Hartog’s Den

It is a beautiful but hazy morning in the San Joaquin Valley, as I ride the Amtrak #701 north to Sacramento, sipping my habitual coffee as I type. In the early morning light, the endless fields of crops – the farms, vineyards, and orchards that supply the nation with a third of its food – are at once modern and nostalgic; both a testament to the industrial age of machinery, and a pleasant appeal to the pastoral legend of early rural America.

Yet the many fallow fields and piles of idle equipment also speak to the times; the megastate of California, the world’s 6^th largest economy, stares down the grim specters of severe drought, insurmountable debt, and a broken state government. And to be sure, these are but our regional reflections of hard times across the nation and the world over.

After the initial rawness of 9/11, the opinion was generally held that the dark times were temporary, and lofty rhetoric from our leaders spurred us on to seek a recovery of spirit and confidence. And in spurts and starts, some light did shine through. Yet eight years since the trauma, the times remain quite dark.

In the face of such extended troubles, optimism grows ever harder to come by. We may ask, is this the way things will always be? Are we, as a civilization, now inexorably committed to a downward spiral of our own making? I think not. At least, I disagree that our slide is inexorable in any sense. But recovery, and more importantly, long term survival, growth, and prosperity, depends wholly on a fundamental shift in our perspective.

For generations, we as a nation have held a strong sense of entitlement – the notion that we as a people are wholly unique in the history of mankind, and that, as such, we must therefore be first in all that we do, no matter the cost. This belief, in itself, is neither incorrect nor misguided; even the harshest (sane) critic of this country must admit that it is this very attitude that has spurred a great many of the world’s most profound feats of scientific discovery, invention, exploration, medicine, and the spreading of liberal democracy throughout the world.

But what has been profoundly lacking in our core principles (or perhaps what has been gradually lost from our system of ethics) is a sense of prudence – the judgment to exercise restraint on our ambitions and wants, and a tolerance for those times when life is not comfortable.

Our way forward lies in renewing that old American can-do attitude, the irrepressible optimism that divides us from our dourer estranged parent, Europe. But it must be tempered with the willingness to once again understand the nobility of, and need for, sacrifice. The sacrifice of the perceived right to excess – no longer, with 6 billion people (and more coming), can we disregard the environmental and socioeconomic consequences of our standard of living. The sacrifice of the perceived right to isolationism – no country, not even the most powerful the world has ever seen, can survive on its own. The sacrifice of the perceived right to comfort – security and success demand hard work, education, and solid principles. The sacrifice of the perceived right to dominance – our head start after WWII has evaporated, and we can no longer take for granted that we shall be the standard of excellence in the world; instead we must sharpen our skills and compete.

So, on this eve of our nation’s 233^rd anniversary, I ask my fellow citizens to reflect; when you behold the rocket’s red glare and the bombs bursting in air, consider not only the tremendous amount of good we have done for the world, but also the difficulties we face, and how we must reform ourselves to ensure our future prosperity; the fields of the San Joaquin, like our way of life, must not lie fallow forever; they must be replanted and grown sustainably. It is only the truly free whose primary concern is the improvement of themselves and society; those more fettered in life or spirit lack this luxury, which we must ever refuse to take for granted.