I can't sleep, so I'll write.

After last night's little riff on Collapse, it occurs to me that there may yet be some readers who would question why I might want this civilization of ours to come to an end. I can imagine such a proposition sounding patently absurd to those holding the traditionalist view that "our" way of life is the ultimate pinnacle of all existence, or at least the best thing that's ever happened "so far". (Maybe Star Trek would be even better, right?) After all, we've got computers, dvd players, jet planes, air conditioning, and 24-hour food stores. What's to complain about, right?

For the sake of hypothetical argument, let's pretend that all of this is sustainable, and that it could be made to work without depending on abuse and exploitation of the rest of the world. No peak oil, no global warming, but instead infinite, pollution-free energy sources sufficient to power an American-style existence into perpetuity; no third world slave labor, no mass extinctions of species. Just an infinite expanse of suburban developments, shopping malls, freeways, amusement parks, and office buildings. None of the nasty side-effects. Through some sort of yet-undiscovered magic, the fantasy land can continue.

Why would anyone want it to end?

My answer comes through another question. "What gives life meaning?" This is a question I have pondered for many years, and I'm nowhere near finished doing so.

Time and experience have led me to realize that a fulfilling existence comes from being connected to that which brings us life, and civilization cuts us off from direct awareness of that source. Our food comes to us without any knowledge of where or how it was grown or raised. It's simply there, a commodity to be consumed. (When we're lucky, we get to prepare it ourselves from raw, unprocessed ingredients.) We zip around town in cars, unable to feel the energy that is discharged every time we step on the pedal. The engine does the work, and we are oblivious. (Again, if driving a stick shift, we might get a slightly better glint of reality.) Our clothes come from... somewhere. We know not where. Even if, in our fantasy world, they were made by robots incapable of suffering instead of starving children, we are still disconnected from that process, and thus, another piece of ourselves.

In an attempt to compensate for this deficiency of genuine experience, we seek ever-more artificial stimulants with increasing intensity. Somehow, that old 27-inch tv screen is no longer "immersive" enough, so it must be time to upgrade to an HDTV plasma unit. Better get a new next-generation gaming system to go along with it. The 6-pack cans of soda, ubiquitous when I was young, are now obsolote. Now it's 12, or 18, or even 24. I've lost count. Higher caffeine, more horsepower, more seamless integration, new previously-unheard-of levels of convenience, from megahertz to gigahertz. How long before we become numb to this level, and another "advance" is needed to keep us going? The required growth curve to prevent dissatisfaction is exponential, not linear.

To complement our demand for stimulation, we become irritated at the slightest inability of the system to keep things within our comfort level. It's "too hot" or "too cold" if the thermostat is 5 degrees different than what we've grown accustomed to. (It doesn't even occur to the civilized mind to enjoy natural changes in temperature and weather as a form of stimulation to be relished, informing us in a very direct way about what's going on in the world around us.) Improving the technology to allow for more precise, reliable control of our environment does not make us more comfortable in the long run. It makes us pickier, more easily irritated. Civilization has turned us into petty, spoiled brats. In addition to being unpleasant company, petty, spoiled brats are generally not very happy people.

I recognize that the chances of convincing anybody of anything by writing this are virtually null. Those who already see things in a similar way have probably been nodding their heads, while readers who think our present civilization is perfectly fine and wonderful are unlikely to be budged, especially by late night semi-coherent rantings. So I suppose my purpose in writing is at least as much for myself as for others. I want to clarify my own thinking.

I like what Jason Godesky is doing with the thirty theses. A solid, concisely stated set of ideas backed up by research and history.

I guess that's all for now.