Cutting Our Losses and Moving On
You can’t overstate the baleful effects for Americans of living in the
tortured landscapes and townscapes we created for ourselves in the past
century. This fiasco of cartoon suburbia, overgrown metroplexes,
trashed small cities and abandoned small towns, and the gruesome connective
tissue of roadways, commercial smarm, and free parking is the toxic medium of
everyday life in this country. Its corrosive omnipresence induces a
general failure of conscious awareness that it works implacably at every moment
to diminish our lives. It is both the expression of our collapsed values and a
self-reinforcing malady collapsing our values further. The worse it gets, the
worse we become.
The citizens who do recognize their own discomfort in this geography of
nowhere generally articulate it as a response to “ugliness.” This is only
part of the story. The effects actually run much deeper. The aggressive and
immersive ugliness of the built landscape is entropy made visible. It is
composed of elements that move us in the direction of death, and the
apprehension of this dynamic is what really makes people uncomfortable. It
spreads a vacuum of lost meaning and purpose wherever it reaches. It is worse
than nothing, worse than if it had never existed. As such, it qualifies under St.
Augustine’s conception of “evil” in the sense that it represents antagonism to
the forces of life.
We find ourselves now in a strange slough of history. Circumstances
gathering in the home economics of mankind ought to inform us that we can’t
keep living this way and need to make plans for living differently. But our
sunk costs in this infrastructure for daily life with no future prevent us from
making better choices. At least for the moment. In large part this is because
the “development” of all this ghastly crap — the vinyl-and-strandboard housing
subdivisions, the highway strips, malls, and “lifestyle centers,” the “Darth
Vader” office parks, the infinity of asphalt pavements — became, for a while,
our replacement for an economy of ecological sanity. The housing bubble
was all about building more stuff with no future, and that is why the attempt
to re-start it is evil.
Sooner rather than later we’ll have to make better choices. We’ll have to
redesign the human habitat in America because our current environs will become
uninhabitable. The means and modes for doing this are already understood. They
do not require heroic “innovation” or great leaps of “new technology.” Mostly
they require a decent respect for easily referenced history and a readjustment
of our values in the general direction of promoting life over death. This means
for accomplishing this will be the subject of Part
II of this essay, but it is necessary to review a
pathology report of the damage done.
Launching Nirvana
I have a new theory of history: things
happen in human affairs because they seem like a good idea at the time.
This helps explain events that otherwise defy understanding, for example the
causes of the First World War. England, France, Russia, Germany, and Italy
joined that war because it seemed
like a good idea at the time, namely August of 1914. There hadn’t been a
real good dust-up on the continent since Waterloo in 1814. Old grievances were
stewing. Empires were both rising and falling, contracting and reaching out.
The “players” seemed to go into the war thinking it would be a short,
redemptive, and rather glorious adventure, complete with cavalry charges
and evenings in ballrooms. The “deciders” failed to take into account the
effects of newly mechanized warfare. The result was the staggering industrial
slaughter of the trenches. Poison gas attacks did not inspire picturesque
heroism. And what started the whole thing? Ostensibly the assassination of an
unpopular Hapsburg prince in Serbia. Was Franz Ferdinand an important figure?
Not really. Was Austria a threat to France and England? It was in steep decline,
a sclerotic empire held together with whipped cream and waltz music. Did Russia
really care about little Serbia? Was Germany insane to attack on two fronts?
Starting the fight seemed like a
good idea at the time — and then, of course, the unintended consequences
bit back like a mad dog from hell.