The American Dream Myth

Donald Trump goes on a lot about the American Dream as if it was more than "just a dream". The idea behind the American Dream is that with enough hard work and ambition, anyone, regardless of their background, can achieve success and prosperity. It’s an idea that has been indoctrinated for generations into Americans, from the cradle to the grave

But in reality, it is, indeed, just a dream: one that simplifies the complexities of social mobility, while ignoring systemic inequalities ingrained in American society. For many, this idea has become a narrative that encourages people to blame themselves for their failures, rather than the real forces that shape opportunity.

The actual phrase "American Dream" was first coined in 1931 by James Truslow Adams in The Epic of America. He defined it as: ‘Life should be better and richer and fuller for everyone, with opportunity for each according to ability or achievement.’ In some ways, the Dream was a reality for a few people, but for the majority it was not.

The Dream is based on the myth of equal opportunity: that hard work equals success. But the reality is far more complicated. Social mobility in America has become increasingly restricted, particularly for those in the lower socioeconomic strata, who face systemic barriers preventing them from achieving their dreams.

There is also the growing wealth inequality in America. The richest 1% of Americans now have more wealth than the bottom 90% combined. The gap between the rich and poor has widened, making it difficult for those born into poverty to escape. This means that social mobility in America is now lower than in many other industrialised countries

This wealth gap has created a system where, for many, the Dream is very much a dream. People with financial resources have access to better education, healthcare and job opportunities, while those without wealth have no access to them. This inheritance of privilege, makes it difficult for those born into poverty to succeed, regardless of their ”work ethic”.

The education system in America is often regarded as “the great equaliser”, and a way for people to pull themselves up by their bootstraps. Yet, the reality is that education is heavily stratified by socioeconomic status. Public schools in wealthier areas have access to better resources and more experienced teachers than those in less wealthier areas.

And the astronomical cost of higher education has made it difficult for students from lower-income families to access university. Students from wealthy families are more likely to go to prestigious institutions, while those from disadvantaged ones face high student loan debt or don’t go to university at all. This educational disparity limits opportunities for upward mobility.

There has also been a decline in organised labour unions and job security. For most of the 20th century, unions played a crucial role in improving working conditions, wages and benefits for American workers. However, union membership has declined, resulting in low wages for many workers and the removal of workplace benefits.

The rise of gig economy jobs, with its short-term contracts and precarious employment philosophy, has also contributed to the decline in job security, resulting in many workers being trapped in low-wage, unstable jobs, unable to escape the cycle of poverty, despite their best efforts to.

Yet, despite the evidence to the contrary, the Dream remains a powerful cultural ideology. This is because the idea that anyone can achieve success through hard work creates a sense of meritocracy, where people believe that success and failure are based on individual effort rather than external factors. This makes it easier for those who succeed to believe that they earned their success, and that those who fail simply didn’t work hard enough. It also allows those at the top to justify inequality, as it is framed as the result of individual choice and effort, rather than systemic barriers.

Confronting the truth about how systemic inequalities limit access to opportunities can be uncomfortable, particularly for those who benefit from the existing system. Acknowledging these barriers would require a radical shift in how society views wealth and power, and many are reluctant to acknowledge these uncomfortable truths. It’s easier to hold on to the comforting myth of the Dream than to confront the reality of how deeply entrenched inequality is in American society.

So, the American Dream is no longer an achievable ideal for many, if it ever truly was. The idea that anyone can make it if they just work hard enough is a myth that ignores the real forces at play. True social mobility requires dismantling the barriers that perpetuate inequality and creating opportunities for everyone, regardless of their background, to reach their full potential. Only then can we begin to move beyond the myth of the American Dream and work towards a society where success is not just for the privileged few, but for everyone.

Rethinking Gender Beyond Biology

When it comes to understanding gender, we are often told to start with biology. Chromosomes, hormones and anatomy form the standard framework for defining what it means to be male or female. But I've come to believe that this framework—while useful in certain contexts—is fundamentally flawed when it comes to understanding gender identity.

To me, biological sex is like a bottle. It has a shape, a colour, a material. But what really matters is what’s inside. The contents. The substance. In this analogy, the bottle represents the body and the contents—milk, juice, water—represent gender identity. What makes a person a man, a woman, or nonbinary is not the bottle they were born in, but what they carry within them.

This isn’t just a poetic metaphor. It’s also aligned with a growing body of neuroscience that suggests gender identity might have roots in brain structure—material, biological differences in the brain that are independent of reproductive anatomy. Some trans individuals have brain patterns that more closely resemble those of their identified gender rather than their assigned sex at birth. These differences aren’t just theoretical—they show up in scans, in developmental pathways and in lived experience.

Critics often point to chromosomes or genitalia as the final word on gender. But if we accept that the brain is the seat of the self—of thought, feeling, identity—then surely it should be given greater weight than the body parts we can see. After all, we don’t define a person’s personality, intelligence or emotional world by the shape of their feet or the number of ribs they have. Why should gender be any different?

I believe gender types are innate. Not learned, not conditioned, not a result of cultural programming—but built in, hardwired, perhaps even before birth. That’s why attempts to “correct” gender identity through social pressure or behavioral therapy don’t work. You can’t pour milk into a bottle of juice and expect it to become juice. The contents are what they are.

And this is why I see the recent debates over legal definitions of sex and gender as missing the point. Courts and governments can legislate bottles, but they cannot legislate contents. The law may define “woman” by anatomy, but many trans women live every aspect of their lives as women—not because of surgery or clothing, but because of who they are on the inside. That reality deserves recognition.

It’s important to acknowledge, though, that the science around gender identity is still in its infancy. While there is growing evidence pointing to biological factors—such as brain structure and hormonal influences—there’s no single, conclusive explanation yet. The relationship between gender identity, brain patterns and genetics is complex, and we are still learning how these aspects fit together.

That said, the point I’m making isn’t that gender identity can be reduced to biology alone. Instead, it’s that the biological aspects—particularly those related to brain function—deserve more recognition in the conversation. Much like how we don’t reduce a person’s intelligence, personality or emotions to a single biological feature (like the size of their brain), gender identity should not be defined solely by physical markers. It’s the lived experience—the internal sense of self—that truly defines us.

In the end, we have to ask: what makes a person who they are? Is it the visible, the measurable, the externally assigned? Or is it the felt, the known, the lived experience of being? For me, the answer is clear. It’s not the bottle that defines us—it’s the contents.

The Human Being as God’s Camera

Back in the early 1990s, I was looking for something beneath the surface of religions. And I adopted a metaphor, probably not original to me, but perhaps not rendered in as detailed a way as I made it.

The metaphor is this: Each human is a sort of “CCTV camera”—a physical and psychological apparatus used by God (or universal consciousness) to observe the world. Each “camera” thinks it’s autonomous and unaware that it’s part of a vast network of observation. And it is unaware that what it sees, thinks and experiences is not for its own use.

In this metaphor, God is not separate from us but is present through every eye, experiencing the physical plane through billions of perspectives. It is not intervening or judging but just watching, absorbing and remembering. Every human is a lens, in other words.

At death, the camera stops, and the body decays, but the camera footage is not lost but archived as a kind of “soul-memory” or “karmic imprint”. This, perhaps, is what people tap into when they recall past lives—not because the ego reincarnates, but because the recorded footage still exists and can sometimes be accessed when the conditions are right.

This idea harmonises with a range of mystical and philosophical thought. In Hinduism and Buddhism, karma and samskaras (mental imprints) continue beyond death. And in Theosophy, there is the “akashic record”—a universal memory field.

Meditation, in this metaphor, is the moment when the camera pauses itself, turns inwards and becomes aware of its own function. In that pause, the camera begins to realise it is not just filming the world but is the thing that is operating it. Or more accurately, it is an extension of the watching God. Meditation allows the camera to see that it is the apparatus through which consciousness flows.

Eventually, if the meditation deepens, even the sense of being a “camera” will disappear. What will be left is the “watcher”—the God that sees through all eyes but is not limited to any single pair.

The Unrealistic Promise of the Second Amendment

In American politics, the Second Amendment is venerated as a foundation for personal freedom. For many US citizens (mainly on the right-wing of the political divide), the right to bear arms isn't just about self-defence, but about safeguarding personal freedom. The idea is that an armed population is essential to protect against an overreaching government. But in today's world, where advanced technology and military strength have shifted the balance of power, this argument no longer holds water.

In theory, a well-armed population could act as a check on government power or tyranny. But that theory was born in an era when the United States had to rely on militias, not fighter jets or drones. Nowadays it’s impossible to take that argument seriously. No matter how many guns people own, they stand little chance against the overwhelming force of the modern US military.

The US military is one of the most powerful in the world, and has technology that is superior to anything a civilian could match. Tactical nuclear weapons, stealth bombers, drones and fighter jets would render any resistance movement powerless. A group of civilians armed with hunting rifles wouldn’t stand a chance against the precision and reach of military aircraft, able to take out targets from miles away.

Also, today’s military can shut down communications and disable power grids, cutting off access to the tools needed for any coordinated resistance. Without communication and electricity, the fight would be over before it began.

So, when we look at the Second Amendment today, we can’t help but wonder if the argument for its role as a safeguard against tyranny is more a fantasy than a feasible reality. In the age of modern warfare, where the power of the state is nearly limitless, the idea of armed civilians standing up to the government is, for all practical purposes, an impossibility.

Calvinism and Arminianism Harmoised

When I used to be a Christian, I went through several theological shifts that reflected a deeper conflict not just with doctrine, but with the very nature of God. One of the most significant transitions for me was the journey from a traditional evangelical view of salvation—where only the "saved" escape hell—to that of Christian Universalism, the belief that ultimately, all people will be reconciled to God.

This shift didn’t come easily. I had been steeped in the kind of theology that drew rigid lines between the “elect” and the “damned”, between those who would experience eternal bliss and those who would suffer unending torment. But over time, I began to question whether such a view could truly reflect the character of a God who is love.

As I moved towards Universalism, I also moved away from Calvinism. I could no longer accept the idea that God created some people for salvation and others for damnation. It felt incompatible with any meaningful definition of goodness or justice. I found the Calvinist vision of God not just troubling, but blasphemous—a distortion of divine love. Arminianism, while still not fully in agreement with my Universalist views, at least held to the idea that God desires everyone to be saved. So this was a theology I could be comfortable with.

I remember at one point considering attending a Methodist church. Methodism is rooted in Arminian theology, and while I knew that Arminians aren’t Universalists, I felt more at home with their view of a God who sincerely seeks the salvation of all people. My thinking was that Christian Universalism harmonises both Arminian and Calvinist insights: yes, God has chosen an elect, as Calvinism teaches—but that elect is not an exclusive club; it is simply those who have accepted Christ in this life. And yes, God desires to save all, as Arminianism teaches—and he will do so, even if that salvation comes in the life to come. Seen in this way, the theological conflict between Arminians and Calvinists dissolves into something greater and joyous.

So even though I didn’t fully align myself with Arminianism, I felt no tension about attending an Arminian church. The real issue was Calvinism. I couldn’t bring myself to worship with those who believed in a God who would intentionally create people for eternal suffering. That was not a God I could love or trust. In contrast, the Arminian vision—though imperfect—pointed in the direction of a God whose character I could love.

In the end, theology isn't just about ideas. It's about the kind of God you believe in, and whether that God is worthy of your love, trust and worship. For me, the God of Christian Universalism was. The God of Calvinism was not.