something that is otherwise invisible. People with second sight might see (or sense) non-human spirits, the ghosts of human ancestors, or events happening at a great distance. When second sight gives them knowledge of future events, we call it “precognition” — a word that literally means, “to know in advance.”

The capacity for prophecy was one of the most prized skills in the ancient world, equivalent in importance to the skills of war, conquest, and political leadership. We know this because many esteemed prophets of old are just as famous today as the kings and conquerors they served (or sometimes chastised and berated). Several of the world’s great religions rest on a foundation laid by ancient prophets, who not only foretold the future, but also adjudicated right and wrong behavior as well as belief.

Indeed, it was not uncommon for these two roles — prophet and ruler — to be merged, in one function. Anyone who can predict the future more accurately than others, whether through supernatural means or by exercising superior observation and deduction skills, can accumulate great power. That statement remains true today: for example, a skilled financial observer can make a fortune by observing and acting on economic signs and portents that other investors miss. (George Soros, to pick just one modern illustration, became one of the richest and most powerful people in the world by accurately predicting changes in currency exchange rates, among other insights.)

That ancient prophets and prophecies are so deeply embedded in today’s religious practice is evidence of the massive power of future-thinking. For many people, the way ancient prophets thought about the future still provides the basis for their entire contemporary way of life.

A modern, secular worldview would dismiss supernatural prophecy — foreknowledge of the future, gained by means other than scientific observation and prediction — out of hand. The universe simply does not work that way: direct observation of the future is impossible for human observers (except in science-fiction). So why has prophecy been so essential, and so overwhelmingly powerful, throughout so many millennia of human experience, right up to the present day?

Fear is a very powerful emotion. As anyone who watches a horror movie knows, the frightened anticipation of meeting a monster is more uncomfortable than the actual moment of that monster’s appearance. However we choose to do future-thinking — whether it is by ascribing supernatural meaning to natural events, seeking out drug-induced hallucinations, praying intensively to the divine, or studying phenomena for patterns that repeat and can therefore be predicted — we do it to reduce uncertainty and anxiety, danger and risk.

Ancient prophets (and modern ones as well) usually return from their journeys into the future with instructions. If we do things in this certain way, if we align our beliefs and ethical principles according to these guidelines, we will be safe and we will prosper.

If we do not, all is lost.

Video: Transforming the Future: Anticipation in the 21st Century

This short video — a collection of short interviews with professors and consultants — summarizes a forthcoming UNESCO book that covers the field of “anticipation,” the latest way of framing foresight and future studies. It draws on the work being done in UNESCO Futures Literacy Knowledge Laboratories, all around the world.

Here are some notes from the video. Actual quotes are marked; otherwise the notes are summaries of statements made by the named expert.


Transforming the Future (Open Access): Anticipation in the 21st Century (Hardback) book coverAnticipation is a new name for concepts like future studies, foresight, though there are nuanced differences in these terms. (Lydia Garrido Luzardo)


The work of this group is based on the groundbreaking work of Robert Rosen, a mathematical biologist who was trying to understand “what is life.” Rosen developed the idea of anticipatory systems. He found “most of reality is anticipatory in one way or another.” (Roberto Poli)


[Anticipation] is not about looking at a target future; it is about looking differently at the present. (Luzardo)


“All our actions are based on predictions of their consequences. We see the world as a meaningful world, not a collection of objective atoms. We see the world as a set of possibilities for action. We see objects and things where we think that we can do something. This is the meaningful world that we operate in. But the meaning itself is all the time based on what would be the consequences of my action. The world is not out there to be discovered, but it is actually constructed by ourselves.” (Iikka Tuomi)


“What people say is the future is just their story of the future. So storytelling, the words, can becoming important tools for imagining and creating the future.” (Kewulay Kamara)


“You can only make sense of things after they actually exist. So you have to try to create the future — and then try to think what it means.” (Tuomi)


We are trying to get people to the insight, I am *using* the future. Then they will ask, “if I am using it, what is it?” (Riel Miller)


Foresight is used by both policy (“la politique”) and politics (“le politique”). … “There is autocratic foresight: you construct the future, and you require people to follow it.” These kinds of foresight — autocratic, ideological — always end badly, often in catastrophe. (Kais Hammami)


“If we become better at appreciating complexity — seeing uncertainty as a resource, not an enemy (because of course it is an enemy of planning) — we can shift the origins of our fear, and construct our hope in a different way. And if we can do that, it allows our identity to be more whole with respect to our origins, that is the past, but also our aspirations. And that will make people happier, and more at ease with who they are, in this universe that has this amazing potential to change.” (Riel Miler))


“Anything that perpetuates the status quo is basically a colonisation of our futures.” (Roumiana Gotseva)


“It’s a very inclusive way to create knowledge, because no one has better knowledge than anyone else.” (Lizard)


Forces from the past are just half the picture. There are forces, feelings, etc. coming also from the future, so to say. “The social sciences need to be rewritten to give equal weight to the past and the future.” (Poli)


We tend to think that if we change the structures, we will change the way people think and behave. For me, it’s the other way around. If we change the way people think and behave, we will bring new structures naturally into existence. For the why is changing the assumptions underneath what we think change is. (Gotseva)



Quote: Watching a weather report (Polli)

Anticipation is the transformation of what we are able to see about the future into action. Watching a weather forecast is not anticipation. Watching a weather forecast and, as a consequence, taking your umbrella before going to work is anticipatory behavior.

— Roberto Polli, UNESCO Chair in Anticipation Studies, University of Trento, Italy, Jan 2017

In this video: Transforming the Future: Anticipation in the 21st Century


Notes: Science-Based Targets

“Setting greenhouse gas emission reduction targets in line with climate science is a great way to future-proof growth.”

Science Based TargetsThis headline from the first page of the website for the Science-Based Targets Initiative sums up their approach succinctly. It involves (a) using scientific methods and existing scientific consensus (b) to determine an organization’s fair share of greenhouse emissions reduction, on a timeline that also aligns with  science-based international climate agreements, while (c) maintaining something close to business as usual — “growth” in this case means steadily increasing revenues, profits, and market share — in the process.

Here is the formal definition:

Targets adopted by companies to reduce greenhouse gas (GHG) emissions are considered “science-based” if they are in line with the level of decarbonization required to keep global temperature increase below 2°C compared to pre-industrial temperatures, as described in the Assessment Report of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC).

[Applies to the 4th or 5th AR (Assessment Report) of IPCC as well as modeling of the IEA (International Energy Agency).]

The technical note in brackets is part of the formal definition. While this specificity makes the definition seem extremely robust, it is important to keep in mind that that the IPCC’s work is based on numerous climate models, which in turn rely on both past scientific data and a great many assumptions about the future. One of those assumptions is how much carbon dioxide will be removed from the atmosphere in the future, by technologies that either have not yet been developed or that will be scaled up to enormous proportions in the coming decades. If those technologies do not materialize, the “level of decarbonization required” is likely to be much higher.

The Initiative, run by a consortium of prominent global organizations, also presents science-based targets — “SBTs” — as the best way to minimize uncertainty (i.e. “future-proof”) with regard to business prospects. Predicting future business success is much less certain than predicting future global temperature rise, so this promise of future business success, implied by the SBT Initiative, is not based on similarly scientific methods.

The concept of SBTs does not just apply to the operations of a company, but to its core products as well. The SBT Initiative has even described how oil and gas companies can participate, by setting science-based targets and timelines for steadily reducing their production of fossil fuels and replacing these products with other, renewable forms of energy products and services.

Note that the phrase “science-based targets,” used in connection with climate change and greenhouse gas emissions reduction, has been around since at least 1992*; but it only began to gain serious traction after the Paris Agreement of 2015, which established a broad international consensus around the goal of limiting global temperature rise to 2 degress C or less.

* See, for example, “Convention on climate change: economic aspects of negotiations,” OECD, 1992, p. 22-23.

Notes: The Viridian Design Movement (1999-2008)

In 1999, science-fiction writer Bruce Sterling gave a speech in which he called the growing problem of greenhouse gas emissions “an aesthetic problem.” Our reliance on fossil fuels and other pollutants was creating an ugly world, even though it was largely invisible to our senses. He believed the best hack for starting an environmental revolution was not technical or political, but artistic.

“We’re in trouble because we live in filth and we can’t see it,” said Sterling. “We’re like eighteenth century people who lived before germ theory. We’re ignorant of the squalor that surrounds us, and we have bad taste.”

Sterling determined to attack the problem head-on, and he single-handedly launched a new design movement to “Change what people see. Change how they see.” Sterling wanted to use art and design to help people visualize a future that was a brighter and more attractive shade of green — and start making it real.

He called the movement “Viridian” because that was the name for a shade of green that was slightly unnatural — cool, techy, and  environmentally friendly without being predictably so.

Sterling’s initiative was bold and quirky, and he was well-known in sci-fi and futurist circles, so he immediately attracted a following. He wrote a manifesto and a set of design principles, and he declared himself the Viridian Movement’s “Pope-Emperor.” Then he appointed a “Curia” of friends, advisors and fellow-travelers, to help spread the word. (I was lucky enough to be one of these.) The Viridian Movement, operating through Sterling’s email list, quickly spawned a number of design competitions, whose purpose was to call into being the kinds of design innovations Sterling felt to be lacking — things like spore-based ink to help people “embrace decay,” or a graphic symbol to highlight the fact that we were already in a state of “greenhouse disaster.”

Being on the slightly more practical side, I decided to organize an international Viridian Design Competition around one of Sterling’s best-loved ideas (conceived with colleague Stefan Jones): an electricity meter that was actually fun to look at, and that would tell you clearly when you were destroying the climate, and when you were saving it.

With a $10,000 grant from an enlightened philanthropist, I ran the contest though Donella Meadows’ Sustainability Institute (where I was the unpaid Director of Arts & Culture) and in partnership with a prominent international sustainability network known as the Balaton Group. That group’s global experts in climate science, modelling, renewables, and energy efficiency were the judges. And our winner, Inci Mutlu’s “Wattbug”, went on to receive media exposure in the New York Times and Wired magazine.

So did the Viridian Movement help create the future — that is, the present in which we are living now? Did it “introduce something new into the probability stream” as Elon Musk puts it? Or just accelerate what was bound to happen anyway?

Today, “smart meters” that provide immediate visual feedback on energy consumption are everyday items in the world’s electricity grids — though none are as cute as the Wattbug, and they would have arrived, eventually, anyway. Sustainable design is an increasingly normal part of life, though not in the radical ways described by Sterling at the end of the 20th century. New, more mainstream-friendly design movements for sustainability have emerged such as the one I helped launch with the Norwegian government’s Center for Design and Architecture, organized around the UN’s Sustainable Development Goals. (It’s called the Oslo Manifesto.)

In 2008, Sterling himself seemed to sense that the Viridian moment was over and abdicated from his self-appointed overlord position,  four years ahead of the movement’s scheduled “Expiration Date.” Having an expiration date was itself a Viridian idea; but the zeitgeist was also changing. Al Gore and the IPCC had won the Nobel Peace Prize, which reduced the need for specialized awareness-raising on climate change. The economic meltdown now called the “Financial Crisis” was hitting its peak, which reduced interest in flashy new design ideas for a time. Sterling had just published a thoughtful book on design, called “Shaping Things,” that he considered “very Viridian without coughing up that fact in a hairball.” (Sterling, who is from Texas, has both a large personality and a penchant for colorful metaphors.)

Meanwhile, both the ideas and many of the people from the Viridian list had been absorbed into a then-new thing, called a “blog”, that went by the name of Worldchanging and promoted the alternative phrase “bright green.” (I was part of that, too.)

So in his final “Viridian Note” — the epistles that Pope-Emperor Sterling had been regularly sending out to the masses for nearly a decade — he gracefully admitted that “the world has become a very different place,” and that the growing calls for change in finance and politics went a bit beyond the design focus of Viridian. But his parting words were still a broadside against traditional green thinking or the notion that we should just consume less, an approach that he disparagingly called “hairshirt-green” (after the very uncomfortable goat-hair garments that Christian penitents and ascetics used to wear).

“Hairshirt-green is the simple-minded inverse of 20th-century consumerism. Like the New Age mystic echo of Judaeo-Christianity, hairshirt-green simply changes the polarity of the dominant culture, without truly challenging it in any effective way. It doesn’t do or say anything conceptually novel — nor is it practical, or a working path to a better life.”

Sterling challenged his readers, in a more open-ended, less green-authoritarian way, to simply “re-think your relationship to material possessions in terms of things that occupy your time. The things that are physically closest to you. Time and space.” You spend a lot of time with your stuff, and it takes up space. So acquire quality. Ditch what you don’t need and don’t use. This was ultimately far more important, opined the author of the Viridian Manifesto, than whether the object in question was “green.”

From this future vantage point, I can see the “streams of probability” that Viridian touched, as it tried to create a certain quirky vision. It lifted the topic of green design out of the environmental muck and into flashy, digitized lights of Silicon Valley. It was a brilliant act of conceptual art, the impacts of which are impossible to measure. I know it affected a certain moment in my life, inspired certain of my actions, and that it did that for hundreds of other people, who then went on to affect (or infect) other people, with the idea of making “green” more attractive, cool, and relevant. It probably “accelerated the inevitable.”

But the boldness of Sterling’s vision — his willingness to just write a manifesto and launch a movement, armed with nothing but an email account and some name recognition — inspires me still today. I doubt, for example, that we would have thought up the Oslo Manifesto in 2016 if my Viridian memories hadn’t been lurking, quite unconsciously, in the background of my mind.

So hats off to Viridian! It may have expired — but like true design classics, it never actually went out of style.

Quote: A branching stream of probabilities (Musk)

I look at the future from the standpoint of probabilities. It’s like a branching stream of probabilities. And there are actions that we can take that affect those probabilities, that accelerate one thing, or slow down another thing, [or] introduce something new into the probability stream.

— Elon Musk, TED interview, April 2017