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Longpath

Becoming the Great Ancestors Our Future Needs - an Antidote for Short-Termism

3.7 (303 ratings)
24 minutes read | Text | 9 key ideas
In a world obsessed with the here and now, Ari Wallach's "Longpath" offers a daring escape into the profound expanse of time. This isn't just a book—it's a call to action for those weary of short-term fixes and hungry for meaningful change. Wallach, a visionary futurist, unfolds a tapestry woven from history, neuroscience, and philosophy, challenging readers to expand their horizons far beyond the immediate. By embracing the Longpath mindset, we find the courage to ask not just "what now?" but "to what end?" for ourselves and civilization. This manifesto is a clarion call to reconnect with what truly matters, ensuring that our choices resonate across generations. Are you ready to redefine your legacy and contribute to a future that honors both our past and our potential?

Categories

Nonfiction, Self Help, Psychology, Philosophy, Science, Parenting, History, Society, Cultural, Climate Change

Content Type

Book

Binding

Kindle Edition

Year

2022

Publisher

HarperOne

Language

English

ASIN

B09LYWMBMJ

ISBN

0063068753

ISBN13

9780063068759

File Download

PDF | EPUB

Longpath Plot Summary

Introduction

Throughout the vast span of human history, societies have wrestled with a fundamental tension: the pull of immediate concerns versus the pursuit of long-term vision. From the ancient Egyptians who built pyramids designed to last millennia to modern governments struggling to address climate change beyond election cycles, how humans conceptualize time has profoundly shaped our civilizations. This temporal perspective—whether myopic or far-reaching—has determined which empires flourished, which innovations took root, and which societies ultimately collapsed. The remarkable journey through historical approaches to long-term thinking reveals surprising patterns across cultures and eras. Ancient wisdom traditions often incorporated transgenerational thinking, while modern industrial societies frequently became trapped in cycles of short-termism. By examining how different civilizations have balanced immediate needs with future concerns, we gain invaluable insights for navigating our current global challenges. Whether you are a policymaker, business leader, or simply someone concerned about creating a better future for coming generations, understanding these historical lessons offers a powerful framework for transcending the limitations of short-term thinking and embracing what might be called the "long view" of human potential.

Chapter 1: Ancient Wisdom: Historical Foundations of Transgenerational Thinking

Long before modern society's fixation on quarterly profits and election cycles, many ancient civilizations operated with remarkably expansive time horizons. The Indigenous Haudenosaunee Confederacy (Iroquois) famously enshrined in their Great Law the principle of considering decisions' impacts "seven generations" into the future—approximately 150 years. This wasn't merely philosophical; it structured real governance decisions about resource management, conflict resolution, and social organization from as early as 1142 CE, creating one of history's longest-standing participatory democracies. In ancient China, similar transgenerational perspectives shaped imperial planning. During the Han Dynasty (206 BCE–220 CE), elaborate bureaucratic systems managed forests and waterways with centuries-long planning horizons. Officials maintained detailed records of tree populations, implemented rotating harvests, and designed water management systems meant to function across multiple generations. The Grand Canal—a monumental 1,100-mile waterway begun in the 5th century BCE and expanded over centuries—exemplifies this long-term vision, remaining functional and economically vital for over 2,400 years. Medieval Japanese temple builders incorporated remarkable temporal foresight into their architectural practices. At temples like Horyu-ji, originally constructed in 607 CE, master carpenters established "thousand-year forests" where they systematically planted cedar trees that would reach maturity in 400-600 years—precisely when the original temple structures would need replacement beams. These forestry plans encompassed time spans far beyond any individual's lifetime, creating living connections between distant generations. The ancient Egyptians perhaps epitomize transgenerational thinking through their elaborate preparation for the afterlife and the construction of monuments designed explicitly for eternity. Their pyramids and tombs weren't merely symbolic; they represented a cultural understanding that human legacy extends far beyond biological death. The preservation techniques developed for mummification reflected sophisticated scientific knowledge explicitly developed to transcend time, with embalmers working to preserve bodies for what they believed would be an infinite afterlife. These historical examples weren't isolated philosophical concepts but practical frameworks that structured how societies made decisions, allocated resources, and conceived of their responsibilities. The central insight across these diverse cultures was strikingly similar: humans exist within chains of obligation and connection that extend both backward to ancestors and forward to descendants not yet born. These cultures recognized that true prosperity and wisdom required balancing immediate needs with responsibility toward both past and future generations. The decline of these transgenerational frameworks often coincided with periods of cultural disruption, resource overexploitation, or the rise of more immediate economic or political pressures. As we examine the shift toward shorter time horizons in modern society, these ancient practices offer not just historical curiosities but practical alternatives to contemporary short-termism—alternatives tested and refined across centuries of human experience.

Chapter 2: The Age of Shortsightedness: How Modern Society Lost Long-Term Vision

The transition from traditional societies with their inherent long-term orientation to our current state of chronic shortsightedness can be traced to several pivotal developments beginning in the 17th century. The Scientific Revolution (1550-1700) brought unprecedented capacity to predict and control natural phenomena, yet paradoxically narrowed our temporal vision. As Francis Bacon championed the scientific method for its practical utility, knowledge increasingly became valued primarily for its immediate application rather than its alignment with eternal principles. This shift from contemplative to utilitarian thinking gradually eroded the cultural foundations that had supported long-range planning. The Industrial Revolution dramatically accelerated this temporal compression beginning in the late 18th century. The mechanization of time through factory clocks and railroad schedules fundamentally altered human experience, replacing cyclical, seasonal rhythms with linear, standardized time units optimized for production efficiency. Factory owners required workers to internalize artificial time constraints, leading philosopher E.P. Thompson to observe this period created "the radical restructuring of working habits—new disciplines, new incentives, and a new human nature upon which these incentives could bite effectively." As industrial capitalism spread, time itself became commodified—something to be saved, spent, and increasingly, shortened. The 20th century saw the emergence of structural forces that institutionalized short-termism. The rise of quarterly financial reporting in the 1970s created systemic pressures for businesses to prioritize immediate profits over sustained value creation. Meanwhile, democratic political systems increasingly struggled with time horizons extending beyond election cycles. Studies by political scientists have demonstrated how electoral incentives consistently push politicians toward policies with visible short-term benefits even when long-term costs are substantial. This pattern became particularly evident in environmental policy, infrastructure investment, and pension funding. The digital acceleration of the late 20th century further compressed time horizons. As technology theorist Douglas Rushkoff observed, we entered an era of "presentism"—where the instant gratification of digital experiences replaced both historical awareness and future orientation. The average attention span measurably decreased as information flows accelerated, while financial markets evolved to value millisecond advantages in trading algorithms. By the early 21st century, the average tenure of Fortune 500 CEOs had shrunk to just five years, while the average holding period for stocks declined from eight years in the 1960s to mere months. The psychological dimensions of this shift proved equally significant. Neuroscience research revealed how modern environments systematically trigger evolutionary short-term biases in human cognition. Our brains evolved to prioritize immediate threats and rewards, making long-term thinking inherently challenging. However, traditional societies developed cultural practices and institutions specifically designed to counterbalance these natural tendencies—practices largely abandoned in modern settings that instead amplify our bias toward immediacy. This historical transformation represents not simply a change in time preference but a fundamental restructuring of human temporal experience. The resulting "crisis of foresight" has left contemporary societies struggling to address existential challenges like climate change, technological risks, and social inequality—problems that inherently require multi-generational thinking. Understanding this historical trajectory provides essential context for recognizing short-termism not as an inevitable human condition, but as a culturally specific and historically contingent phenomenon that can be transcended through intentional effort.

Chapter 3: Intertidal Periods: Major Historical Transitions and Their Consequences

Throughout history, certain pivotal transitions have fundamentally reshaped human civilization, creating what might be called "intertidal periods"—times when the old order recedes but the new has not yet fully formed. The Agricultural Revolution (circa 10,000 BCE) represents perhaps the most profound of these transitions. As hunter-gatherers began cultivating crops and domesticating animals, human relationship with time transformed dramatically. Archaeological evidence from sites like Göbekli Tepe in Turkey reveals how early agricultural communities developed new capacities for long-range planning—constructing massive stone monuments that required decades of coordinated effort and creating storage systems that extended time horizons from days to years. The transition from feudalism to early capitalism during the 14th-17th centuries created another distinct intertidal period with profound temporal implications. As feudal obligations gave way to market relationships, new conceptions of time emerged alongside new economic structures. In medieval Europe, time had been primarily experienced through seasonal cycles and religious calendars. The invention and spread of mechanical clocks in the 14th century began fundamentally altering this experience. Historian Jacques Le Goff documented how "merchant's time" gradually replaced "church time," as precise hourly measurements became essential for commerce. This shift represented not merely a technical innovation but a profound reconceptualization of time itself—from a divine gift to a scarce economic resource that could be measured, allocated, and eventually commodified. The Industrial Revolution triggered an equally transformative intertidal period beginning in the late 18th century. Factory systems required unprecedented temporal synchronization, while steam power, railroads, and telegraphs radically compressed space and time. As historian Stephen Kern observed, these technologies created "a sense of present extended in space" while simultaneously accelerating the pace of change. The resulting social dislocations were immense. Traditional craftspeople faced obsolescence, agricultural rhythms gave way to industrial schedules, and entire communities were uprooted as population shifted toward urban centers. This period saw both dramatic increases in material prosperity and profound psychological dislocation as people struggled to adapt to new temporal realities. The Digital Revolution beginning in the late 20th century has created our current intertidal condition. The internet, smartphones, and social media have generated unprecedented connectivity while simultaneously fragmenting attention and compressing time horizons. Studies show the average American now consumes five times more information daily than in 1986, while attention spans have measurably decreased. This cognitive environment makes sustained focus on long-term challenges increasingly difficult, creating what sociologist Hartmut Rosa calls "social acceleration"—a self-reinforcing cycle where technological speed increases time pressure, which in turn creates demand for more time-saving technology. These intertidal periods share important characteristics: they generate both new possibilities and new vulnerabilities. During such transitions, societies that successfully navigate the temporal dimension—developing institutions and practices aligned with emerging realities while preserving valuable traditional wisdom—typically flourish. Those that fail to adapt their temporal orientations often collapse. The fall of Rome exemplifies this pattern; the empire's institutions proved incapable of responding to gradually emerging threats until crisis became catastrophic. This historical pattern suggests our current global challenges—from climate change to technological risks—require not just policy responses but fundamental recalibration of temporal perspective. The lessons from past intertidal periods are clear: successful adaptation requires both preserving valuable elements of traditional temporal wisdom and developing new practices appropriate to emerging conditions. Today's accelerating technological change, environmental pressures, and social transformations make this temporal challenge more urgent than ever before.

Chapter 4: Futures Thinking: Learning from History to Imagine Multiple Possibilities

Historical approaches to futures thinking reveal remarkably sophisticated methodologies across diverse civilizations. In ancient Rome, the practice of divinatio involved systematic techniques for exploring potential futures, not merely as prediction but as preparation. Roman generals regularly employed multiple scenario planning, considering various possible outcomes before military engagements. This approach contrasted with more deterministic Greek attitudes toward fate, demonstrating how different cultural frameworks produced distinct approaches to future orientation. Roman strategic thinking involved what we might now call "backcasting"—envisioning desired outcomes and working backward to identify necessary actions, a practice evident in their extraordinary infrastructure planning. Renaissance Florence witnessed the emergence of more secular approaches to futures thinking. Niccolò Machiavelli pioneered political scenario planning in works like The Prince (1513), systematically analyzing alternative political configurations and their implications. Meanwhile, the Medici banking family developed sophisticated financial instruments for managing future uncertainty, including the first documented insurance contracts. These innovations weren't merely technical; they represented new cognitive frameworks for conceptualizing and engaging with future possibilities. The ability to imagine and prepare for multiple scenarios became a competitive advantage in the emerging commercial world, helping explain why Renaissance Italy became an economic and cultural powerhouse. Colonial empires during the 16th-19th centuries demonstrate the darker potential of futures thinking when divorced from ethical constraints. Spanish, British, and French colonial projects relied on elaborate forecasting systems to predict resource flows, population dynamics, and potential resistance. These imperial futures were enforced through violence, revealing how future visions can become instruments of domination when they exclude the perspectives and interests of affected populations. This cautionary history underscores why inclusive, participatory approaches to futures thinking are essential for ethical outcomes. The 20th century saw futures thinking become increasingly institutionalized. Following World War II, methodologies like the Delphi technique (developed by RAND Corporation in the 1950s) and scenario planning (pioneered by Royal Dutch Shell in the 1970s) transformed futures thinking from intuitive art to systematic practice. Shell's scenario planners anticipated the 1973 oil crisis, giving the company crucial preparation time. Meanwhile, Japan's Ministry of International Trade and Industry developed long-range industrial forecasts extending decades ahead, helping coordinate the country's remarkable economic transformation. These successes demonstrated how structured futures thinking could create competitive advantages for organizations and nations willing to invest in expanded time horizons. Contemporary approaches to futures thinking increasingly emphasize plurality and participation. The emergence of "participatory futures" methodologies in the late 20th century recognized that the most robust visions emerge from diverse perspectives rather than expert pronouncements. Countries like Singapore, Finland, and South Korea have developed national futures agencies that regularly engage citizens in imagining and planning for alternative possibilities. These approaches reflect growing recognition that effective futures thinking requires transcending both expert biases and short-term political pressures to incorporate multi-generational perspectives. The historical evolution of futures thinking offers vital lessons for our current challenges. Effective approaches combine analytical rigor with imaginative flexibility, ethical awareness with practical applicability. Most importantly, history shows that the capacity to envision and prepare for multiple futures is not a luxury but a necessity for navigating periods of accelerating change. As historian Reinhart Koselleck observed, societies experiencing rapid transformation must develop expanded "horizons of expectation" to match their expanding "spaces of experience." Our contemporary challenges demand precisely this kind of temporal expansion.

Chapter 5: Ancestral Empathy: Connecting Past Generations with Future Descendants

The concept of transgenerational identity—understanding oneself as a link between ancestors and descendants—has shaped human societies throughout history. Ancient Greek civilization maintained elaborate practices connecting generations through ancestor veneration, citizenship rituals, and philosophical frameworks. Aristotle explicitly conceptualized the good society as one existing across time, writing that true political wisdom required considering impacts "not merely for a day, but for a city's entire existence." Greek citizenship ceremonies included formal acknowledgment of both ancestral contributions and responsibilities to future citizens, creating a continuous civic identity spanning generations. Indigenous cultures worldwide developed sophisticated systems for maintaining transgenerational awareness and responsibility. The Lakota concept of mitákuye oyás'iŋ ("all are related") encompassed not just present community members but ancestors, descendants, and non-human relations in an integrated ethical framework. This perspective structured resource management practices, with decisions about hunting, agriculture, and settlement explicitly incorporating seven-generation thinking. Anthropological research documents how these weren't abstract philosophical concepts but practical decision frameworks embedded in governance structures, ceremonial cycles, and storytelling traditions. East Asian civilizations institutionalized ancestral connections through elaborate systems. In China, ancestor veneration practices dating to the Shang Dynasty (1600-1046 BCE) created ongoing relationships between the living and deceased. Family records documented lineages across dozens of generations, with responsibilities flowing in both temporal directions—obligations to honor ancestors balanced with duties to preserve resources and opportunities for descendants. These practices weren't merely private or religious but structured public administration as well. The imperial examination system explicitly tested candidates on their understanding of transgenerational responsibilities, making long-term thinking a prerequisite for leadership positions. The industrial age disrupted these transgenerational frameworks as market logic and geographic mobility weakened extended family connections. Historian Philippe Ariès documented how modern nuclear family structures gradually replaced multigenerational households across Europe and North America, physically separating generations that had previously cohabited. Simultaneously, capitalist economic frameworks emphasized individual achievement over family legacy, while accelerating technological change made ancestral knowledge seem increasingly irrelevant. These shifts weren't merely social but deeply cognitive, transforming how people understood their temporal location and responsibilities. Recent decades have seen efforts to reconstruct transgenerational awareness through both traditional and innovative means. The global resurgence of indigenous knowledge systems has highlighted alternative temporal frameworks. Meanwhile, new practices have emerged in modern contexts—from Sweden's appointment of a Minister for Future Generations to Wales' Well-being of Future Generations Act, which legally requires public bodies to consider long-term impacts of decisions. Japan's Future Design movement creates structured dialogues where community members explicitly adopt the perspective of future generations in planning decisions, often while wearing special robes symbolizing their temporary role as representatives of the unborn. These historical patterns reveal transgenerational empathy not as an abstract ideal but as a practical capacity that can be cultivated through specific practices and institutions. Researcher Elke Weber's studies demonstrate that exercises in "prospective thinking"—imagining oneself in conversation with future generations—measurably increase willingness to make present sacrifices for future benefits. Similarly, structured engagement with ancestral narratives strengthens what psychologist Howard Gardner calls "ethical minds"—the capacity to understand one's responsibilities within larger temporal contexts. These findings suggest that reconnecting with transgenerational frameworks represents not a retreat to traditionalism but a sophisticated response to contemporary challenges requiring expanded temporal horizons.

Chapter 6: Collective Flourishing: Historical Examples of Transformative Collaboration

History reveals remarkable instances where societies transcended short-term individual interests to achieve collective flourishing across generations. Medieval cathedral building projects stand as tangible examples of transgenerational collaboration. The construction of structures like Notre-Dame de Paris (begun 1163) or Cologne Cathedral (begun 1248) spanned multiple human lifetimes—the latter taking over 600 years to complete. These projects required extraordinary social coordination, with craftspeople, financiers, and community members contributing to works they knew they would never see completed. Architectural historian David Turnbull notes these cathedrals represent not just technical achievements but "social technologies" that enabled societies to conceptualize and implement projects extending far beyond individual lifespans. Venice's remarkable environmental adaptations demonstrate how long-term collective action can create sustainable human habitats in challenging environments. Beginning in the 5th century CE, Venetians developed sophisticated systems to manage their lagoon ecosystem, including elaborate water management infrastructure, forest conservation laws protecting timber supplies, and governance structures balancing competing interests. The Republic's Magistrato alle Acque (Water Board), established in 1501, maintained continuous hydrological records and implemented multi-generational infrastructure projects. Venice's thousand-year flourishing in a seemingly impossible location resulted not from technological brilliance alone but from institutional frameworks that successfully balanced immediate needs with long-term sustainability. Japan's forest management during the Edo period (1603-1868) provides another instructive example of collective flourishing through long-term vision. Facing severe deforestation by the 17th century, Japanese society implemented comprehensive forestry reforms. Village communities established detailed regulations governing harvest cycles, species selection, and replanting requirements. The shogunate created national forests managed on 100-300 year cutting cycles. Historian Conrad Totman documents how these policies transformed Japan from a trajectory of environmental collapse to sustainable forestry within a century, allowing the population to double while maintaining forest cover. This remarkable transition required both cultural shifts in temporal orientation and institutional innovations that aligned individual incentives with collective, long-term outcomes. Modern examples like Costa Rica's environmental transformation demonstrate how collective flourishing can occur even amid contemporary pressures toward short-termism. Facing severe deforestation in the 1980s, Costa Rica implemented policies reversing forest loss while simultaneously growing its economy. The country increased forest cover from 21% in 1987 to over 50% by 2019, established a comprehensive system of protected areas covering 25% of its territory, and became a global leader in renewable energy. This transformation required innovative financing mechanisms that valued long-term environmental services, educational initiatives that built public support for conservation, and governance structures that maintained policy continuity across multiple administrations. The historical pattern across these diverse examples reveals consistent elements enabling collective flourishing: institutional designs that bridge temporal gaps, cultural frameworks that extend identities across time, and governance systems that represent the interests of future generations. Sociologist Elinor Ostrom's research on common pool resource management identified similar principles in communities that sustainably managed shared resources over centuries—including clear boundaries, participatory decision-making, effective monitoring, and nested governance structures. These historical successes demonstrate that human societies possess the capacity to overcome short-term biases when they develop appropriate institutional and cultural frameworks. Contemporary challenges like climate change, technological risks, and demographic shifts require precisely this kind of long-term collective action. The historical record offers both inspiration and practical guidance for designing systems that enable collective flourishing across generations—not as utopian aspirations but as achievable social innovations built on proven precedents from diverse cultures and eras.

Chapter 7: Becoming Great Ancestors: Practical Applications from Historical Lessons

The practice of "becoming great ancestors" has manifested differently across historical contexts, offering valuable frameworks for contemporary application. In ancient Greece, the concept of eudaimonia (human flourishing) explicitly incorporated transgenerational responsibility. Solon, Athens' celebrated lawgiver, defined a good life not by wealth or power but by contributions to future generations. His famous reforms around 594 BCE were explicitly designed for long-term stability rather than immediate popularity. This Greek tradition reminds us that true leadership requires what political scientist Bryan Jones calls "temporal statesmanship"—the capacity to make decisions benefiting future generations even at short-term political cost. Traditional Japanese tea ceremony (chado) embodies another approach to ancestral practice through what philosophers call "arts of attention." Developed during the 15th-16th centuries, tea ceremony cultivates awareness of temporal connections through ritualized gestures, seasonal observations, and careful attention to objects with multigenerational histories. Each tea gathering acknowledges both the craftspeople who created the utensils and future practitioners who will inherit them. These practices demonstrate how everyday rituals can cultivate expanded temporal awareness, training participants to perceive themselves within chains of being extending across generations. The historical development of trusts and foundations represents an institutional approach to becoming great ancestors. The world's oldest continuously operating charitable foundation, the Brethren of the Common Life in Belgium, has maintained its educational mission since 1424. Similarly, the Venetian Scuole Grandi (Great Schools) operated continuously for over 500 years, providing social services across generations. These institutions demonstrate effective mechanisms for projecting values and resources across time—what legal scholar Alexander Boni-Saenz calls "temporal citizenship." Their success depended on governance structures balancing preservation of founding intentions with adaptability to changing circumstances. Indigenous land management practices offer particularly valuable lessons for contemporary environmental challenges. The controlled burning techniques developed by Aboriginal Australians over tens of thousands of years created complex landscape mosaics that reduced catastrophic wildfire risk while enhancing biodiversity. Similarly, the traditional ahupua'a system in Hawai'i managed watersheds from mountain ridges to coral reefs as integrated systems. These approaches weren't merely technical but embedded within cultural frameworks emphasizing kuleana (responsibility) to both ancestors and descendants. Recent "cultural burning" partnerships between indigenous communities and government agencies in Australia, California, and elsewhere demonstrate how these ancestral practices can be revitalized to address contemporary challenges. Contemporary efforts to institutionalize transgenerational responsibility have drawn on these historical precedents while developing innovative approaches. Finland's Committee for the Future, established within parliament in 1993, provides a formal voice for long-term interests in legislative deliberations. Similarly, the Welsh Future Generations Commissioner evaluates public policy for its impacts on unborn generations. At community levels, the Long Time Project has developed "deep time workshops" that help participants expand their temporal horizons through structured exercises connecting past, present, and future. These innovations demonstrate how historical wisdom can be adapted to contemporary governance contexts. The common thread across these diverse approaches is recognition that becoming great ancestors requires both personal practices that expand temporal awareness and institutional structures that represent future interests. Psychologist Hal Hershfield's research demonstrates that people make more future-oriented decisions when they develop emotional connections to their future selves—a capacity that can be strengthened through specific contemplative practices. Meanwhile, political scientist Graham Smith's work identifies design principles for "institutions for future generations" that effectively represent temporal interests in present decisions. By combining these personal and institutional approaches, we can develop what philosopher Roman Krznaric calls "good ancestor" practices appropriate to our contemporary challenges.

Summary

Throughout human history, the tension between short-term thinking and long-term vision has shaped the rise and fall of civilizations. The historical record reveals a striking pattern: societies that developed robust frameworks for transgenerational responsibility—from the Haudenosaunee Confederacy's seven-generation principle to Japan's Edo-period forestry management—demonstrated remarkable resilience and sustainability. Conversely, civilizations that succumbed to temporal myopia typically experienced environmental degradation, social fragmentation, and eventually, collapse. This temporal dimension of human decision-making has proven as significant as technological capacity or resource abundance in determining which societies flourish and which falter across centuries. These historical insights offer crucial guidance for navigating our contemporary challenges. First, we must recognize that short-termism is not inevitable but a culturally specific pattern that can be transcended through intentional practices and institutional innovations. Second, effective long-term thinking requires not just analytical forecasting but emotional connection across generations—what might be called "transgenerational empathy." Finally, the most successful approaches combine individual mindset shifts with collective structures that formally represent future interests in present decisions. By applying these historical lessons, we can develop what philosopher Roman Krznaric calls a "cathedral thinking" approach to our greatest challenges—laying foundations for structures we may never see completed, but which future generations will inhabit. The historical record suggests that cultivating this expanded temporal perspective represents not merely an ethical ideal but a practical necessity for navigating our current intertidal period of profound technological, environmental, and social transformation.

Best Quote

“In being more proactive, we move from trying to sustain what was to recognizing our innate power to create and regenerate, helping us become better than we were before. We pass that along to the next generation, and they in turn pass it on. In essence, we ensure the next generation starts out on a higher terrace.” ― Ari Wallach, Longpath: Becoming the Great Ancestors Our Future Needs – An Antidote for Short-Termism

Review Summary

Strengths: The book's exploration of long-term thinking offers profound insights into personal and societal decision-making. Wallach's engaging writing style and timely message are particularly noteworthy. A significant positive is the book's ability to inspire a shift in mindset from reactive to proactive, urging consideration for future generations. Its practical advice on implementing long-term thinking across various life aspects is well-received. Weaknesses: Some readers express a desire for deeper exploration of specific strategies for implementing Longpath thinking. At times, the ideas, though compelling, may appear more aspirational than practical. Overall Sentiment: The general feeling towards "Longpath" is largely positive, with many appreciating its accessibility and relevance. It is seen as a valuable contribution to discussions on future planning and sustainability. Key Takeaway: The most important message is the potential for positive change through adopting a Longpath mindset, emphasizing the importance of foresight and long-term planning in addressing global challenges.

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Ari Wallach

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Longpath

By Ari Wallach

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