My comment: WTF? We lower our security by using less oil? I'd bet this guy's a McCain supporter. Here's what renowned energy expert Matt Simmons says about McCain: "John McCain is energy illiterate." "He's just witless about this stuff. As a lifelong Republican, I'm supporting Obama." A dozen oil and gas men sitting around a conference table in Lafayette, La., chuckle nervously as he continues. "McCain says, 'Oh, we're going to wean ourselves off foreign oil in four years and build 45 nuclear plants by 2030.' He doesn't have a clue."

Drill, baby, drill.

Back to National Geographic with an excellent letter from Jason DeVries from Lindstrom, Minnesota: "Some familiarity is found when comparing oil and toothpaste. I need toothpaste daily. The tube in my cupboard once held a large amount, easily obtained. I squeezed and watched with pleasure as the paste poured out. Lately, however, it has been more difficult. I know it is there, but it's harder to find and is discovered only with significant effort. Recognition of my depleting reserved occurred some time ago, but my concern has been buffered, for each day the paste ultimately arrives. Even now, when the tube is flat and worn, I know that extreme pressure near the nozzle will produce 'white gold.' Sadly, such effort produces false hope, for experience reminds me that one day even that will stop. My supply will run dry."

I couldn't have said it better myself.

If you're interested in a crash course in economics -- the real version, albeit based on neoclassical theory -- check out the crash course posted by Chris Martenson. It's worth the three hours, in 3- to 18-minute doses.

And while we're on the subject of economics, here's some absolutely huge news from across the pond: France is hosting a summit within the next few days. The goal: eliminate hegemony of the U.S. dollar. Hello, Greatest Depression.

Thus, the Enlightenment eroded the role of authority as a source of knowledge. In the wake of Giordano Bruno's heinous execution by the Catholic Church, Bacon recanted earlier statements in which he denied the Ptolemaic view that Earth was the center of the universe. But the erosion of authority that began as a trickle quickly became a flood, and the Church was increasingly marginalized as a source of knowledge.

David Hume (1711-1776), in his initial written piece of philosophy, presented a compelling case against miracles, hence against religion: "Of Miracles" was published in 1748 as an essay in An Enquiry Concerning Human Understandings. This essay should be required reading for anybody interested in understanding reason and religion. Considering the ludicrous religious statements coming every recent U.S. President and every recent presidential candidate, it should be required reading for them, too.

Shortly before Charles Darwin formalized the theory of evolution by natural selection in the Origin of Species (1859), Schopenhauer (1788-1860) used Plato-like dialog to question the basis of religion in his well-known essay, "Religion: A Dialogue." Can you imagine such a nuanced and reasonable debate between candidates for political office in our burgeoning theocracy?

Notably influenced by Schopenhauer and writing shortly after publication of Darwin's dangerous idea, Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1900) vociferously spread the word about God's death (probably unaware that Max Stirner had declared the death of God shortly after Nietzsche's birth in his 1845 book, The Ego and Its Own). Nietzsche predicted Reason would overwhelm worldviews based on mysticism, a prediction that turned out to be hopelessly optimistic. As S. Jonathan Singer concludes in his 2001 book, The Splendid Feast of Reason, it appears unlikely that more than ten percent of people are capable of employing reason as a basis for how they live. Singer likely did not know he was echoing Schopenhauer, although Schopenhauer's use of dialog in his essay clearly indicates he knew he was echoing Plato in reaching the same conclusion. In any event, the absence of reason on the campaign trail represents a distinct and disturbing departure from reality, though it closely matches the ten percent figure given by Plato and Singer. Are the candidates pandering to the public, hence satisfying our obvious desire to be lied to? Or do they really lack the ability to discern fantasy from reality?

Which is worse?

Nietzsche expressed his views on Christianity early and often in his writings, most popularly with Thus Spoke Zarathustra; I recommend that classic book and, for the condensed version of Nietzsche's view, The Antichrist (the latter, which probably should have been titled The Anti-Christian, represents Nietzsche's views on God particularly clearly and vehemently, and if you're short on time, I recommend sections 1-9, 29-39, and 47-49). The Antichrist was intended to be shockingly blasphemous, but it cogently makes many important points and articulates them vividly. The Antichrist is an excellent and strident follow-up to Schopenhauer's thoughtful essay.

To further muddy Nietzsche's clarity, be sure to read the 1953 essay published in Look magazine by Bertrand Russell (1903-1959):"What is an agnostic?" Russell was the world's last philosopher of significance, and his views superbly reflect reality. The birth of postmodernism often is traced to 1960, the year after Russell's death. I don't think it's causal.

Collectively, these four essays illustrate the capacity for, and importance of, Reason. Reason is the basis for understanding the material world. As such, it serves as the foundation upon which we can understand and practice conservation of species and cultures. That is, we can conserve the last remaining shards of nature only through description and understanding rooted in reality. Or, of course, by bringing down the entire world's industrial economy. The latter seems a lot more likely than application of reason to the issue.

Mysticism has proven an insufficient foundation for conserving nature. Ultimately, I suspect it will prove inadequate for saving humanity as well. Although we could blame the lying clowns who represent us, the politicians merely reflect the populace, and therefore contemporary zeitgeist. Like it or not, the politicians we elect are six flights below the lowest common denominator in large part because we cannot reason our way up the stairs.

These are the names given to me by friends. They are the nicest things people call me. You can imagine what others say.

To repeat, then:

Fossil fuels are finite. Oil lubricates our economy. Without abundant supplies of inexpensive oil, our ideological monorail is headed for a cliff. That leaves our country with two choices: (1) commit to a steady-state economy or (2) go to war to get oil. We've been accelerating toward economic disaster since Jimmy Carter committed us to the latter choice in 1980: "Let our position be absolutely clear: An attempt by any outside force to gain control of the Persian Gulf region will be regarded as an assault on the vital interests of the United States of America, and such an assault will be repelled by any means necessary, including military force." At this juncture, more than three years beyond the world oil peak, disaster is the only option for the economies of the country and world.

And of course I realize the consequences for living humans. Why do you think I rarely sleep? What do you think occupies my mind, every moment of every day and most nights? For starters, unimaginable suffering. Certain death for millions of humans. Probably billions. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse: War, Conquest, Famine, and Pestilence.

Do you really think I want this to happen? Do you really think I'm a fan of chaos, suffering, starvation, and brutal death? Do you really believe I have no empathy for fellow humans, seen and unseen? Do you really believe my goal is to generate fear, anxiety, and tears?

If so, you haven't been paying attention to what I say and write. For starters, check here, here, here, here, and here. There's more, but you get the idea.

The collapse of civilization dictates the loss of all the "money" in my retirement accounts. It indicates I'll be exposed to unimaginable suffering, and ultimately death -- likely sooner than later. It requires me to see -- and undoubtedly experience -- violence on a very personal level. And yet, the collapse of civilization is truly good news, if not for me personally then for all other cultures and species in the world. And also, of course, for future generations of humans on Earth.

To quote half the people to whom I speak, "Whaddya mean?"

As it turns out, chaos and a massive human die-off is better than what's happening now. The Four Horsemen have ridden into every corner of the globe, and have brought the apocalypse. Civilization has rained, and is raining, fire and brimstone onto the planet.

In short, civilization is the problem. It inflicts unimaginable suffering to nearly every species on the planet (excluding rats, cockroaches, and damned few others). It is the cause of unimaginable suffering for people in "uncivilized" cultures. As the last remaining superpower -- or, if you prefer, "hyperpower" -- we're strongly committed to destroying cultures and species as quickly as possible. We need finite resources to grow our economy, and we have the world's largest military. Therefore, we obtain the resources by the usual and expected means.

As if those consequences of our greed are not enough, we're killing our own future, too. Unless we stop burning fossil fuels very, very soon, we're committing our children and grandchildren to a world that is uninhabitable to humans. And we're ensuring they'll be the last humans on this planet.

So, do I want to see it all come down? Personally, no. Like everybody else, I do not want to die young after suffering immensely. But I'm wise enough to see beyond myself, and empathetic enough to give a damn about other cultures and species, and even future generations of our own species.

Call me silly. But yes, I do want to see it all come down. And the faster the better, for the sake of everything on Earth that matters.

I've written as some length about the sources of my hope. Here's what I hope for:

I hope we can power down with the tranquility of Buddhist monks. I hope we can get along on far fewer resources. I hope we can occupy small communities in harmony with the Earth and our neighbors. Most of all, though, I hope we can stop treating the world as a colony of American Empire. And with that hope comes the necessity to bring it all down.

The plan to save the economy comes with a few strings attached, as you might expect. The proposed $700 billion bailout will cost every American more than $2,000. The national debt exceeds $10 trillion, or about $40,000 per taxpayer. So, what's a few thousand more dollars we'll never pay off? You think your Congressional Representative was surprised when Henry Paulson showed up begging for more money? Every federal politician with the slightest clue about the economy knows paying off the national debt would require lifetime indentured slavery for all future generations. Each politician also knows we'll never (again) get to the point of nationally sanctioned slavery (well, except for the whole wage-slave thing) because the economy will collapse. The requisite collapse is one cost of trying to grow the economy forever on a planet with finite resources. So Congress will bite the bitter bullet, giving BushCo unlimited authority to print money, thereby "saving" the economy. Sorta like when Congress gave BushCo unlimited authority to "save" us from terrorism.

Meanwhile, the mainstream media is starting to connect the dots, as evidenced by last week's headlines. The Washington Post claims, "What we are witnessing is the greatest destruction of financial wealth the world has ever seen," the Economist chimes in with, the greatest finance houses "have splintered into matchwood," and the Los Angeles Times welcomes Americans to third-world status. Never mind the little ol' Great Depression. This is the big one.

It shouldn't come as any surprise that Russia is calling for a restructuring of the world's financial system, thereby joining China in this appeal. Seems the U.S. dollar just ain't what it used to be. China and Russia thinks it's going to get worse before it gets better. Me, too.

So, is this it? Is this the end of the line, or will TPTB manage to keep the current game going for another few months? We'll see.

Here's what an economic collapse looks like, at least the version we're facing in the very near future. Another huge bank fails, thereby taking all the other banks with it. And I mean all of them. The Federal Reserve Bank -- the bank of last resort, the one that provides money for all the other banks -- ran out of money last week. Fortunately for those of us who depend on fiat currency, the Treasury Department "solved" the problem by ratcheting up the printing presses. At some point, though, all the banks fail. And when that happens, you can forget about spending that direct-deposited paycheck. I suspect most people will keep the capitalist faith for a while. They'll buy the pitch about the economy turning around. They'll believe the power outages are simply isolated events. Eventually, though, they'll lose faith in large numbers, if only due to the unexpected realization they can no longer make ends meet when they miss two or three paychecks in a row. As if, at that point, money will mean a thing. Even first-responders will stop trying to enforce martial law in a week or two because they'll be worried about the survival of their own families.

What comes in the wake of this collapse? When the dollar collapses, as it soon will, the financial and political elite class undoubtedly will try to create a new global monetary regime based on tricks that have used to centralize power and concentrate wealth in their own hands for generations. Sorta like the last few thousand years. Another possibility -- or maybe it's just a dream -- is the emergence of a decentralized, democratic, just, and sustainable system. Sorta like the Stone Age. Call it the Neo Neolithic, for lack of a better name.

I recognize the ongoing economic collapse is wonderful news for the world's cultures and species, and I'm certainly willing to die to bring down the empire. On the other hand, I sure as hell wish I had a functional well at the mud hut. I'd like to see it all come down.

Before Obama we have to go back nearly eight years to that most recent Democratic president, Bill Clinton. Actually, I steal a line from my older and wiser brother in referring to Bill Clinton as the best Republican president since Eisenhower. But Clinton called himself a Democrat, so I'll run with that, for now, while pointing out that his success depended greatly on his ability to outflank Congressional Republicans on the political right. Before Clinton, we have to go back to 1977-1980 to find Democrat Jimmy Carter, who is widely regarded as the worst president in my lifetime (incorrectly, in my opinion).

Ronald Reagan and then George Herbert Walker Bush were sandwiched between Carter and Clinton, and the Reagan-Bush years are widely recognized as the years that led the way into neoconservatism in this country (actually, the notion was gaining traction by the time Reagan spoke at the Goldwater GOP convention, but that's a quibble). Reagan was formerly a liberal Democrat with Trotsky-esque tendencies, as were the founders and early leaders of neoconservatism.

Thus, I trace the demise of political parties as disparate entities to Reagan's election in 1980. With the 1980 election, the United States embraced a single ideology: economic growth. Political party no longer mattered because the ideology crossed party lines. And this dangerous ideology absolutely required imperialism. This country lacks the resources, particularly fossil fuels, to become self-sufficient while also growing our economy. By 1980, you might as well start calling nearly everybody in this country a Demoblican, or a Republicrat, or, more simply, a Democratic-Republican.

For that reason, I think this election matters little and perhaps not at all. Previous elections mattered a lot. This one, not so much. And I doubt your vote in 2012, should you be allowed to cast one, will even be counted. Obama, McCain, or -- most likely, in my view -- Palin (in the wake of McCain's death) get to preside over the smoldering remains of the U.S. economy before 2012.

Of course, America as Empire is hardly new. FDR wriggled us into World War II explicitly to maintain supply lines, hence access, to fossil fuels. And before FDR, we can trace imperialism, or colonialism, or economic growth at the point of a gun, or whatever label you want to place on Empire, to the tenure of Woodrow Wilson. The famous "Wilson Doctrine" indicates that the United States should not attempt to create an empire, but rather a global democracy of equal and independent nations. But Wilson's brand of democracy was restricted to the "right" people. His soaring rhetoric rings hollows when contrasted with his deeds, which included brutal U.S. invasions of Haiti and the Dominican Republic, inspired by racism. As an aside, Wilson is associated, and sometimes credited, with the conspicuous rise of neoliberalism in the United States. Neoliberalism is the economic equivalent of neoconservatism.

While we're thinking about racist imperialists, we can go back further. Thomas Jefferson was, and is, widely recognized as one of the most enlightened of the founding fathers. As I mentioned and documented in an earlier post, imperialist Jefferson commented about native Americans: "In war, they will kill some of us; we shall destroy all of them." Jefferson, along with James Madison, founded the Democratic-Republican political party.

I couldn't make up this stuff.

For those of us who still fear the worst, and are taking small steps to prepare for what's coming, I think it is especially important that we've made the psychological leap. That's the biggest step of all, the one few are willing to take. It's necessary (but likely not sufficient). The more of these steps we take, psychological and practical, the better we'll be able to adapt when the empire falls.

It's difficult to know exactly how to proceed with the knowledge we've gone the wrong direction. But we should not be discouraged by our progress, even though there's always much more to be done. When despair creeps in, as it often does with me, I console myself with the knowledge that the collapse of civilization will alleviate the oppression we inflict on so many cultures and species. If it's not too late, nature just might make a comeback. And I try to take action that will allow me to contribute to my post-collapse community. Now that classes are back in session, most of the time for acting has slipped away, or is restricted to short weekends. So I give talks and write about the problem of civilization (sensu Derrick Jensen's book, Endgame). It's my version of television.

As narcotics go, it's not nearly strong enough.

On the other hand, today is yet another beautiful day in an amazing world. Knowledge that it could all come crashing down tomorrow or, more likely, within the next couple years, makes me increasingly cognizant of the world around me, and the people passing by. My inner Buddhism is bursting out.

Of course, power doesn't come to those who deal in reality (e.g., Nietzsche, Schopenhauer). Not only does no good deed go unpunished, but no bad act is unrewarded. Consider this anecdote from renowned ecologist and AAAS Fellow Charles Hall, a professor at the State University of New York:

Hall has worked on ecological issues his entire career, and has been rewarded in the usual sense. He has received grant funds totaling millions of dollars and has published hundreds of papers. At the same time, he has spent his spare time working on energy issues, and has published more than 200 papers in this arena. But he has landed a total of $800 in grant funds to work on these issues, and he is perhaps the only person to be denied tenure from an Ivy-League university the very week one of his papers landed on the cover of Science (the paper was titled, Energy and the U.S. Economy: A Biophysical Perspective).

Obviously, Hall is not the only person who has been marginalized for his work on important issues. But his is a telling contemporary example of the type of infamy M. King Hubbert earned in his day, and a reminder how Cassandras (i.e., realists) are treated in any empire (at least as far back as Socrates).

Optimists, however foolish, earn external rewards. Realists are not so fortunate. On the other hand, realists get to deal in reality, and therefore face with honor the toughest judge: the mirror.

Yes, I'm a doomer. And damned proud of the company I keep, too.

We met every week or so, but the list of people dwindled quickly. This was expected. The price of oil was about half its price today, everybody was plenty busy with their "regular" lives, denial runs deep in the empire, and a little of me goes a long way (I attended every meeting). We shopped for land, and even came very close to closing on a rural property, with a passive-solar house not far from Tucson. The group declined in size and level of commitment as we came ever closer to pulling the proverbial trigger. Eventually, after slightly more than a year, attrition was nearly complete.

Importantly, my wife and dog were still "in," at least as much as ever. But we were back to square one, this time on our own.

Shortly thereafter, we attended the memorial service of a friend. Among the guests were two people, along with their four-year-old son, who were in the early group of thirty. They opted out of the process early because they love their current community and the three acres they live on. Imagine our surprise when, at the close of the memorial service, they offered us their west acre.

We declined. But the offer began a conversation that concluded, a month later, with a tenancy-in-common agreement for their three acres. We began building the mud hut and other infrastructure as time and money allowed. A year later, we've made a small start toward post-carbon living arrangements. And we've learned a lot about growing plants, building infrastructure, and each other. It's been a wild ride, filled with moments of deep disappointment, simple pleasure, and wondrous, unexpected elation.

Never mind the six-month-old puppy. Did I mention I have a five-year-old in my life? Who'da thunk it?

If you're thinking about relocating, there is much to consider it. Will your new location have advantages in any or all the important arenas of water, food, shelter, and -- perhaps most importantly -- community? At this point, you'll be among the last people into your new area. You'll be the "other" all humans seek when times get tough. I don't think cities are survivable in the years ahead, but being a stranger in a rural area poses its own set of problems.

Consider a minor example from my own misspent youth, in the midst of this country's cultural revolution. Four years after my family moved to a tiny town just the other side of nowhere, we were still the new people in town. I was a typically ignorant 10-year-old walking to elementary school in the morning when a 13-year-old neighborhood bully pointed a gun at my head out his bedroom window. I didn't run and, in return, he didn't pull the trigger. When my family moved seven years later, we were still the new people in town. Rurality has its advantages, but don't expect to become part of the community over night on the strength of your good looks. At least, it didn't work for me.

This long-winded answer to Jean-Francois' implicit question falls far short of expressing the heartache associated with the collapse of our initial effort. An enormous investment in time and effort ended in failure because the entire enterprise was far more challenging than any of us imagined it would be. The increasing urgency of this topic demands frank conversation, but the human ego is stunningly fragile. As a general strategy, I would not recommend starting the conversation about relocating with a group larger than half-a-dozen people, primarily because you'll need to create and maintain an emotionally, psychologically, and physically functional group of people, on short notice, to do things you cannot imagine doing. The future is funny that way: We don't even know what needs to be done.

And you thought familial relations were tough. Multiply by a billion or so, and then factor in the notion of spending the rest of your life in very close proximity to these people.

My response to Jean-Francois' other questions are even less complete. The obstacles to creating a community and moving to self-sufficiency are simply too numerous to list here. If you're interested, I recommend a few books and websites to get you started (a comprehensive list is nearly infinite, but these resources will lead to many others). Books include Aric McBay's Peak Oil Survival, Dmitry Orlov's Reinventing Collapse, and Matthew Stein's When Technology Fails. But there are many, many more, covering relevant issues from many different angles. Websites include Matt Savinar's Life After the Oil Crash "Prepare" page and the report prepared by a few of my students.

As always,I would be happy to answer questions on- or off-list, and many of the contributors to this ongoing conversation doubtless have excellent ideas. Ultimately, I suspect the longevity of your life depends on making excellent decisions in the absence of reliable information. With that cheery thought, good luck to us all.

I'm surprised, too. I didn't buy oil futures, and yet the price of oil fell.

Americans finally stopped driving so much. Turns out we are capable of combining trips after all. We don't need to make five separate trips when we drive to Wal-Mart, Sam's Club, Costco, the post office, and the grocery store. Cash-strapped Americans have even discovered that they can buy more than one item at each location, thereby making fewer monthly trips to each destination. The collapse of the housing industry, and the associated inability of Americans to "trade up" to a larger suburban home, has exacerbated the destruction in demand.

I underestimated the impact of high gasoline prices on our behavior. I thought $5 gas would be necessary to produce the type of impact we're seeing at only $4. Demand destruction is so severe it's overwhelming events in the former Soviet Union, where chess-master Putin is spoiling U.S. attempts to extract oil by going around Russia. Along the way, Putin has demonstrated exactly how impotent the U.S. has become on the world stage.

Remember when $3 gas was a national outrage? Now it's become our national goal.

I'm guessing oil and gasoline prices will remain "low" through early November. This country still consumes about a quarter of the world's oil, largely in the transportation sector. The summer driving season is coming to a close, and it was a bust for most lower- and middle-income Americans because they could hardly afford to take a vacation. But China and India aren't going away, and the world remains one disaster away from $200 oil (and the associated $6 or $8 gasoline, along with severe disruptions in supply). We might trigger the disaster (by talking smack in the Middle East, for example), or perhaps it will be a "natural" one (e.g., a tropical storm, the intensity of which undoubtedly has been influenced by our consumption of fossil fuels).

All bets are off after the "election." For starters, the current administration will have no incentive to maintain the "status quo" in support of McCain's candidacy. And, in the wake of his selection by Diebold, TPTB, or the Supreme Court, either candidate is likely to ratchet up the ongoing expression of increasingly stupid ideas about foreign policy, converting food to fuel, or similarly "bolstering" the "economy." Any one of these events likely will cause the price of oil to rise, and I doubt only one of them occurs.

But I could be wrong. The ever-deepening, peak oil-induced recession just might keep destroying demand for a year or more. Such an event would stave off the Greatest Depression by a few months, maybe even years (if the economists are lucky ... and the capitalists ... and if the majority of cultures and species on planet Earth are correspondingly unlucky). Regardless how long we can keep the current game going, we're squarely within the period of declining resources, and we're all going to have to make other arrangements in the months and years ahead.

About those arrangements: In anticipation of Marguerite Daisy's comment about reaching a larger audience, and in response to a friend's constant harassment along the same lines, I submitted an essay to Orion magazine for consideration in their Making Other Arrangements section. It's pasted below for your amusement. Call it a self-indulgent tragicomedy in 500 words, the limit imposed by Orion.

__________________________

Living in Two Worlds

by Guy R. McPherson

Living in two worlds is the most stressful thing I've ever done. During the week, I occupy the fantasy world of American Empire, teaching classes at a major research university and conducting research on fire ecology and conservation biology. On weekends, I strive to learn skills that will serve me and my community well during the coming post-petroleum era.

As an ecologist, I have been thinking and writing about limits to growth for my entire career. After careful study, I have concluded that the expensive energy associated with passing the world oil peak spells the end of civilization. I strongly suspect the next U.S. president will preside over the smoldering ashes of the world economy. As a conservation biologist and compassionate human being, I understand that this is truly good news: Peak oil will save thousands of species and hundreds of cultures from extinction at the hand of western civilization. In addition, peak oil might save our own species from extinction by forcing us, finally, to reduce carbon emissions and therefore stop us from frying the planet beyond the point of human habitation. In case it doesn't, my post-carbon landing pad is located in the mountainous area deemed by climate-change scientists least likely to be negatively impacted by regional climate change.

When I set aside my academic hat and return to myself as a selfish human animal -- the community to which we all belong, as guaranteed by natural selection -- I am terrified about the potential for chaos to descend upon my community. I am scared about my inability to grow my own food, secure my own water, and maintain my sense of humor when my bank fails and my car is permanently out of gas. I am scared, in other words, about the unimaginable suffering likely to result from increasingly scarce supplies of cheap oil, the lifeblood of civilization. Daily reminders let me know that life in the ivory tower is damned poor preparation for post-carbon living.

I remain hopeful we will power down with the tranquility of Buddhist monks. But I've studied enough anthropology to know the odds are not in our favor. So my post-carbon community is small, rural, and isolated, a far cry from the million-strong city I inhabit during the week. Nearly everybody in the community is aware of the looming threats of peak oil and runaway climate change, and most have been making other arrangements for years. Many have adopted off-the-grid living, and have cashed out of the American monetary system. They grow their food cooperatively, hunt and gather other sources of nutrition, barter for other goods, and work to build durable structures and a durable community.

I've no doubt these arrangements are necessary. Will they prove sufficient, for my community and me? Although deep doubt overwhelms my optimistic nature in the darkness of most nights, I believe we must act as if they will be sufficient.

Acting and living "as if" is a powerful approach to improving the human condition. It enables quick identification of the obstacles to improvement. It is the route to social change often espoused by contrarians and social critics (not to mention Buddhists). Rosa Parks sat on the bus "as if" doing so were right. And, of course, it was. The example provides inspiration, hope, and a way forward.

If you're in Tucson this afternoon, I'll be reading from, and signing, my latest book at the main bookstore on campus. The gig's at 4:30 p.m., and I'd like to meet you there.
_____________________________________________

Daniel Quinn is a wonderful author, and Ishmael is his signature book. He has written many other books and articles, but Ishmael sets the general theme and tone for most of his writings. I interpret the overall themes as two-fold: First, civilization represents a grave threat to other species and cultures, and even to our own species, and second, we can do better.

I'll say that again, just to make sure we're on the same page: Civilization represents a grave threat to the existence of myriad cultures and species, including our own species. And we can do better.

We cannot do better by acting in our usual self-absorbed manner. In one of his many written works, Quinn relates a conversation he had with his spiritual advisor: "my problem is not that I thought highly of myself ... not that I thought lowly of myself ... but that I thought constantly of myself." Quinn's experience describes my life so far, and I suspect you can identify with it as well. We'll have to start thinking about others, including the most distant of others, if we're to deal effectively with the problem of civilization.

Obviously, we can't do better simply by saying we can. Joining the Sierra Club isn't going to save the polar bear, much less humankind. To use Quinn's words, Mother Culture provides powerful disincentives for those who struggle against her. Doing better will require us to swim upstream against a cultural current so strong, so pervasive, and so embedded in our psyche that we don't even recognize the current. We're fish in a river, unaware that there's an ocean, much less a landbase. If you intend to think your way out of this cultural mess, you'll think of Nietzsche's Overman. You'll think of Orwell's modest heroes. You'll think of all the quirky, off-beat, out of touch, counter-culture contrarians you've ever met. You'll think.

As Quinn assures you, that thinking will be painful. And if you think thinking will be painful, imagine acting on those thoughts. Now remember Nietzsche, and how disparaged he was throughout his life. Remember Orwell's modest heroes, and how they were treated. Try to remember your initial reaction to those counter-culture contrarians.

Still want to save the world, or at least a few of the more than 200 species we drive to extinction every day? You can expect some resistance along the way.

As it turns out, the Renaissance has begun. The end of civilization is at hand, and you're right in the middle of it. It's beginning to look as if you won't have to do a thing, that civilization is crashing down all by itself. Not that this knowledge should encourage you to postpone action. Action is the antidote of despair, and we need all hands on deck if we're going to sink the ship of civilization before even more cultures, species, and humans are killed.

So, as the title of my presentation indicates, I have good news and bad news. I'll start with the good news, and spend most of my time talking about it. The bad news is so bad it's unthinkable, so we'll have to think of something else.

Here's the good news about sustainability: We're almost there. The Great Awakening has begun, despite Mother Culture's best efforts to ward it off.

We passed the world oil peak more than three years ago. From this point forward, oil becomes increasingly expensive and unavailable. Crude oil is the master resource, the one that allows us to use coal, uranium, solar panels, wind turbines, and personal cars. It's the resource, in other words, that allows us, in Quinn's words, to consume the planet.

Within a relatively short period of time, the high price and low availability of oil ensures no more happy motoring to Wal-Mart -- indeed, no more Wal-Mart -- with the end of civilization fast on the heels of the end of Wal-Mart. No more diesel-powered tankers to bring next year's Ipod. No more diesel-powered trucks to bring food to the grocery store. No more electricity. No more water coming out the taps. Soon enough, we'll be right back in the Stone Age, living sustainably on the land.

That's the good news, part one.

Lacking cheap oil, and eventually lacking access to the distillates of oil, we can no longer consume the planet. Since extinction of species is strongly correlated with economic growth, the global rate of extinction is bound to fall precipitously.

If that isn't good news, I don't know what is. And it gets better.

Lacking cheap oil, and eventually lacking access to the distillates of oil, western civilization is precluded from destroying languages and entire cultures at an accelerating rate.

If you're interested in humankind, I saved the best for last: Lacking cheap oil, and eventually lacking access to the distillates of oil, we cannot fry the planet beyond the point of human habitability. With ready access to cheap oil, we will almost certainly make the planet uninhabitable to humans by the end of this century. Some projections indicate a much more rapid transition, that we'll run out of habitat for humans within three decades. The most dire projections indicate we cannot stop the frying of the planet, that inertia in the climate system precludes human habitat even if we cease burning all fossil fuels today.

That's the bad news: It's too late to save our sorry ... uh, species ... as if we were worth saving anyway.

But, in the spirit of Daniel Quinn and his favorite gorilla, I'm focusing on the good news: the collapse of civilization and the consequent Renaissance.

The good news doesn't come without strings, of course. Fossil fuels have allowed us to greatly exceed the human carrying capacity of the planet, albeit only temporarily. Consider the tiny example of this event: Ready access to cheap oil allows us to enjoy this well-traveled food and 10,000-year-old water in a room with a "civilized" temperature. Extrapolate to every event, in every location, at all times. We're long past due for a Malthusian-style correction that will reduce the human population from its current 6.7 billion to a much, much lower number. Informed estimates of human mortality run as high at 90%. It would be difficult to overestimate the magnitude of the human suffering likely to result from a rapid decline in access to crude oil.

When I talk about the good news, and put it in such stark terms, people often ask me how I retain hope. It's a fair question: I've been described as tall, dark, and gloomy, especially by people in Mother Culture's main stream.

So let's talk about hope. I view hope as the left-brain product of love, analogous to democracy as the product of freedom, or liberty. Notably, Patrick Henry did not say, "Give me democracy or give me death." Like the rest of the founding fathers, Henry knew that freedom was primary to democracy; without the guiding light of freedom, or liberty, democracy breaks up on the shoals. Love keeps our left brain in check -- that's the message of the world's religions. But our right-brain love creates the foundation for hope: love for nature, love for our parents and for our children, love for each other. Without love to light the way, hope breaks up on the shoals.

Mind you, hope is not simply wishful thinking. And that's a problem, considering we're immersed in the ultimate "wishful thinking, something-for-nothing" culture. How else to explain books such as The Secret, which proclaims that happy thoughts will generate happy results, including personal wealth? How else to explain the prevalence of, and widespread acceptance of, casinos? And it's not just acceptance: it's adoration, if the boob tube and the local movie theater are to be believed. Not so long ago, gambling was frowned upon because, instead of adhering to a culture of an honest day's pay for an honest day's work, it reflects the expectation that a person can get something for nothing. No, hope is not wishful thinking.

And another thing: Hope is not a consumer product. You can't walk into Wal-Mart and order up a carton of hope. Indeed, given the demise of cheap oil, there's unlikely to be a Wal-Mart -- or any other large institution, for that matter -- to walk into at all within a few years. Even if Wal-Mart, the federal government, or the University of Arizona somehow find a way to survive, we're going to have to generate our own hope, one person at a time. Just as an economic collapse happens one person at a time, so too must hope happen one person at a time.

When I'm not playing social critic, I'm a conservation biologist. I admit conservation biology is a value-laden enterprise, hampered by -- and perhaps assisted by -- bridges between the left and right hemispheres of the brain. The greatest value of Earth is, always has been, and always will be, that it exists. Not that it is useful. But that it is. Perhaps that makes me an artist trapped in a scientific pursuit. But, at least for me, it allows hope to emerge from the tonic of wildness, thereby providing context for this most insignificant of lives. It allows hope to flicker. And if there is a flicker of hope, I believe we must treat it like a beacon. Hope, my friends, is everywhere.

"Hope is the thing with feathers," said Emily Dickinson. Her other poems indicate that she was not restricting her thoughts to birds: Dickinson found hope throughout the glory and wonder of nature.

My friend and colleague, the planner Vern Swaback, is fond of saying he finds hope in "a person's dedicated life." I cannot improve upon Vern's comment, but I can offer a few other personal examples.

I find hope in the poems of the teenaged girls at the juvenile detention facility where I help teach sustainability through poetry.

And I see hope flickering every day in the eyes -- and therefore in the minds and in the hearts -- of the students with whom I am fortunate to work on a daily basis.

Hope is our humility overcoming our hubris in the face of long odds. This will require an enormous amount of courage, compassion, and creativity. We must rise to Nietzschean heights in the style of the Overman.

Hope is self-proclaimed liberals and self-proclaimed conservatives in the same room, thinking about -- and talking about -- our common future.

With hope shining like a beacon, we struggle together against increasingly long odds ... for the greatest of all possible goals.

We have in our hands the destiny of our planet, including our own species and so many others. In the end, for finite beings such as ourselves, the historical process is irrelevant; all we have is our legacy, but that legacy is lost to us (as individuals). Yet we are unique beings in that we are able to recognize the historical process as something larger than ourselves. We judge that process worthy or not worthy based on our own singular experience. For me, the universe is a worthy endeavor because the lens through which I view it is colored with the relationships I have experienced; those relationships include humans and nature.

Walking a path that honors the planet and ourselves is a responsibility we share, you and I -- a responsibility rooted in hope and therefore in love -- a responsibility completely unlike any other in human history. And it is not just a responsibility, but also something more: It is a joy, and a privilege.

Thank you.

Obviously, it didn't start out this way.

As a carefree child in a tiny redneck logging town, smack in the heart of the Aryan nation of northern Idaho, I didn't have a clue. According to the many email messages I've been receiving about my lack of belief in a single god, I still don't. But that's another issue. I spent the 1960s and 1970s in youthful ignorance, chasing athletic fame and the girls who came with it. In college, hormonal lust had me blowing off a decent education while I majored in basketball and women's studies, even though Women's Studies departments didn't yet exist. I wasn't particularly good at either subject, and immature adolescence eventually gave way to a responsible life in avid pursuit of the "American Dream" of financial security.

To paraphrase author and social critic Daniel Quinn, the problem was not that I thought too highly of myself, or that I thought too little of myself, but that I thought constantly of myself.

As I was working hundred-hour weeks in graduate school and beyond, I was socking away the money and serving the cultural machine of western Civil-Lie-Zation. I was simultaneously reading and failing to heed the words of Edward Abbey: All gold is fool's gold.

Somehow, though, despite my best attempts to hide from reality, I discovered that relationships are far more important than accomplishments. Stunningly, that occurred even before I earned tenure. Not surprisingly, I learned it from my students.

I left the ivory tower to work for The Nature Conservancy, only to find more of the same. I came back and immediately taught Bill Calder's Conservation Biology course in the wake of this friend's death. It changed my life. It was the best course I'd ever taught because it was populated with students from more than 20 different majors, from creative writing to biology, none of whom was required to be there. During the autumn of 2001, we applied art and literature to the newly emerging enterprise of conservation biology in an attempt to bridge the two cultures of C.P. Snow (and Socrates before him, and E.O. Wilson after).

Needless to say, we failed.

Actually, we succeeded, in our own small way. Forty of us came together as a group, but society didn't come along. We had our bubble, but reality kept sneaking in and thwarting our efforts. But I learned something important, albeit small and personal: I had to serve, in my own small way, as a teacher and social critic and companion and friend and mentor. I had to bridge the two cultures, as if that's possible, and I had to show others how to do the same.

Along with this realization, I lost my anchor. Until I discovered myself, at the age of forty, I had believed science would save us. I had believed that rational thought was our savior. I had believed that, by abandoning fairy tales and magical thinking, we could find a secular way to enlightenment.

I failed to account for how badly scientists have lost their way. Science, as a process and a way of knowing, has unrivaled power. And you know what they say about power and corruption.

Science has not lost its way, but scientists have. They have been co-opted by objectivity, failing to recognize the impossibility of the task. They are unwilling to sacrifice their objectivity, which they do not and can not have, in exchange for doing the right thing. Like everybody else, they are unwilling to make sacrifices to serve the common good. Indeed, many of them believe they are serving the common good, although they most often are confusing the common good with common culture.

Science is no longer my anchor. But teaching is, at least for now. And trying to live, for now, as if my life matters, as if it has meaning beyond the meanings I assign it. But I'm a lot more cynical and a lot less enthusiastic than I used to be about my tiny role in this grand play.

I still struggle every day to find meaning in a universe without meaning. Who shall I serve? For now, I can serve students and society by teaching and acting as if a single life can make a difference in a world gone awry. For now, I can demonstrate the value and importance of relationships, relative to accomplishments. For now, I can be kind to individuals while forcing institutions to do right, even if it means being unkind to individuals who represent institutions. For now, I can serve people by criticizing society.

And I can find meaning everywhere, in small observations and small acts. I can find meaning, and mystery, in cliff swallows and butterflies, the kindness of strangers, and a child's love.

But there's no role for a social critic when civilization collapses. What then?

And there's no role for a university professor when the university ceases to exist. What then?

It's too late to meet the three goals I had for myself as a teenager: Live fast, die young, and leave a pretty corpse. I'm too slow, too old, and too late, respectively.

What now?

As Buckmaster clearly knows, peak oil informs every aspect of life on Earth. He really wants to move to Belize.

The final three minutes of the video, which included discussion of peak oil, were edited out of existence when the video was posted initially. But, after a little pestering by yours truly, the entire segment now appears.

What's the first law of holes? When you're in one, stop digging. Or, in this case, stop drilling.

Since I was wrong about the price of oil, my views on other issues are suspect as well. I encourage skepticism about all that follows.

I try not to believe. Instead, I try to think. But it's sometimes difficult to separate the two, and it's often difficult to marshal enough evidence to allow thought to proceed unimpeded by belief. I suppose I'm skeptical, even about my skepticism. Usually, I think that's a good thing. And I recognize I'm quick to offend, especially when my words are unaccompanied by my smiling face and accommodating body language. Continue reading at your own risk.

I believe we spend too much time in this country debating belief, especially belief in spirits. And I believe we routinely confuse religion with faith or spirituality. I believe we shouldn't mislead children into believing there is a Santa Claus, an Easter bunny, a tooth fairy, a unicorn on the dark side of the moon, or a god. I think it's a sad commentary on the state of our cultural affairs that we finally get around to telling the truth about only the former three. Even sadder commentary is provided by the paucity of people who take time to think about what they believe, how they live, and what they live for.

People who know me, even slightly, would describe me as neither spiritual nor religious. I do not believe in spirits, so I can understand the common conclusion about the former. I think organized religions are, to a great extent, absurd, violent, and immoral. When I think about the impacts of organized religion on society, I'm an anti-theist. But most of the time, I'm an indifferent rationalist, open to evidence but realizing faith is based on the absence of evidence. Or, as I tell the occasional student who asks, I believe in one fewer god than you. Unless you're Hindu, in which case I believe in 33 trillion fewer gods than you.

I believe all life is loaded with religiosity. After all, religion is merely a set of beliefs and practices. Consider, for example, the set of beliefs and practices in my own uniquely quirky life: I'm a self-proclaimed rationalist and skeptic with a penchant for social criticism. In the latter role, I comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable with religious fervor. I religiously seek the truth (and I believe it should be spelled with a lowercase 't'). I religiously count steps when I'm walking. I religiously exceed the posted speed limit when I drive. And like Albert Einstein, I am a deeply religious unbeliever. And so on, ad nauseum. I suspect you get the point.

I believe Spinoza nailed the issue about religious spiritualism when he concluded that, if a triangle could think, it would imagine God to be like a triangle. Upon learning this story, most people accuse the triangle of hubris.

I believe Nietzsche was correct about our lack of free will, and overwhelming evidence accumulated since his death supports this view. Nietzsche recognized that our ability to choose can overcome our lack of free will, but only with great intellectual effort (and, very often, intellectual suffering). Our absence of free will constrains, but does not eliminate, our freedom to choose. I believe education facilitates the process of choice over will -- that is, I believe education, when it works, is an intellectually painful process -- and I believe all education is, ultimately, autodidactic.

I agree with Jules Henry, in his classic book, Culture Against Man: "School is indeed a training for later life not because it teaches the 3 Rs (more or less), but because it instills the essential cultural nightmare fear of failure, envy of success, and absurdity." Public education in this country has become exactly the essential cultural nightmare it was designed to become by the likes of John Dewey and the United States Congress. It serves corporate Amerika by creating belief-filled drones incapable of deep thought. And, paradoxically, I believe John Dewey was right when he wrote: "Education is not preparation for life. Education is life itself."

In part because of the virtual absence of deep thought by mainstream Americans, I believe western civilization will suffer a profound and sudden collapse, thereby joining the 23 major civilizations that failed before it (albeit at different rates, from different apexes and to different nadirs). I believe the collapse of civilization will be complete, in this country, within five years, and will be accompanied by suffering that is unimaginable to most of us.

I believe this is a damned sad state of affairs.

I believe I will not live through the ongoing collapse. But I will fully engage the collapse, and act as if I will survive it. Acting "as if" is one rapid and appropriate way to ensure something positive will happen. Rosa Parks sat on the bus "as if" doing so were right. And, of course, it was.

Acting and living "as if" is a powerful approach to improving the human condition. It enables quick identification of the obstacles to improvement. It is the route to social change often espoused by contrarians and social critics (not to mention Buddhists). To live in opposition, as Christopher Hitchens points out in Letters to a Young Contrarian, "is not to be a nihilist. ... It is something you are, not something you do." Hitchens knows about our lack of free will.

Many people, including several friends, find it hard to believe I can go on, given what I believe (and especially what I don't believe). As if spirits, or faith in a life better than the one we get on Earth, make life worth living. As if one life is not enough, given its rarity and splendor. As if we need the promise of something else to carry on through our trivial existences on this celestial speck of dust at the edge of an insignificant galaxy. As if dying wasn't part of the deal from the beginning, for individuals, civilizations, and entire species.

I have no problem finding things to live for, finding meanings in this most insignificant of lives. But I'll save that issue for another day. Meanwhile, I welcome your thoughts, especially the ones that point out the many errors in my logic.

Consider Ben Bernanke and the other goons at the Federal Reserve Bank: They have to raise interest rates. But they can't. If they raise them, thereby strengthening the declining American dollar, they destroy any hope for economic growth. And if they don't raise them, the dollar plunges straight down the toilet (the flush kind, not the composting kind).

People keep asking me for solutions. But, as illustrated by the choices facing the Fed, the Treasury Department, and Congress, there are no solutions, at least not at the level of society. There simply is no way to prop up civilized society when oil costs more than $100 per barrel.

Well, there might be one option: fascism. Oh, wait. We're already there. As Vladimir Lenin said, "fascism is capitalism in decay." Or, as I pointed out -- with far more words than Lenin -- in one of my recent books: "The administration of George W. Bush is characterized by powerful and continuing expressions of nationalism, identification of enemies as a unifying cause, obsession with militaristic national security and military supremacy, interlinking of religion and the ruling elite, obsession with crime and punishment, disdain for the importance of human rights and intellectuals who support them, cronyism, corruption, sexism, protection of corporate power, suppression of labor, control over mass media, and fraudulent elections. These are the defining elements of fascism."

For more about the increasingly marginalized mass media, see my older and wiser brother's recent book, Conservative Resurgence and the Press.

Even if there are no solutions for society, there are individual options. Matt Simmons, uber-wealthy energy adviser to BushCo, is pinning his hopes on wave power in Maine while starting to learn how to garden. Texas oilman T. Boone Pickens is investing heavily in wind power. Both men know the oil game has nearly run its course.

We've been discussing individual options at the level of normal folk for a while on this blog, and several people have asked me pointed questions, on and off the list. By an overwhelming margin, these questions focus on two topics: my religious beliefs and my personal outlook. That is, they focus on what I believe and what I live for. The latter is a recurrent theme among my acquaintances, many of whom wonder, given my outlook on civilization, how and why I choose to keep going.

I've given much thought to these questions during the last two decades. So it's time I articulate some responses. Within the next month or so, I will post entries about, and perhaps even titled, "What I believe" and "What I live for." These topics require considerable introspection and more than a little effort, so the posts will be longer than usual, and they'll take more time than usual to post. I'm spending a lot of time at the mud hut, too, so that'll slow me down.

I'll give a glimpse about both forthcoming posts. One of my favorite quotes is from Arundhati Roy's book, Power Politics (p. 7): "In the midst of a bloody military coup, for instance, you could find yourself fascinated by the rituals of a purple sunbird, or the secret life of captive goldfish, or an old aunt's descent into madness. And nobody can say that there isn't truth and art and beauty in that. Or, on the contrary, in the midst of a putative peace, you could, like me, be unfortunate enough to stumble on a silent war. The trouble is that once you see it, you can't unsee it. And once you've seen it, keeping quiet, saying nothing, becomes as political an act as speaking out. There's no innocence. Either way, you're accountable."

If you're interested in surviving the ongoing apocalypse, the coming month looks like a great time to take a break from the self-indulgent entries on this blog. In the meantime, you might want to study the report my students prepared last spring, Dmitry Orlov's excellent book, or any number of other websites dedicated to peak oil preparedness.

By then, I had been predicting oil would hit $150/bbl this July for two years. And $200 by the end of this year. And the end of empire in five years or less. My friends were tolerant, if not exactly appreciative. And they wished me well, for the most part, when we parted ways.

Fast forward to today, and that $150 oil looks like it'll arrive on schedule. Food riots struck Milwaukee and Detroit last week, and predictions of gasoline at $7/gallon even reached the Tell-Lie-Vision. The Dow Jones Industrial Average is taking a beating, and even Forbes magazine is claiming the end is nigh. They're quick to blame speculators, even though BushCo's very own Secretary of Energy says high oil prices are resulting from a gap between supply and demand, not speculation.

Hey, maybe I was on to something.

The "obvious" solution remains the same, of course. As Dubya is quick to point out, we are addicted to oil, and our addiction can be slaked only by finding and extracting more black gold. BushCo's minions in the Bureau of Land Management are making sure we don't let solar power interfere with the ongoing collapse. Black is white. Night is day. And so on. I'm reminded of the bumper stickers from the last two elections: Bush/Cheney 1984.

Suddenly, my friends and acquaintances are attempting to reconnect. The phone's always ringing, and everybody wants to do lunch or, better yet, come visit the mud hut. Turns out nameless marauding hordes at the mud hut are the least of my worries. A far bigger problem is presented when people I know show up. If I thought I would face a difficult decision when an unknown face shows up in the sights of my rifle, imagine my chagrin when that face belongs to a friend. And she has children.

Seems not all my angst is existential.

Yes, these people chose ignorance over preparation not so long ago. Is that sufficient reason to play the ant, relegating the grasshoppers I know to starvation, or worse?

Obviously, I do not want to shoot anybody. But I will protect those I love at the mud hut when they are threatened. Current occupants on the property have us at, or perhaps slightly in excess, of carrying capacity. The lifeboat will sink when we take on additional people.

Once again, I seek the sage advice of my wise readers. Our legal agreement at the mud hut precludes long-term visitors. But soon enough, law enforcement comes down to a negotiation, preferably without violence. What to do, when the marauding hordes are friends and their children?