THAT DAY

I'm studying Earth's carrying capacity, and the Tragedy of the Commons. Picture a village with ten cows, each privately owned; but the pasture's held in common. It can sustain ten, but everyone wants to add a second cow--your extra won't quite double your income, since the pasture will degrade about 10%, but each cow will still yield 90% as much milk; your yield is about 180%. Since cows cost a lot and your gains shrink with each, you won't buy many. But that first extra cow degrades the commons only a bit and gains you quite a lot--so many farmers will cheat that much.

Trouble is, OTHERS add extra cows too. Soon the pasture's eaten bare. The cows quit producing. The bare soil erodes too, so even enforcing strict cow-quotas AFTER degradation won't restore it easily. Maybe never. ALL starve--even those who honored their quota.

In short: Adam Smith's "hidden hand" balancing markets fails to protect anything held in common--drinking water, clean air, ozone, fisheries... public health? It's not hypothetical; the overfishing that crashed the cod industry was a Tragedy of the Commons.

But I wonder why my book doesn't frame it more simply: the Tragedy of the Stupid. People who, even when warned of the danger, rob their future--their own children.

THAT NIGHT

The Tower of the Future soars beyond a hard Breathless pass. Grand view of Needlecrag Maze: Our troubles to come. If we thread through, the Tower! Futurians with child bodies, great heads. Geniuses all. But they're alone no more. Folk from my imbecile age Hike to the future, reject now for never. Kiss up to clever! And our far descendants can't say no; for to the sage, Normality looks adorably dumb. Kittens cutely fall. So the prodigies wear themselves out in care of big inept Presentians. Hordes! Fool time-trekkers Outnumber Futurians now. Eager to help, and they do. And systems fall like kittens. Futurians even debase Their own space: play pranks to vent (deniably) their Disgust for these Commons, for Decency demands they hospitably endure Degradation. Now all The drinking fountains spout blue gas-flame; the air Smoke-tangs. Never was Heaven; elite and too austere. Dante's Purgatory? More an ivory Shangri-La. But now, in the once-shining Tower On the Hill, As I pick up beer-drinkers' litter in the hall, I scent a gentle whiff of Egalitarian Hell. I wonder--how far can Fools degrade the Tower before the Wise bum-rush us all--no, them all back to their natural habitat? The mall. Don't mind me. I'm not elite & bitter. Smothered in cute-stupid litter.

Ignore me. It was forty years ago. I was just a cranky hippie. Come on, how far can the stupid degrade the future? Deny facts, trample science, wreck education, business, government, wreck the planet in a loot-it-now Tragedy of the Commons?

Oh, pretty far.

World Dream Bank homepage - Art gallery - New stuff - Introductory sampler, best dreams, best art - On dreamwork - Books
Indexes: Subject - Author - Date - Names - Places - Art media/styles
Titles: A - B - C - D - E - F - G - H - IJ - KL - M - NO - PQ - R - Sa-Sk - Sl-Sz - T - UV - WXYZ
Email: wdreamb@yahoo.com - Catalog of art, books, CDs - Behind the Curtain: FAQs, bio, site map - Kindred sites