Getting Ahead There

	editorial

There's a joke about a fisherman who catches a beautiful mermaid. Offered three wishes he first attends to his future by asking for wealth and good looks. Having covered the basics he spends his final wish on a more short term goal designed to satisfy the lust of a lonely fisherman – he asks his attractive benefactress for 'a little head'. Predictably, the butt of the joke ends his days as a micro cephalic.

The all-too-human conflict between long term vision and short term motivation had less predicable consequences for head size for the inhabitants of Easter Island. When Westerners first stumbled upon the
isolated desert isle, they wondered how such a tiny unsophisticated population could have created such phenomenal monuments to their deities. Some of the huge stone heads weighed as much as 35 tons! How
were they moved? What awe inspiring technology had these islanders developed? Surely we had much to learn from them.

Over the following decades anthropologists unfolded the unlikely mystery: A thousand years earlier, when Polynesians first discovered Rapa Nui, the island was a verdant forested paradise. There were large trees, (including the largest known palms in the world) many species of edible plants, and a variety of unique grazing birds. Apparently the birds were tasty, because the new inhabitants quickly ate them into extinction. Their demise is attested to in bone piles around camp sites.

The mystery of the statues is more intriguing. As the new community thrived in this plentiful environment, they began carving modest versions of the now-famous Easter Island Heads to honor their deities, and celebrate their good fortune. Symbols of success are important to us humans, whether in the form a hood ornament on a Mercedes, or a big head in the front yard, so competition for the most ostentatious statue grew in leaps and bounds. Ingeniously, the islanders moved their enormous edifices by rolling the statues from quarries to home sites on the trunks of freshly cut trees, then systematically propped them into an upright position.

When Western observers first saw the statues, most were toppled on their sides. Many of the largest were still en route from the quarries in which they'd been carved. Apparently, on some particular day, an Easter Islander went to the forest to find a few more logs to roll a statue, and discovered that there were no more trees. Hard to imagine them not noticing the gradual disappearance – but maybe they did notice. Perhaps they figured if one of them didn't take that last tree, then another would. Either way, short term motivation won out over long term vision and soon there were no trees left.

As trees ran out, several things happened in rapid succession: All animals and plants sheltered by the forest were rendered extinct, so the food supply was cut in half; without the foliage, topsoil eroded, reducing cultivated crops to a minimum; there was no wood left to make canoes, so effective fishing to support the large population became impossible; and finally, of course, no one could leave. Population exceeded food supply.

Fortunately human ingenuity and dietary flexibility solved several problems in one ingenious move. As competition for wealth had degenerated into competition for food, the Easter Islanders had begun to eat, first seagulls, then rats, and now finally, each other. Quickly, warring tribes reduced the population to the sustainable few hundred inhabitants discovered on that peaceful desert island surrounded by toppled monuments to their vanished glory.

In the incessant diatribe surrounding today's oil crisis and global warming, there is little mention of population growth. All of the global problems we face today are multiplied by population numbers. If you have ten children who drive hybrids your descendants will use more
energy than if you have one who drives a Hummer. Disease, resource shortages, war and pollution are all functions of a population explosion that tripled the Earth's occupancy from 2 billion to 6 billion in a generation.

We speak relentlessly of recycling and of finding renewable energy sources, but with geometric population growth, no resource conservation systems will ever be adequate, no new technologies will suffice. Why is discussion of population limits so unspeakable? Is it the command of our Old Testament God who sent us out into the world to 'Go forth and multiply'? By 2050 Earth's population will likely hit 9 billion. Do you think He'll be satisfied?

We're infatuated with the idea of controlling our future. We plan and prognosticate, we gaze at stars for guidance. For insurance, we pray to God. But like the Easter Islander who wanted a big head, or our proverbial fisherman who just wanted a little head, our short term motives often undo our best laid long term plans. When it comes to getting ahead, long term visions too often falls victim to short term motivations.