Oil lives in a kind of ethical blind spot. The fuel drives so much in industry, agriculture, and personal life, of course. Oddly, then, literature and film have mostly left it alone. One can count on one hand the great oil novels written in all languages. Substances ranging from diamonds to tobacco have inspired more romance or more disgust or more of both at the same time. Even coal, which enters the body as black lung disease, seems to have stirred fear and excitement more readily than have liquid hydrocarbons. We imagine oil—when we imagine it at all—as persistently banal, nothing more than a synonym for money. As a result of this semantic flatness, oil has rarely occupied the space of an ethical category or problem. For all the damage it has done, observers tend to identify oil with merely economic or technical questions: How much does it cost? How can we get more of it? Or—at best—how much will we have to sacrifice to replace it? My informants in Trinidad, moreover, consistently avoided considering the ethical consequences of oil. They were, then, as I argue in this chapter, complicit with carbon emissions and climate change. As its main task, Energy without Conscience will shine a light on this complicity, giving it form enough to become an object of criticism and protest.