This is an op-ed written originally in Polish (https://natemat.pl/blogi/tomaszlis/586808,felieton-tomasza-lisa-o-trumpie-i-musku) by Tomasz Lis, Polish journalist.
Donald Trump may be the cause of countless misfortunes, but at their core, Trump and Trumpism—and likewise Musk and Muskism—are inevitable consequences. Consequences of our mistakes, our negligence, our foolishness, and our lack of imagination.
We live in an era where the main values are convenience, comfort, freedom from stress, and peace of mind. It’s somewhat understandable. After millennia of wars, murders, violence, and two horrific world wars, humanity had every right to want to ease off, catch its breath, and dock in a safe harbor.
The problem is that life never stands still; the world is never motionless. Just because we take a breather doesn’t mean the Earth stops spinning or that ancient forces stop roiling beneath us. Any sense of peace is merely an illusion, stagnation is a façade, and stillness is illusory.
I fully understand the desire to escape from all sorts of problems. I myself embrace a rather minimalist notion of happiness, which I call sans souci—“without worries”—just as Voltaire’s friend, King Frederick II of Prussia, named his beautiful palace in Potsdam. If you feel safe at home, the fridge is full, and the roof doesn’t leak, you can already call that happiness. Most of us need little more, and that’s perfectly fine.
On the other hand, despite subscribing to this form of happiness, I’m still drawn to the motto posted at the exit to the US Open’s center court in New York: “Pressure is a privilege.” However, few people share that view. After all, why stress out when our civilization’s top priority is to avoid stress? Even when we give ourselves challenges—running marathons or doing Ironmans—we do it for pleasure. In other words, even enormous effort serves our hedonism.
And that’s okay. Our lives have changed completely over the past 30–40 years. Because the fingers on my left hand aren’t fully functional, I’m typing this text with the thumb of my right hand on a phone. As I do this, I look back with nostalgia and a hint of melancholy on how, 40 years ago, I wrote my first pieces on a typewriter. I hammered those keys, it was incredibly loud, and I loved it because everyone knew a real journalist typed on a machine, surrounded by clouds of smoke, lighting one cigarette off the other and snubbing them out in an overflowing ashtray. That’s how it used to be.
A few days ago, we celebrated Grandmother’s and Grandfather’s Day. Most children passed on their well-wishes by calling from a cell phone. And with just one more button press, they could see grandma or grandpa. Once upon a time, you had to travel across town or place a long-distance call (something kids today don’t even know existed and never will). It’s all quite amazing.
In the past, when I was sending TV reports from Los Angeles or San Diego, I needed satellite links. Today, a phone call is enough. Incredible. The world at your thumb. At your thumb you have access to every library, every book, museum, store, flight ticket, or any information about your favorite actors or athletes—who post this information themselves. Everyone is at your fingertips, the entire world’s knowledge is a tap away. The transformation is so staggering that being intoxicated by it comes naturally. Lightheadedness is inevitable, a nearly narcotic high guaranteed.
So, what does Trump have to do with all this? In a world where comfort is king, and success is measured in clicks, likes, and followers, humanity effectively glorifies and institutionalizes egotism and narcissism. The highway for the Trumps of the world is wide open. Especially since—here’s another paradox—while access to knowledge is easier than ever, ignorance is more widespread than ever. Everyone knows everything, which means no one truly knows anything. Everyone is an expert at everything, which means no one understands a thing. On top of that, it’s an ignorance that’s smug and self-assured. We now have perfectly tilled soil for a Trump—or many Trumps—and for his supporters.
I very much appreciate audacity. It fuels ambition and imagination, drives desires, and forces us to take action and meet challenges head-on. But audacity without humility is a devilish trap. It gives the illusion of omnipotence and omniscience. Over fifty years ago, when humanity landed on the Moon, most people watched that triumph on television. Today, enjoying humanity’s countless triumphs is our everyday routine.
We practically breathe the fruits of human genius. And we devour them from dawn to dusk: touch-screen phones, voice-controlled TV remotes, voice-activated lights—a kind of Edison and Goethe on steroids. Our intellect has proven boundless, our minds untamable, yet behind the brilliance of these creators and inventors, there’s been no parallel revolution of the heart or of empathy.
In 1998, Pope John Paul II wrote the encyclical Fides et Ratio—faith and reason. It was essentially a desperate defense of religion, values, and the embattled human heart, pitted against reason’s triumph and its intoxicating self-congratulation. After all, this extraordinary reason had already decided that faith was passé, religion an anachronism and relic, and talk of moral values just a waste of time. Humanity decided it was smarter than God, no longer needed Him, and considered morality and ethics worthless junk fit for the landfill.
At the very peak of its intellect and the zenith of its absolute power of reason, humanity found itself on a desert of madness and nihilism, more lost than ever before. Cut off from any signal, geolocation, or navigation, it flailed blindly, searching for a way out and following charlatans who offered easy, pleasant, and comfortable solutions—since, after all, convenience is everything.
Pope John Paul II wrote that faith and reason are like wings lifting man toward contemplating truth. Humanity, however, concluded that it either already knows the truth or doesn’t need it. And if it does decide to look for truth, it tries to fly with just one wing. Even without the Smolensk disaster, we know you can’t fly with only one wing.
The greatest triumph in human history thus became the foretaste of the collapse of ideas, the death of ethics and values, and a total defeat for humanity.
Welcome to Trump’s world. Are you happy? Are you fucking happy? Trump is your child and your downfall. Now, to paraphrase Gogol, go ahead and weep for yourselves. And as Scripture says: “there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.” And so it is. Humanity mindlessly believed in a utopia and chased after it. Yet every utopia is merely a foyer to hell.
Huxley knew this when he described his Brave New World, as did Orwell. And so did the millions of victims of Nazism and Communism who fertilized the soil where it grew. A handful of madmen decided they would save humanity—or at least the “master race”—and they set off with great gusto to realize their vision. Every overly pushy and reckless recipe for happiness has been, and will always be, a recipe for disaster. Every rejection of faith and values has been the antechamber and appetizer to a nightmare.
Now we have Musk, who is saving the planet with electric cars and planning a trip to Mars. But he’s so intoxicated with his own power that he’s removed all brakes and safety switches. Audacity made him dream of Mars. Lack of humility will send him to hell first—and us along with him. Musk, like Trump, is our child. We gave him the toys, the opportunities, and the power, forgetting that all power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.
Reworking Kennedy’s words is in vogue, so here’s my version: Don’t ask how humanity can achieve success and triumph. Ask how to prevent it—before humanity becomes the multi-billion-strong victim of that very success.
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