The Empty Space
Have you driven past that forgotten lot in your neighborhood lately? The one with the faded fencing, waiting for the conversation around it to finally settle. It stands as a monument to our current challenge.
When a proposal finally appears for that lot—or for any major project in the city—we hear the same noise. We hear the hundreds of reasons why it must be stopped, why it will fail, why the timing is wrong, or why the process is corrupt. This reflex reveals a civic allergy to commitment.
We have become experts at the easy part: seeing what is broken. We have perfected the art of the critique, using cynicism as an escape route from the harder work of responsibility. This habit traps us in a static conversation, leaving the work of making things better undone.
The Diagnosis
In the late 19th century, the German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche looked at the most advanced civilization the world had ever known—Europe—and realized it was slowly decaying. Europe was not dying from war or famine. It was dying of comfort.
Nietzsche saw that his culture was losing its Will to Power.
To modern ears, that phrase sounds aggressive, suggesting political dominance or tyranny. Yet Nietzsche meant something deeper. He identified the Will to Power as the fundamental life-force of the universe. It is the biological and spiritual drive to grow, to overcome resistance, and to stamp one’s values onto the world. It is the drive of the artist, the architect, and the founder. It is the instinct to look at chaos and say, “I can build something meaningful here.”
Nietzsche warned that if we lost this drive, we would turn into what he called “The Last Man.” The Last Man values safety above all else. He avoids risks and builds nothing new, desiring only to be comfortable, warm, and essentially asleep.
When a society loses the Will to Build, it turns resentful. The people too afraid to build begin to despise the builders. They use rules, committees, and social shame to tear down anyone trying to rise above the average. They mistake their cynicism for wisdom, masking a fundamental lack of vitality.
The Choice
This is exactly what we are feeling in Boise right now. That stagnation beneath the surface is the drift toward the “Last Man.” It is the desire for the comfort of the past without the risk of the future.
But we can make a different choice. We can recover the Will to Build.
This is the morality of the steward and the grown-up. It is the decision to accept responsibility for our corner of the world. It means looking at a vacant lot, a broken policy, or a lonely neighborhood and deciding to impose order and beauty upon it.
The Will to Build defines itself by what it loves and what it is willing to create.
The Mandate
The act of building a better system is the only one that leaves anything of value behind. We are called to patiently refine the coarseness, chaos, and stagnation that neglect leaves in its wake.
We do this by:
- Creating dignified, functional homes in our neighborhoods, turning coarse development into spaces worthy of human life.
- Articulating a clear, unifying story of this city’s purpose to heal our fractured narratives.
- Designing new, effective systems that allow people to work, thrive, and contribute value to the whole community.
First, we articulate the story. We define the higher purpose and common ground that will unify the builders.
Then, we design the structure. We create the coherent frameworks and plans—the physical, social, and narrative architecture—that support that story.
And finally, we build. We manifest the vision with patience and the unwavering clarity of long-term stewardship.
This is the work. This is the return from the wilderness of constant critique. This is how we overcome the inertia of the present and leave a stronger city for the children who will inherit it.
