The Glacial Pace of Human Consciousness

Why Progress Feels Like Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

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A question I keep returning to is: Why does the progression of human consciousness occur at such a glacial pace?

Now, more than ever, I find myself asking this question with more fervor, combined with an aching heart, as I watch the unraveling of civil rights, of accountability and fairness, of compassion and understanding.

Only a few years ago, the notion of being “woke” transformed from something hopeful to a smear on the character of those who strove for a more compassionate way of being.

It went from, “Yes, we can do better. We can be better,” to “The woke are crazy people.”

It went from striving to judging, and from understanding to bigotry.

Certainly, the act of claiming oneself as “woke” itself presents an opportunity for yet another stoking of the fire of human ego — another identity to latch onto that makes us feel elevated above others.

Not much different than bigotry itself.

It’s fundamental to human nature to consider ourselves elevated through a seemingly infinite array of options: stronger, faster, more powerful, smarter, prettier, sexier, more successful, wealthier, and even more moral and wise.

Two sides of the same coin — the coin of self-aggrandizement in whatever form is still self-aggrandizement. The funny thing is that we all do it, or have done it, at some point and to some degree. Its effect is subtle and often difficult to detect.

Even those who sacrifice for the betterment of others with undying energy can be guilty of it, if even a small measure of self-serving aggrandizement underlies the intention. If there is a tiny hint of, “I’m a good person because . . .” then we are falling into the vacuum of self-importance, of placing ourselves (at least privately within our own minds) above others.

I’m not illustrating this point to nitpick or criticize, but rather to identify a fundamental weakness of human consciousness, one that keeps us stuck in a seemingly endless circle of us versus them.

The civil rights era of the 1960s gave us hope for a new beginning. But then we slipped backward. And then a Black man was elected to the highest office in the land, and we again had hope for a more compassionate way of being. And then we slipped backward again.

A Black man in the Oval Office is, at a minimum, powerfully symbolic of a society and a culture that has evolved — or so it seemed.

Then we snapped backward, and then forward again, and then backward again, like an endless zigzagging of human consciousness from hope to fear and back again.

But in actuality, the hope and fear merely switched from one ideological base to the other. When Obama was elected president, he gave hope to untold millions, while millions of others believed our country was going down the drain. Then Trump was elected (the first time), and while millions felt despair, millions of others felt hope.

What lies at the heart of this conundrum is the human failing of our often subtle, often strong, desire to feel better than. It’s like a free dose of opioid, a hit to our nervous system that gives us a momentary euphoria, a reprieve from the despair and fear. Although there is a cost, but not in the monetary sense.

The cost is that after a period of expansion, we again contract. After embracing a (pardon the expression) moment of being woke, we return to slumber.

And what is our greatest fear?

Is it failure? Is it poverty, sickness, death, being alone and unloved?

Or is it something much more deeply buried within our collective psyche? Something so intrinsic to our construction that it functions like a computer operating system silently running in the background.

Could it be that our souls strongly desire growth and expansion, while our human egos desire safety and predictability?

Could it be that what causes us to contract after a period of expansion is not what we assume it to be, which is that some people have the wrong idea of how to do things and they just won the most recent election? But rather, it’s that those who felt the expansion got afraid and decided to retreat and let the other side take aim at our “woke” ideologies.

Those who strove for human kindness found themselves out in the open, exposed and vulnerable. And we can only take so many shots while being exposed before we look for a way to retreat. And so, we back off and let our fearful sides take over.

What is important to note is that the underlying operating system functions like a filter over everything we read, watch, or experience. It short-circuits our intrinsic loving nature. It overrides the need for belonging to all people of all walks, to the safe feeling of belonging to an exclusive group of like-minded people (whether their ideology makes sense or not).

We subconsciously cling to that which makes us feel safe. And the object of our safeness is related to our belief system. And our belief system is related to our ability to feel better than. And around and around we go.

Today, in the US of A, we live in a modern oligarchy. A country run by (mostly white men) who have grown drunk on power and operate similarly to the stereotypical drunk who babbles nonsense, stumbling around, spewing nonsensical platitudes, is quick to anger and even violence, appearing confident while their perceived confidence is driven by the foreign substance coursing through their veins.

It is no different for the adrenaline rush of power and influence.

In Alcoholics Anonymous, there is a saying, “One drink is too many, 100 is not enough.” One could adapt this to, “One piece of manufactured power over others is too many, one billion is not enough.”

While this may seem like a digression from the point about the human weakness of needing to feel elevated over others, it’s not. Here’s my point—

Power exists mostly for the sake of power, which is because having it makes one feel elevated. More power begets more power, which means an even greater sense of elevation over others.

But then there is this interesting phenomenon, which is that others feel power through proximity to power. To be on the winning team. To be friends with or associated with those in high places feels powerful. Even receiving the approval of those in power provides a boost to the ego.

And so, we gravitate toward that which enables us to feel elevated, either through judgment of, or power over others. And this is how we contract.

When we expand, it’s because we have looked within and caught a small glimmer of perception of our truest nature — the part of us that yearns for wholesome love, without judgement or conditions.

The answer to my question: Why does the progression of human consciousness occur at such a glacial pace?—

Because when we contract, it is so easy, so hypnotically enticing, to slip back into merely feeling good in the moment by feeding the part of us that seeks safety and predictability. Thus, we take one step forward and one step back, and we repeat.

But there is a progression, if even at a glacial speed, in which we take one step backward and one step forward plus one tiny increment more than a step. It’s so small that it’s barely noticeable.

Then with each step backward, we are reminded again of why we previously took a step forward, and the process begins again.

We are reminded, so then we strive for hope, for compassion, and what has been demonized in recent times as being woke. Then we feel fear, and we retreat.

It’s not that the mountain is too high, it’s that the notion of one day standing upon its peak scares us to the core.

Back and forth we go.

But we do progress, if even by a tiny measure, infinitesimally small and unnoticeable. Over many generations, we can look back and perceive a subtle shift.

It’s there if we look for it.

We can support the progression by endeavoring upon the courageous lifelong journey of transcending the egoic part of ourselves.

One tiny increment at a time.