Oil SPill Pelican

I’ve been interested lately in what happens when we as humans take offense.

Let’s say someone does something we perceive as immoral or abusive or otherwise wrong. My working example has been how Dick Cheney, while vice president, may have blocked a proposed requirement for remotely operable shut-off valves on deep water oil wells (i.e., something that would have prevented the current apocalypse in the Gulf.) Each such device would have cost a half million dollars. Since this is not much money in the context of a major oil platform, I imagine the real objection was the perceived intrusion on corporate rights, and the risk of establishing a precedent for further regulatory control. Now that the region faces large scale economic and ecologic collapse, I wonder if Cheney feels any guilt. Judging from his public persona, there seems little hope that he recognizes his error and feels remorse. His concern may extend no further than worrying he’ll lose money in the unlikely event that Halliburton ends up having to pay for some of the clean-up. My own feelings about his actions, on the other hand, are very intense. The thought that one selfish man may have been responsible for this much destruction makes me furious. My first inclination is to hate the guy, to want him to suffer for his greed and arrogance.

But what is it in me that feels this way? In the end, it is the belief that I am different from and better than Dick Cheney. It is the conviction that he and I are so far apart morally that I have every right to judge him. This criticism springs from a profound feeling of separation between me and the former vice president. I don’t feel, and don’t want to feel, like he and I are one.

In fact, the sort of thinking that draws a distinction between self and other is what allows people such as Cheney to act so callously. If the man had remained in touch with the fact that we are all intertwined on this planet, and that the condition of our environment affects everyone, he might have acted more admirably. And if I remain honest with myself, I recognize that feelings of separateness have prompted me to behave with little regard for others many times during my own life. It is a natural human tendency that Cheney and I share. The only difference is that I am not in a position where my selfishness can destroy whole regions of the planet.

It is also true that only by feeling separated can my heart generate much hatred for Dick Cheney. If I remain open to the truth of our connectedness as humans and as organisms on the same planet, I realize that the healthier attitude is not enmity, which springs from feelings of separateness, but compassion. How sad that Cheney enjoys so little love for humankind and Mother Earth; whether he is aware of it or not, he must feel rather alone and desiccated. Better to recognize his pain than demonize him. People like Cheney should be stopped before they wreak such havoc, but if my response is to contract around my sense of indignation and superiority, I am feeding the exact same isolating tendency that makes people behave without regard for the welfare of others.

Eckhart Tolle describes the selfish judging mind as a kind of parasite. I agree with him that excessive critical thought can become an affliction of the soul. On a small scale, it causes personal misery (if not to the person who grants it free reign, then to his or her loved ones.) On a large scale, it lays waste to the planet.

We all harbor this creature within us. My point here is that the very thought process that gets outraged about selfish behavior is the one responsible for selfish activity in the first place. And as long as we all continue to attack self-centered greed with self-righteous anger, we will be locked in a cycle of fighting injustice by feeding the soul’s infection its favorite food: the deluded belief we inhabit separated lives.

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