The Village That Forgot the Real World
A parable for our screen-saturated age — what happens when a whole society stops touching the real.
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This has been lurking in the back of my head for at least a month, and I think it makes a great addition to the growing modern fairytale canon, written to help make sense of this crazy world. Enjoy, and tell your friends!
A Truly Amazing Book
Once upon a time, in a little village at the edge of the woods, there was a great artist. His work was much beloved, and people came from miles around just to catch a glimpse of one of his creations. Even the king would wait patiently for his commissions.
One day, the artist brought a great picture book to the square and set it on an easel, its pages gleaming in the sun. He said, “Come look! My book shows the real world. In these pages, you can see the forest, the towns and kingdoms in all directions, and even the secrets of the wise. You don’t need to go wandering, you can see it all right here!”
Children gathered around. The pages were filled with dazzling colors: a pond that shimmered gold, a village made of marble with glittering gemstones at the corner of every window, and a neighboring kingdom fat with delicate food while building arms for war.
The children gasped. “The world is magical!”
They ran home and told their parents. Soon, everyone surrounded the book, waiting for the artist to reveal the next page, their workshops standing idle, and the weeds in the fields growing taller with each moment that passed.
Some of the adults looked at pages of houses from neighboring towns and grew envious of the luxuries they saw. Fine linens, fresh pastries, and fans that ran by magic, blowing cool air over whole families as they rested on silk-covered couches.
Other adults looked at the pages of the lands and were taken with longing, seeing all the beautiful waterfalls with fish filling their plunge basins, towering trees with leaves of amber, and vast meadows with rich black soil perfect for pastures or even an evening ride.
Still more adults looked at the pages with neighboring armies preparing for war, and they were filled with fear. They looked on at the sharpened swords, trained brave mounts, and large wooden engines that hurled flaming oil further than a hart can sprint, trembling at the thought of what was to come.
All looked on, each getting tangled in their own thoughts and growing steadily more suspicious and confused, yet unable to walk away from the promise of a new page about to be revealed, such was the power of the artist’s skill.
While the villagers looked on entranced, the artist sent heralds out boasting of abilities great enough to beguile a nation. Soon, others were talking of trading a kingdom to get even one piece of his work.
Raghnall’s Journey
But one little boy named Raghnall grew curious.
“If the book shows the forest,” he asked, “why do I never see a pond of shimmering gold from my window?”
His friends laughed. “Because you’re not looking at the right forest. Look at the book instead!”
Raghnall wasn’t satisfied. So one morning, while the others stayed behind staring at the pictures, he tiptoed into the real forest.
Soon, he found the pond. It wasn’t shimmering gold; it was dark. In parts, you could see the blue of the sky, but other areas were murky and green with wee creatures skimming across the surface. Delighted, he put some pebbles from the bank in his pocket to make a new mancala set.
Emboldened, Raghnall went further. Soon, he came to the neighboring village. There were no gemstones in the corners of their windows, and no fans blowing cool breezes across lounging villagers. Instead, the walls and windows were rough, much like his home, and the people bustled working in fields and workshops, much like they had in his village before the artist opened his big book.
One elderly woman saw him and asked if he was hungry. Raghnall sat with the old woman, drinking tea and eating stiff bread while the grandmother told him stories about the townsfolk and the people who had moved away.
In fact, nothing was as fancy as the picture book. But it was alive, and it was true.
Pebbles, Stiff Bread, and Sisters
Raghnall ran back to his village to tell everyone.
But when he told the other children what he’d seen, some frowned.
“That can’t be right. The book says the forest is different!” Their parents called him a silly boy. Everyone looked at the book. “See, child, this is how things are. It’s right there in print.”
At first, Raghnall was sad and confused. Why would the village doubt him now? But then he felt the pebbles in his pocket. He smiled and handed the villagers the pebbles he had found by the pond.
To others, he handed a piece of stiff bread.
And to an elderly lady, he gave news of a sister who missed her.
“These pebbles are from the pond in the real forest, this is the bread that they eat in our neighboring village, and those were the words of a grandmother there who fed me. If you only look at pictures, someone else decides what you believe. If you walk out into the world, you decide for yourself.”
Slowly, the other children and townsfolk began to follow him. They still enjoyed the artist’s picture book—it was fun and beautiful—but they no longer mistook it for the truth.
And from then on, whenever they saw a picture, they would whisper to each other, “A picture can show you something, but it can also trick you. The real world is worth seeing with your own eyes.”
Housekeeping
These have been busy times, but I am happy to report that I am settling in at the National Association of Scholars (NAS), and it looks like I have a sponsor for higher ed accreditation reform here in Tennessee. Let’s hope it proceeds swimmingly.
I’m also about halfway finished with a Halloween horror story that, if finished, I will share here.
Yesterday I met with a handyman who is going to fix my rotten doorjams and some other long-overdue problems in my house. Feeling like I can take care of myself like a competent adult is exhilarating.
In a last bit of news, I’m going to attempt to return to having an occasional Friday post, especially some good-natured humor. I’ve missed writing satire, and as I get into a rhythm of working and writing for NAS, I’m finding ways to order my schedule that include additional funtime writing. Think of it as an experiment. I do have other things I must attend to, but we’ll see how it works out.
On the Bookshelf
Lordy, do I have to answer this? No. I’ve come no further on my slow-moving and ever-growing bookshelf. Obviously, I have a problem. I blame no one by myself, and maybe quantum (because why not blame quantum?) BUT this is a long weekend! There is a chance I will turn some pages…! At least I continue to intend to.
Accreditation on the Edge: Challenging Quality Assurance in Higher Education by Susan D. Phillips
The Case Against Education by Bryan Caplan
The Licensing Racket: How We Decide Who Is Allowed to Work, and Why It Goes Wrong by Rebecca Haw Allensworth
Moral Calculations: Game Theory, Logic and Human Frailty by Laszlo Mero
The New Know-nothings: The Political Foes of the Scientific Study of Human Nature by Morton Hunt
The New Oxford Annotated Bible with Apocrypha: New Revised Standard by Marc Brettler, Carol Newsom, Pheme Perkins
Surely You’re Joking, Mr. Feynman! Adventures of a Curious Character by Richard Feynman
We Have Never Been Woke: The Cultural Contradictions of the New Elite by Musa al-Gharbi
“Whatever It Is, I’m Against It”: Resistance to Change in Higher Education by Brian Rosenberg
Your Consent Is Not Required by Rob Wipond. ←— READ THIS BOOK!
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About
Diogenes in Exile began after I returned to grad school to pursue a master’s degree in Clinical Mental Health Counseling at the University of Tennessee. What I found instead was a program saturated in Critical Theories ideology—where my Buddhist practice was treated as invalidating and where dissent from the prevailing orthodoxy was met with hostility. After witnessing how this ideology undermined both ethics and the foundations of good clinical practice, I made the difficult decision to walk away.
Since then, I’ve dedicated myself to exposing the ideological capture of psychology, higher education, and related institutions. My investigative writing has appeared in Real Clear Education, Minding the Campus, The College Fix, and has been republished by the American Council of Trustees and Alumni. I also speak and consult on policy reform to help rebuild public trust in once-respected professions.
Occasionally, I’m accused of being funny.
When I’m not writing or digging into documents, you’ll find me in the garden, making art, walking my dog, or guiding my kids toward adulthood.