In last night’s virtual discussion of “Speech Sounds” by Octavia Butler, I argued that there is nothing intrinsic about human nature; we are a product of the community that raised us. Morality is not universal; it is cultural. Today, I wonder if there is one part of human nature that is universal: we all dream. 

We dream of becoming the best version of ourselves (hello, New Year’s Resolutions!). We dream of a better world. But how do dreams become reality? 

New Year’s resolutions are glamorous. We reflect on everything we hoped (and failed) to accomplish last year, and we set ourselves to the task of becoming the people we dream of being. We get new gym memberships, we commit to dry January, we eat more vegetables and cut back on social media. And then we fall back into old habits, because there is nothing glamorous about the daily drudgery of committing yourself to difficult decisions and persevering through discomfort. 

What if you could dream your resolutions into reality overnight? You close your eyes, dream of a 6-pack and a 6-figure paycheck, and BOOM – when you open your eyes, you’re a ripped executive with a stable relationship and a vacation house in the Maldives. Would you be happy with your new life? Or would you keep dreaming? 

Dream bigger. What if you could change the world? You lay in bed, close your eyes, and solve the world’s problems. Every bureaucrat knows the trouble of getting other people to fall in line. With your newfound power, there would be no need to organize community action, no need for fundraising or politics or negotiation. 

In The Lathe of Heaven by Ursela le Guin, George Orr’s dreams can alter reality. His power terrifies him; he is desperate not to dream. His sleep psychiatrist, Dr. Haber, seizes George’s power and uses it to shape the world as he sees fit. 

Dr. Haber believes that “man’s very purpose on earth” is “to do things, change things, run things, make a better world”; George believes “Things don’t have purpose…What we do is like wind blowing on the grass.”

Some writers have a gift for plot; others have a gift for prose. Ursula le Guin is a master of both. After reading The Lathe of Heaven, I am left with two competing understandings – and I hope you will join me to discuss them in January. 

First: you cannot live a meaningful existence without a sense of purpose that drives you to strive towards something greater than what is.

Second: unless you can accept what is, you will never live a meaningful existence, because you will always be dissatisfied with the things you cannot change.