The Whip and Reins of Civilisation
The sky over Neo-Andalas city was bleak. A thin mist hung between the towering glass buildings like a metal forest. The river that was once a source of life now flowed slowly with a brownish hue. In the distance, a giant screen continually broadcast economic figures: GDP Growth: +7.3%; Consumer Confidence: Rising; Productivity Index: Excellent. But beneath that screen, people walked with weary faces. They moved quickly, yet seemed to have lost their way.
In a giant conference hall called the Forum of Civilisation Riders, the world’s thinkers gathered. The theme of that year’s meeting sounded simple: “Is the Economic Horse Still Controlled by Man?” In the circular centre of the room sat the world’s great figures. Milton Friedman sat upright in his dark suit. His eyes were sharp. In front of him were piles of data and growth charts. On the other side, Amartya Sen looked calm while jotting something in a small notebook. Not far away, Lionel Robbins stared at a statistics screen with an unreadable face. Meanwhile, E. F. Schumacher merely gazed out the window, watching a small bird perched on the building’s antenna. In the corner of the room sat an old man in a simple robe: Ibn Khaldun. He was mostly silent, but when he looked at someone, that person felt as if their life history was being read.
The forum moderator opened the meeting. “The world faces a food crisis, mass stress, ecological damage, and extreme inequality. Yet the global economy is growing faster than ever. What is actually happening?” The room was silent. Then Friedman spoke first. “The world’s problem is not growth,” he said firmly. “The problem is that growth is not yet enough.” Some participants nodded. Friedman continued: “When the economy slows down, unemployment rises, investment falls, and poverty increases. The economic horse must be spurred on.” Schumacher smiled faintly. “But,” he said softly, “how long can a horse be spurred without being given a chance to breathe?” Friedman turned. “The world cannot stop.” “True,” replied Schumacher. “But the world also cannot keep running without direction.”
Outside the conference hall, a small boy sat watching a glass screen in a corner of the city. His name was Kael. He was only twelve years old. In his hand was a worn book about rivers and rice seeds. He came with a farmer named Uncle Ahtan. He was not a famous academic. He was just an agrofitrah farmer from the southern outskirts of Neo-Andalas. Yet it turned out that various people secretly came to consult him about soil, water, seeds, and ways of living that did not destroy the earth. Kael looked at the city river. “Uncle Tan,” he said softly, “why is the economy increasingly advanced, but the river increasingly sick?” Uncle Ahtan smiled bitterly. “Because humans have forgotten that water is not merely a commodity.”
Meanwhile, the discussion inside the forum began to heat up. Lionel Robbins finally spoke. “Economics is always about scarcity,” he said. “Human needs are unlimited.” “Is that true?” asked Amartya Sen. Robbins fell silent for a moment. Sen continued: “Perhaps what is unlimited is not human needs, but their ambition.” The room started to go quiet. “Humans,” said Sen, “do not only need consumption. They need dignity, health, education, social relations, and the meaning of life.” Friedman shook his head. “That is idealism.” “No,” Sen answered calmly. “That is humanity.”
In the corner of the room, Ibn Khaldun finally spoke. His voice was soft, but it silenced the entire forum. “I have seen many civilisations,” he said. “They always begin with a strong spirit of life.” He looked at the city’s GDP screen. “Then they become intoxicated by luxury.” No one spoke. “They spur their horses too hard.”
That night, Kael and Uncle Ahtan walked on the edge of the city. In the distance, the brightly lit industrial area was visible. Smoke billowed into the sky. “Uncle,” asked Kael, “why do humans like to spur everything on?” Uncle Ahtan scooped up a handful of soil. “Because humans are afraid of feeling lacking.” “But?” “But the earth already gives enough.” Kael fell silent.
The next day the forum continued. Now it was Shofwanaz’s turn to speak. He was a graduate of a renowned public university in Ghent, Belgium. He was an academic economist who had spent years assisting small traders and MSMEs. “Forgive me,” he said as he stood, “but the common people do not live inside graphs.” Some participants began to pay attention. “They live in markets, rice paddies, kitchens, and electricity bills.” Shofwanaz took a deep breath. “If GDP rises but food is expensive, water is polluted, farmers are marginalised, and young people are burned out, then perhaps there is something wrong with how we spur the economic horse.” The room fell silent again.
The following night, something unexpected happened in the city centre. Food prices soared. Clean water became scarce. People panicked, buying basic necessities. The city’s giant screen remained lit: Market Stability: Positive. But beneath that screen, a mother wept because she could not afford milk for her child. Kael saw everything. He stared at the large screen for a long time. Then he said softly: “Numbers can smile, it turns out, even when humans are sad.”
The final day of the forum arrived. The moderator asked for conclusions. Friedman was still convinced that growth was the way out. Robbins began to look restless. Sen spoke about human dignity. Schumacher spoke about an economy with a soul. Shofwanaz spoke about the common people. Uncle Ahtan spoke about the soil. Then the moderator turned to Ibn Khaldun. “In your opinion,” he asked, “what is actually happening to the world?” Ibn Khaldun closed his eyes for a moment. “Civilisations,” he said slowly, “do not collapse because of a lack of strength.” Everyone was silent. “Civilisations collapse when humans lose the ability to control themselves.”
Suddenly Kael raised his hand from the back seat. Everyone turned. The small boy stood and said loudly, “I want to ask a question.” The moderator nodded. Kael looked around the room.