There is a reason pride goeth before the fall. Hubris is a blind simpleton who believes he sees all and knows all. He wanders into a strange room confident in his vision until he stumbles and falls. Success is failure’s womb and hubris is failure’s birth cry. It is a paradoxical progression from success to failure. When a society is in its infancy, it is pragmatic, flexible, and willing to grow through trial and error. In time, it hits on a formula that is successful and the society prospers. As this prosperity increases the formula ossifies until that which was once pragmatic hardens into an ideological routine that becomes increasingly resistant to change. In the end, the world changes, but the society does not.

Entitlement is the mutant growth that clings to success’s flanks. As success becomes habitual, there grows the conviction that success is intrinsic to the society. Blind luck is mistaken for destiny. Failure is no longer an option. If, God forbid, the society should fail, the fault is not its. There are always “others” to blame be they liberals, bleeding hearts, reactionaries, Communists, postmodernists, artists, poets, gay Muslim abortionists, Neocons or radicalized toddlers. The supply of scapegoats is endless.

America sits atop an industrial and financial behemoth made possible by a geological flicker known as the “Age of Oil.” In our heart of hearts we believe it will last forever because we represent the end point of history. The sweet irony of it all is that when the dust finally settles, the Age of Oil, and the Industrial Age it spawned, will barely register as cosmic farts in the grand scheme of things.

Still, we feel empowered because we think of ourselves as a “Beacon on a hill” that is shedding its light on the world. We’ve yet to realize that the beacon has become a smudge pot that is floating its noxious murk across the face of the earth. Being blind makes it impossible to tell the difference between a beam of light and a lethal miasma.

As 2007 draws to a close, we are a tired people, fatigued by the strain of trying to ignore an administration bent on self-destruction as it pursues brain-dead policies that only increase the world’s misery. Capital is being sucked towards the top of the pyramid in the belief that manna will trickle down to the poor, although the only thing that trickles down is the urine of the rich.

Our foreign policy is crippled by a Neocon clique in the throes of delusions of grandeur. They dream demented dreams of remaking the Middle East in their image with all of the zeal of the Christian missionaries of yore. But, instead of bibles, they use bullets and bombs. In the Neocon vision, a country is not a living culture throbbing with the births, marriages, traumas and celebrations that are the sum total of humanity. In their countries no mother croons a lullaby, lovers never quarrel, nothing breathes, and nothing grows. They reduce the country to a splash of color on a map. If the inhabitants talk funny and dress funny, it is taken as prima facie evidence that the Neocons have a moral obligation to drag the country into the twenty-first century, and if bullets and bombs won’t do the job, the “Washington Consensus” will.

They hide behind their world of “real politik,” certain that their crippled vision of life is reality when the true reality is that humans are more cooperative than competitive. The only people who believe that life is a constant battle are sociopaths, policymakers and CEOs.

But, by God, we will have our oil! Bush was right when he said we were addicted to it. Unfortunately, he forgot to direct us to the nearest rehab. Like the addict, we are prepared to kill for it; unlike the addict, we can do so on a grand scale.

Prosperity has beggared our soul, leaving a void that can only be filled with the beeps and blinking lights of our electronic toys, designer kitchens, and climate-controlled houses, all of which need the oil we are bleeding away to exist.

Our hubric entitlement finds its highest expression in our conviction that we get first dibs on the oil because we are who we are. Hardship and want are for Africans, Arabs, Orientals, and anyone else whose skin is of an off-white hue. Our children are pampered while poverty kills one child under five years of age every three seconds. But that’s okay. They aren’t ours.

Death has never hampered policy, nor does hubris take time to mourn.

Proof of our supremacy can be found in a 2006 report, National Security Consequences of U.S. Oil Dependency, which assures the world that our military will secure the global oil trade against violent disruption. Implied in this, of course, is the assumption that we’ll get first crack at the oil since we’re the one’s defending it.

“Fear not,” said the fox. “I am in hot pursuit of the missing chickens.”

Perhaps somewhere an obscure technician has figured out how many millions of barrels of oil we will burn to protect a shrinking supply. It would be cute if we burned two units of energy for every unit we secured? There are times blindness is a blessing. You don’t see the safe plunging towards your head.

Colonialism has aged. Where once it sent whitemen into the tropics to die of exotic fevers as they amassed their fortunes, it is now a worn and tired bureaucratic game played by sightless simpletons unaware that the world has changed around them.

Power distorts, for it feels failure and weakness breathing down its neck. As fear begins to stir, clear thinking is exchanged for propaganda, buzz words and sound bites. (The fastest gun in the west is always paranoid because he knows every young buck in the territory is gunning for him. The Swiss have the right idea: be the slowest gun in the west and make a fortune selling pocket knives.)

But, they go on and on, bankrupting the nation to control a shrinking resource instead of spending the money to find viable alternatives to the fossil fuels that have corrupted us as a people. (We become ruthless when our toys are threatened.)

It’s not just pride that goeth before the fall. It’s also a blind fool carrying a lantern he cannot see, and the even bigger fools following in his footsteps.

It is fortunate that the human spirit is able to transcend the folly of its leaders. We will suffer; too many will die. But when the fools are scratching their heads and wondering where they went wrong, we will crawl out of the rubble and start over again. Hopefully, we will be purged of our foolishness and much wiser for the experience. We will be flexible and grow through trial and error--until we find a formula that works…

Case Wagenvoord blogs at http://belacquajones.blogspot.com.

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Case Wagenvoord

