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Prospective technology assessment in the Anthropocene: A transition toward a culture of sustainability

Martin Möller and Rainer Grießhammer

https://doi.org/10.1177/20530196221095700

Abstract

In the Anthropocene, humankind has become a quasi-geological force. Both the rapid development as well as the depth of intervention of new technologies result in far-reaching and irreversible anthropogenic changes in the Earth’s natural system. However, early and development-accompanying evaluation of technologies are not yet common sense. Against this background, this review article aims to compile the current state of knowledge with regard to the early sustainability assessment of technologies and to classify this status quo with respect to the key challenges of the Anthropocene. To that end, the paper initially outlines major existing definitions and framings of the term of sustainability. Key milestones, concepts and instruments with regard to the development of sustainability assessment and technology assessment (TA) methodologies are also presented. Based on this overview, the energy sector is used as an example to discuss how mirroring ongoing transformation processes can contribute to the further development of the TA framework in order to ensure an agile, goal-oriented, and future-proof assessment system.

Introduction

For the first time in history, human development is characterized by a coupling of technological, social and geological processes. In this new geological epoch of the Anthropocene (Crutzen and Stoermer, 2000), humankind has become a quasi-geological force that profoundly and irreversibly alters the functioning of the Earth’s natural system (Potsdam Memorandum, 2007).

The main reasons for this extraordinarily high range of human activity are the exponential increase in the world’s population, production and consumption, as well as an increasing acceleration of industrial processes. New technologies are being developed that enable a particular high sectoral depth of intervention as well as a fast marketing of products and applications. As a result, they impose significant pressure on a wide range of sectors to change and adapt to the speed of innovation. Ultimately, society as a whole is urged to react to the impacts generated by the new technologies. A prominent example of a technology with such a high level of intervention is additive manufacturing. Also known as 3D printing, additive manufacturing is seen as a key technology for digitalization due to their production flexibility, the possibilities for function integration and product individualization. Beyond acceleration of innovation times, however, their use also allows for a reduction in component weight and thus a reduction in operating costs, which can promote resource-efficient manufacturing (Bierdel et al., 2019). However, additive manufacturing can create new consumption incentives due to faster product cycles and poses risks to new producers by shifting work and related hazardous substance risks to residential environments (Umweltbundesamt, 2018).

Both the rapid development as well as the depth of intervention of new technologies and materials result in anthropogenic changes in Earth system processes that can otherwise only be caused by meteorite impacts, continental drift and cyclical fluctuations in the Sun-Earth constellation. For example, the effects on the Earth’s nitrogen cycle are particularly serious. Through the ability to synthesize artificial nitrogen compounds by means of the Haber Bosch process, humans have managed to feed 48% of the global population. With increases in fertilizer usage, however, the nitrogen cycle has been pushed far beyond sustainability and nitrate pollution being responsible for increasing dead zones in coastal areas. Furthermore, due to the use of fossil fuels and intensive agriculture, CO2 concentrations in the atmosphere have reached a level last approached about 3 to 5 million years ago, a period when global average surface temperature is estimated to have been about 2°C–3.5°C higher than in the pre-industrial period (NAS and Royal Society, 2020).

The harmful effects of the technologies on the biosphere are fueled by the fact that technological developments are usually faster than political and technical countermeasures. Moreover, in many cases, technical countermeasures still focus on efficiency improvement strategies, less hazardous substitutions of substances as well as end-of-pipe cleaning technologies. While this approach has yielded some success in the past, it also entails the risk of rebound effects.

Against this background, there is an increasing need for comprehensive approaches to analysis and solutions. Hence, the following key questions arise how to deal with the challenges regarding the prospective assessment of technologies in the era of the Anthropocene:

Firstly, which applications of technologies are beneficial with respect to a sustainable development, and which ones we should rather abandon?

Secondly, which methodological approach can be used to assess and influence the development of new technologies right from the beginning and with sufficient certainty of direction?

Thirdly, who is responsible and competent to perform the evaluation on the sustainability performance of technologies and to make corresponding decisions concerning their future roadmap?

Ultimately, how can we transform technosphere and society to a culture of sustainability, in other words: “Can humanity adapt to itself?” (Toussaint et al., 2012)

In order to elaborate viable answers to these fundamental questions, this paper aims to review existing definitions of sustainability as well as approaches of sustainability assessment of technologies and associated tools within the era of the Anthropocene. Hence, it first addresses the issue of framing the term of sustainability in the era of the Anthropocene (section 2). Based on a brief overview in section 3 how sustainability assessment methodologies evolved in the past, major milestones and concepts with regard to the technology assessment (TA) framework are described in section 4, with particular focus on the concept of prospective TA. In section 5, we use the energy sector as an example to discuss how mirroring ongoing transformation processes in major areas of need can contribute to the further development of the TA framework. Finally, section 6 is dedicated to conclusions and outlook.

Sustainability in the Anthropocene

Sustainability is a delicate term. Its inflationary use in politics, science and society has rendered it increasingly arbitrary and often blurs the view of its core meaning. Sustainability as a concept was introduced more than 300 years ago by chief miner Hans-Carl von Carlowitz on the occasion of a serious raw material crisis: Wood, at that time the most important raw material for ore mining, had become noticeably scarce and without appropriate countermeasures, the operation of smelting furnaces and consequently silver production would not have been further possible within a foreseeable future. Driven by these economic requirements, von Carlowitz proposed a new principle of forest management, which envisaged taking only as much wood from the forests in a given period of time as could grow back again in the same period (Töpfer, 2013von Carlowitz, 1713).

In the discussions about the scarcity of natural resources in the 1970s (cf. Meadows et al., 1972), the concept of sustainability was taken up again and experienced a renaissance through its further development in terms of content. Environmental and social aspects of sustainability have been placed more and more in the foreground. Hence, sustainability has increasingly been understood as a major global transformation process (Grießhammer and Brohmann, 2015; see also section 5), which is reflected in particular in the term of a “sustainable development.” Another milestone in the framing of sustainability as a concept with normative relevance has been achieved in the World Commission on Environment and Development. In its report, the so-called “Brundtland Report,” the commission defines sustainable development as “development that meets the needs of the present without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their own needs” (World Commission on Environment and Development, 1987: without page). With this definition, the aspects of intra– and intergenerational equity were introduced and particularly emphasized in the sustainability debate. Furthermore, the “Brundtland Report” frames sustainable development as a necessary transformation process of economy and society as it points out that:

“Sustainable development is not a fixed state of harmony, but rather a process of change in which the exploitation of resources, the direction of investments, the orientation of technological development, and institutional change are made consistent with future as well as present needs” (World Commission on Environment and Development, 1987: without page).

Since the 1990s, the debate on how intergenerational justice is to be achieved has been dominated by two diverging perceptions of the concept of sustainability, referred to as “strong sustainability” and “weak sustainability”:

Strong sustainability postulates to preserve the entire natural capital of the Earth. Human capital and natural capital are perceived to be complementary, but not interchangeable. This means that humans, as users of nature, may live only from the “interest” of the natural capital. Any consumption of non-renewable resources would therefore be ruled out, and renewable resources could only be used within their regeneration rate (Som et al., 2009).

Weak sustainability calls only for preserving of the Earth’s total anthropogenic and natural capital. Accordingly, humanity could reduce natural capital to any degree if it was substituted in return by anthropogenic capital with the same economic value (Solow, 1986).

At the UN Conference on Environment and Development at Rio de Janeiro in 1992, the concept of sustainable development was recognized as an internationally guiding principle. The underlying idea was that economic efficiency, social justice and the safeguarding of the natural basis of life are interests that are equally important for survival and complement each other. Although 27 fundamental principles for sustainable development are enshrined in the Rio Declaration on Environment and Development (United Nations, 1992), for more than 10 years no concrete sustainability goals and indicators existed that would have been suitable in particular for the sustainability assessment of products and technologies.

With the adoption of the 2030 Agenda and its Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) in 2015, the member states of the United Nations for the first time agreed upon a universal catalog of fixed time-specific targets. These 17 SDGs (see Figure 1) and the corresponding 169 targets can be considered as the interdisciplinary normative basis of sustainability research, covering all three dimensions of sustainable development, that is, environmental, economic, and social aspects (United Nations, 2015).

Figure 1. The 17 Sustainable Development Goals of the 2030 Agenda.Source: UNDP (2016).

The 2030 Agenda is universal in scope, which means that it commits all countries to contribute toward a comprehensive effort for global sustainability in all its dimensions while ensuring equity, peace and security. Furthermore, with its central, transformative promise “leave no one behind,” it is based on the principle to take on board even the weakest and most vulnerable. Hence, it seeks to eradicate poverty in all its forms as well as to combat discrimination and rising inequalities within and amongst countries (BMUV, 2022SDGF, 2016United Nations, 2021).

As a major specification of the 2030 Agenda, the concept of Planetary Boundaries focusses on the environmental dimension of sustainability. This approach put forward by Rockström et al. (2009) echoes the concept of “strong sustainability” (see above) and has been updated and extended by Steffen et al. (2015). At its core, it identifies nine global biophysical processes, whose significant changes can lead to conditions on Earth that are no longer considered a “safe operating space for humanity.” According to Steffen et al. (2015), several of the global biophysical processes are already beyond an uncertainty range with a high risk of dangerous changes on the planetary scale. These include the integrity of the biosphere (expressed as genetic diversity) and biogeochemical material flows, especially nitrogen and phosphorus. Others (e.g. climate change and land use change) are considered to be in an area of high uncertainty with an increasing risk of dangerous changes.

In 2016, Rockström and Sukhdev presented a new way of framing the SDGs of the 2030 Agenda. According to the concept of “strong sustainability” they argued that economies and societies should be perceived as embedded parts of the biosphere (Stockholm Resilience Center, 2016). This perspective is illustrated by the so-called “Wedding Cake” model (see Figure 2) and challenges the predominant understanding expressed by the “Three Pillars” model of sustainability (cf. Barbier, 1987) that environmental, economic and social development can be regarded as separate parts. Hence, the “Wedding Cake” model of sustainability can be understood as a combination of the 2030 Agenda and the concept of Planetary Boundaries since it calls for a transition toward a world logic where the economy serves society so that both economy and society can evolve within the “safe operating space” of the planet.

Figure 2. The “Wedding Cake” model of sustainability.Source: Azote for Stockholm Resilience Centre, Stockholm University.

The link between SDGs and Planetary Boundaries is of paramount importance in the age of the Anthropocene. Even though the SDGs have been lauded for amplifying the global development agenda by including environmental, social and economic concerns, the 2030 Agenda remains committed to a growth-oriented development that potentially conflicts with keeping human development within the Planetary Boundaries as defined by Rockström et al. (2009). A striking example of the growth-oriented concept can be found in SDG target 8.1, which requires to “sustain per capita economic growth in accordance with national circumstances and, in particular, at least 7% gross domestic product growth per annum in the least developed countries” (United Nations, 2015). Against this background, substantial changes toward more sufficient consumption patterns that help to remain within the Earth’s environmental carrying capacity need to be established and promoted by setting corresponding political framework conditions (Fischer and Grießhammer, 2013).

Evolvement of sustainability assessment methodologies

The scientific methodology for assessing the sustainability of technologies, material or products is far less developed than the debate on sustainable development and sustainable consumption would suggest. However, initial approaches in this respect were developed by the Öko-Institut as early as 1987 (Öko-Institut, 1987). The concept of the Produktlinienanalyse (English “product line analysis”), representing a pioneering step in the development of methods for life cycle-based analyses, made it possible to record the environmental, economic, and social impacts of products along the whole product line.

Nevertheless, at the end of the 1990ies, the product-related Life Cycle Analysis (LCA) became established and standardized on the international level, representing a methodology which assesses only the environmental impacts of a product over its entire life-cycle. The decisive standards of LCA are ISO 14040 (2006) and ISO 14044 (2006), which have become widely applied. These international standards essentially describe the process of conducting LCAs, examining the impact of a product from “cradle to grave.” Particular attention is paid in ISO 14040 and ISO 14044 to the scoping of a LCA study, with concrete requirements on the choice of the system boundaries, the functional unit (i.e. the quantified performance of the investigated product system for use as a reference unit) and the data quality requirements. In addition, the performance of a critical review by an independent third party is envisaged as a quality assurance step.

Sustainability assessments, however, did not advance until the 2000s, with the detailed method descriptions PROSA (Product Sustainability Assessment) by the Öko-Institut (Grießhammer et al., 2007) and SEE-Balance (Socio-Eco-Efficiency Analysis) by the chemical company BASF (Kicherer, 2005Saling, 2016). Even for the sub-methods of Life Cycle Costing (Swarr et al., 2011) and Social Life Cycle Assessment (Grießhammer et al., 2006UNEP-SETAC Life Cycle Initiative, 2009), method descriptions were presented comparatively late. There are also proposals to combine the three sub-methods of Life Cycle Assessment, Life Cycle Costing and Social Life Cycle Assessment to form the Life Cycle Sustainability Assessment (LCSA) (Feifel et al., 2010Finkbeiner, 2011). However, in contrast to PROSA, the aim is not to analyze and evaluate needs and the realized product benefits, even though meeting basic needs through products is one of the central demands of Agenda 21. Whereas initially the sustainability of only relatively simple products such as food, textiles, or detergents had been assessed, in recent years the sustainability performance of complex products such as notebooks (Manhart and Grießhammer, 2006) and telecommunications services (Prakash et al., 2016) as well as emerging technologies and materials (Möller et al., 2012) has also been analyzed.

For many years, the comparatively open or specific selection of indicators for conducting sustainability assessment case studies was justified by the lack of a relevant normative framework as well as a generally accepted set of indicators. With the adoption of the United Nations’ 2030 Agenda in 2015, this has fundamentally changed (cf. section 2). In addition to its 17 SDGs and 169 targets, the 2030 Agenda provides a globally accepted system of indicators for measuring the SDGs. However, only a few dozen of the 169 targets explicitly refer to products and companies. In a recently completed research project (Eberle et al., 2021) funded by the German Federal Ministry on Education and Research a method was developed which provided for a reasoned restriction to those indicators to the achievement of which products, services and companies can actually contribute. By means of the method, it is possible for the first time to measure the contribution to the achievement of the SDGs at the level of products and services and thus to establish a link between LCA and SLCA results and the 2030 Agenda (Eberle and Wenzig, 2020). To complete the assessment, an in-depth analysis of societal benefits according to Möller et al. (2021a) can be supplemented, which is also based on the 2030 Agenda. In this way, additional benefit aspects of the products and services considered beyond their core benefits can be identified with a view to the SDGs.

As our experience from practice has shown, for the sustainability assessment of any object of investigation, the respective functionality is of utmost importance and must therefore be considered and defined in detail. In this context, a careful definition of the functional unit as defined in ISO 14040 and ISO 14044 is considered to be essential. In addition, a detailed analysis of the various benefit aspects of the studied object is recommended. Against this background, there is no technology, material or product that is sustainable per se. Only the way a technology, material or product is handled and used over its whole life-cycle may be more or less sustainable. Therefore, their sustainability performance always has to be analyzed and evaluated in the context of the intended application and with regard to a possible contribution to a sustainable development. Absolute statements such as “sustainable plastics,” often combined with the addition “due to recyclability,” must therefore be rated very critically. Recyclability, which is often regarded as synonymous with sustainability in the marketing of materials, depends on available recycling infrastructure, which typically only exists in the materials sector where it is economically viable.

Another important lesson learned from several decades of sustainability assessment is that assessment systems have changed and evolved significantly in the past. As sustainability assessment has been driven by emerging environmental risks, further developments in the normative framework and societal developments, the assessment methodology had to evolve as well. Notable examples of additions to the assessment methodology with respect to the environmental dimension of sustainability are the issues of greenhouse effect and ozone depletion in the 1980s and the microplastic problem in the recent past. It can be assumed that the aforementioned drivers will continue to influence sustainability assessment in the future. For a future-proof sustainability assessment methodology, it is therefore essential that newly emerging risks can be identified at an early stage. This calls for a flexible and adaptive assessment framework as well as an interdisciplinary exchange, especially between natural and social sciences (Möller et al., 2021b).

Evolvement of technology assessment

Roughly in the second half of the 20th century, undesirable side effects of progress in science and technology increasingly manifested themselves in the form of risks and concrete damaging events and thus found their way into the collective consciousness of society. The almost ubiquitous emergence of persistent pollutants like the pesticide DDT (Dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane) in the environment and the risks of nuclear power can be regarded as particularly controversial examples in this respect (Carson, 1962Grunwald, 2019). Accordingly, the appearance of these phenomena is considered to mark the beginning of the Anthropocene era. As a result, a consensus previously largely in place, which equated scientific and technological progress with social progress, was increasingly questioned. Against this background, researchers were more and more confronted with the challenge of reflecting not only on the possible consequences of science-based technologies, but also on the epistemological foundations of their own actions (Kollek and Döring, 2012).

Consequently, the concept of TA became established in the 1960s, particularly in the United States, with early studies focusing on the issue of environmental pollution, but also issues like the supersonic transport, and ethics of genetic screening (Banta, 2009). One of the basic motivations of TA is to deal with possible short- and long-term consequences of scientific and technological progress (e.g. societal, economic, ethical, and legal impacts) as early and comprehensively as possible, in order to enable formative interventions (Grunwald, 20102019). The ultimate goal of early TA studies was to provide policy makers as primary target group with information on policy alternatives (Banta, 2009).

One of the key challenges for TA relates to the question of how to respond to emerging technologies, that is novel technologies that are still at an early stage of their development. Especially in the case of basic research-oriented R&D work, the new developments are characterized by low technology readiness levels (cf. Mankins, 1995), that is the R&D results are still relatively far away from entering the market in the form of tangible products. The relatively low maturity of the technologies results in a very limited availability of quantitative data on subsequent product specifications and potential environmental impacts. On the other hand, addressing sustainability aspects at such an early stage in the innovation process basically offers an excellent window of opportunity to avoid possible weaknesses with regard to sustainable development and to identify existing strengths. This situation is often referred as the Collingridge Dilemma (Collingridge, 1980): In the infancy of an emerging technology, the potential to influence its properties is particularly high, but the knowledge about its sustainability impacts is comparatively low. Later on, the understanding on the consequences of an emerging technology is expected to increase, yet the possibilities for shaping its design may already be significantly reduced by already existing path dependencies (see Figure 3).

Figure 3. Dependencies between the maturity of a technology, the knowledge about environmental, health safety and social (EHS/S) impacts as well as the ability to prevent corresponding risks.Source: Köhler and Som (2014).

Against this background, an ideal period for the assessment and eco-design of emerging technologies would be during the innovation stages of “applied technology development” or “product design.” In these stages, the ability to prevent sustainability risks is still relatively high (cf. curve with solid line in Figure 3) and, at the same time, the quantity and quality of data required for a sustainability assessment are increasing significantly. However, a sustainability assessment in the stage of “basic science and material research” is well before this ideal period.

Basically, the dilemma outlined by Collingridge presupposes a fundamental separation between cognition and action as well as between science and technology. With the emergence of the concept of “technosciences,” however, this hypothesis has been increasingly challenged since about the mid-1980s by postulating a constitutive relationship between science and technology (Haraway, 1997Hottois, 1984Latour, 1987). Hence, the characteristic feature of technosciences is a far-reaching convergence of science and technology on all levels of action and effect, of materiality and culture (Kastenhofer, 2010).

The concept of technosciences has been adopted by anthropologists, philosophers and sociologists in science and technology studies as well as in the field of philosophy of science (e.g. Hacking, 1983Nordmann, 2006Pickering, 1992). Other TA concepts attach less emphasis to the intertwining of science, technology and society, but rather aim to start TA as early as possible. These include the “constructive Technology Assessment” developed by Schot and Rip (1997), which does not focus primarily on the possible consequences of a technology but aims to assist in shaping its design, development and implementation process. In this context, it was also proposed that a “real-time assessment” should accompany technology development from the outset and integrate social science issues as well as policy and governance aspects at a very early stage (Guston and Sarewitz, 2002).

Nevertheless, the concept of technosciences generated important impulses to scrutinize and reconsider some of the central assumptions underlying many existing TA concepts. In this context, Liebert and Schmidt (2010) point out that the goals and purposes of innovation processes, which are often clearly articulated and recognizable in the context of technosciences, offer the possibility of unlocking knowledge about the respective technology development. Hence, they challenge the assumption of general knowledge deficits as stipulated by the Collingridge Dilemma. Furthermore, they argue that technosciences are usually developed and applied by many different actors. In this respect, the fiction of a control of technology (especially by political actors) as advocated in early TA concepts will increasingly shift to a paradigm of collaborative design.

Consequently, TA should be framed as a “Prospective Technology Assessment” (ProTA) and initiate phases of science- and technology-related reflection as early as possible:

“ProTA aims to shape technologies by shaping the goals, intentions and attitudes from the perspective of the anticipated consequences and realistic potentials” (Liebert and Schmidt, 2010: 114).

According to Liebert and Schmidt (2010), ProTA requires a normative framework that can be derived from the history of philosophical reflection. Concerning the underlying ethical criteria, two antagonistic principles are outlined: The “heuristics of fear” (Jonas, 1979) and the “principle of hope” (Bloch, 1959), which in combination serve as a mindset for shaping emerging technologies as well as technoscience as a whole and that entails four different types of orientation: human, social, environmental as well as future orientation.

Furthermore, ProTA is also strongly perceived as a participatory approach. In contrast to an observation from an external perspective (as practiced in earlier TA concepts), ProTA should become part of a of self-reflection and self-criticism among scientists and engineers within the R&D stage itself that also includes the perspective of societal and political actors (Fisher et al., 2006Liebert and Schmidt, 2010).

Discussion

As the evolutionary history of TA has shown, an early assessment of technologies and their impacts on environment and society is possible in principle. Despite of the epistemic limitations caused by the Collingridge Dilemma, the concept of ProTA provides a participatory and incremental self-reflection process that facilitates data acquisition even during the early stages of R&D and thus enables the shaping of technologies throughout the innovation process. One of the most important features of ProTA is a well-defined normative framework. Yet Liebert and Schmidt developed the associated criteria several years before the establishment of the 2030 Agenda. With its 17 SDGs and the 169 SDG targets, however, substantial opportunities have been created to concretize the normative framework of TA, especially with respect to a sustainable development. Hence, by referencing to the 2030 Agenda, a comprehensive sustainability assessment of technologies has become possible (Eberle et al., 2021Möller et al., 2021a). Even more than that, with the 2030 Agenda representing a globally accepted framework that all United Nation member states have committed themselves, sustainability assessment of technologies has become an obligation.

In order to ensure goal-oriented and future-proof assessments, TA methodology needs to be able to recognize changes regarding its assessment criteria at an early stage, as already pointed out in section 3. For early detection, the investigation of existing and predicted transformation processes plays an important role in this context.

Transformations can lead to structural paradigmatic changes at all levels of society, for example in culture, value attitudes, technologies, production, consumption, infrastructures and politics. The corresponding processes take place co-evolutionarily, simultaneously or with a time lag in different areas or sectors, and can significantly influence, strengthen or weaken each other. The decisive factor for a transformation is that those processes become more and more condensed over time and, in the sense of a paradigm shift, lead to fundamental irreversible changes in the prevailing system. Transformations can be unplanned or intentional, they can take several decades and proceed at very different speeds (Grießhammer and Brohmann, 2015).

In contrast to the non-targeted transformations of the past (such as the first and second industrial revolution), it is now presumed that intentional transformations (e.g. the “Energiewende,” i.e. the transition of the energy system in Germany) can be significantly influenced and accelerated in a desired direction, but nevertheless not controlled in detail. This assumption is based on the recently available knowledge and experience of complex control, governance and strategy approaches (Grießhammer and Brohmann, 2015). The fundamental possibility of influencing or even controlling transitions is expressed by the term “transition management” (Kemp and Loorbach, 2006).

For understanding transition management, a multi-level perspective is fundamental. Accordingly, three different levels exist in each system under consideration, referred to as niches, regime, and landscape, with interactions between these levels (see Figure 4).

Figure 4. Multi-level perspective of transition management (Grießhammer and Brohmann, 2015; modified based on Geels, 2002).

At the level of the prevailing regime, Grießhammer and Brohmann (2015) distinguish eight fields of action or sub-systems of society in which transformative innovations and initiatives can influence each other or proceed in a co-evolutionary manner. These eight fields of action are defined as follows:

Values and models: normative orientations such as values, socially or legally formulated goals, guiding principles or ideas for society as a whole or for individual areas of need (e.g. “Limits to Growth” according to Meadows et al., 1972);

Behaviors and lifestyles: individual and society-wide shared (consumption) actions, everyday practices and habits, which can often deviate significantly from values and consciousness (e.g. dietary habits);

Social and temporal structures: social and culturally determining structures (such as different gender roles or demographic shifts) as well as temporal factors (such as the duration of the transformation, windows of opportunities or diffusion processes of innovations);

Physical infrastructures: permanent material structures that influence or even dominate the action spaces for groups of actors (e.g. road network);

Markets and financial systems: market structures (e.g. degree of concentration, globalization) and market processes such as supply, demand and prices of goods and services;

Technologies, products, and services: individual products and services as well as overarching technologies that can act as a key driver of transformations;

Research, education, and knowledge: science, research and development in practice as well as their institutional constitution, appropriate educational measures at various levels as well as knowledge stocks required for transformations;

Policies and institutions: control instruments such as commandments and prohibitions, financial incentives or informational instruments, as well as the associated institutional and organizational framework (e.g. state bodies, competencies, separation of powers, course of the democratic process and legal framework).

The analysis of the determining factors of a transformation process and their possible impact on the method of sustainability assessment of technologies shall be exemplified by the transformation in the energy sector representing an area of need where general principles for the sustainability assessment of technologies have already been formulated (cf. Grunwald and Rösch, 2011). The following table summarizes the findings from this exercise and provides an overview of the determining factors for the fields of action in the energy sector. In this respect, it has to be noted that the scope of the investigation refers to the specific situation in Germany.

Many of the identified determining factors for the fields of action are transformation processes themselves. Digitalization, for example, is coupling the energy transition with the ongoing industrial revolution in information and communication technologies. Furthermore, the transition of the energy sector influences the energy supply for the transport system as well as for the building stock, and vice versa. The parallel transformations can influence, support, or hinder each other. For example, electromobility generates a higher demand for renewable electricity; on the other hand, the batteries installed in cars provide a storage option for electricity. In this context, it is also important to consider the various and partly rivaling innovations emerging from niches (cf. Figure 4). These include e-cars, for example, but also fuel cell cars and e-bikes as a fundamental alternative. The same is applicable for phenomena at the level of the greater landscape: The efforts of an increasing number of companies to achieve climate neutrality play an eminently important role here, as the demand for renewably generated energy will continue to grow significantly. However, the current consequences and long-term effects of the Corona pandemic could lead to significant energy savings through a reduction in air travel, at least in the short to medium term.

The concept of ProTA is currently implemented in the Cluster of Excellence “Living, Adaptive and Energy-autonomous Materials Systems” (livMatS) funded by the German Research Foundation. The vision of this cluster is to develop novel, bioinspired materials systems, which adapt autonomously to their environment and harvest clean energy from it. The research and development work in livMatS aims to provide innovative solutions for various applications, particularly in the field of energy technologies. Sustainability, psychological acceptance and ethical approval form essential claims of the work done in livMatS. Therefore, prospective reflection of the sustainability aspects as well as research into consumer acceptance and social relevance of the developed material systems form an integral part of livMatS work right from the very beginning (livMatS, 2022).

The prospective TA of the technologies and materials to be developed in the livMatS cluster is designed as a tiered approach called TAPAS (Tiered Approach for Prospective Assessment of Benefits and Challenges). The ultimate goal is the design of a new development-integrated sustainability assessment framework that starts with interactive early tools on a qualitative basis (e.g. questionnaires and prospective chemicals assessment) and also covers quantitative case studies. Development-integrated assessment entails that the methodology both encourages and enables the innovators themselves to carry out assessments on sustainability, ethics and consumer issues as part of the innovation process (Möller et al., 2021c).

With regard to the livMatS materials, the ongoing transformation in the energy sector has considerable influence on the potential application fields: In their efforts to become climate-neutral, companies will make much greater efforts to harness previously unused (waste) energy. Energy harvesting in industrial processes as well as in the mobility sector and in buildings will consequently gain considerably in importance and may become common practice. For example, due to progress in digitalization, there will be more and more sensors at peripheral locations requiring power supply. Moreover, prosumers may also find it attractive in the future to feed harvested energy of their own solar systems into the grid, especially at times of high energy prices.

For the methodology of the prospective sustainability assessment, however, no fundamentally new issues can be identified on the basis of the available findings, which could not be captured by the existing toolbox. This can be justified with a closer look to the relevant technological approaches (digitalization, hydrogen technology, energy harvesting) presented in Table 1, as their respective designs do not reveal any radically new materials and process configurations. This assessment, however, needs to be subject to continuous review as the new material systems mature. Furthermore, it should be noted that for sustainability assessments in living labs and citizen science projects, instruments are required that provide meaningful and consistent results even when used by laypersons. In this context, a tiered approach as described in section 4 is also expected to be beneficial.Table 1. Determining factors for the fields of action in the energy sector.

Fields of actionDetermining factors in the energy sector in Germany
Values and models“Energiewende” (English: “energy transition”) mission statement with a focus on renewable energies (Krause et al., 1980)
Rejection of nuclear energy by a vast majority of the German population (Statista, 2021)
Fridays for Future activities and demonstrations push debate about climate change and renewable energy back to the forefront of the political agenda (Marquardt, 2020)
Behaviors and lifestylesProsumer movement leads to a constantly increasing number of consumers who simultaneously consume electricity and supply it to the grid, for example via an own photovoltaic system (Agora Energiewende, 2017BMWi, 2016)
Social and temporal structuresFukushima nuclear disaster in 2011 as a major window of opportunity for the nuclear phase-out (Bernardi et al., 2018)
Increase in the share of smaller households with a specifically higher electricity demand (Umweltbundesamt, 2020)
Flexible and time-dependent pricing structures (e.g. variable electricity prices) and process conversions in industry and commerce (operating energy-intensive processes during the day instead of previously at night) foster load management (Agora Energiewende, 2017)
Physical infrastructuresDigitalization enables the networking of electricity generators and consumers, for example, through smart meter gateways, that is, intelligent metering systems consisting of a communication unit and a digital electricity meter (Agora Energiewende, 2017BMWi, 20162017)
Coupling of the electricity sector with the building, mobility and various industrial sectors, turning (renewably generated) electricity into the most important energy source (Agora Energiewende, 2017BMWi, 2017)
Markets and financial systemsDecentralization of power generation (formerly a few large fossil-based power plants to currently several million small and large renewable energy plants) creates new market players and enables new business models (Agora Energiewende, 2017)
Strong cost degression in electricity generation from renewable sources (e.g. by 90% regarding photovoltaics) enables an energy system based on solar and wind power (Agora Energiewende, 2017)
Technologies, products and servicesNew energy storage systems (especially “green” hydrogen technology) for intermediate storage of electricity from renewable sources (Matthes et al., 2020)
Efficiency increase in the use of electricity both at industrial plants and in household appliances (Agora Energiewende, 2017)
Energy harvesting technologies enable the use of previously dissipated photonic energy, thermal energy or kinetic energy (Fraunhofer, 2018)
Research, education and knowledgeLiving labs and citizen science projects explore sustainable energy technologies (e.g. hydrogen technology) under real conditions and on an industrial scale (BMWi, 2020)
Policies and institutionsLiberalization of the electricity market since the 1990ies enables a flexible and efficient response to volatile power generation from renewable energy sources (DENA, 2021)
 Substantial financial incentives for renewable energy generation through the Renewable Energy Sources Act since 2000 (EEG, 2021)
 Nuclear phase-out (by 2022) and coal phase-out (by 2038), that is political decision by the German federal government to stop operating nuclear power plants (Bundesregierung, 20112021)

Source: Own compilation.

Conclusions and outlook

In light of the findings and the results of the previous sections, the four fundamental questions from the introduction will be revisited and answered as far as possible.

With regard to the first question, it could be demonstrated that universal and absolute statements on the sustainability of technologies are just as misleading as they are for materials or products. Possible contributions to a sustainable development can only be discovered in a case-by-case analysis of the entire product-line and in the context of the functionality and benefits of the object under investigation.

Secondly, an early and prospective assessment of sustainability of technologies requires a flexible and tiered approach. In this respect, we reference the TAPAS framework that aims to establish a new tiered development-integrated assessment methodology within the livMatS Cluster of Excellence. To enable assessments at an early stage and with sufficient certainty of direction, TAPAS starts with interactive early tools (e.g. questionnaires and prospective chemicals assessment) which are incrementally underpinned with quantitative case studies in an iterative process. In order to ensure an agile, goal-oriented and future-proof evaluation system, TAPAS also includes a careful reflection of ongoing transformation processes in application sectors (e.g. the energy sector) that are relevant to the technology. The prospective mirroring of the determinants of transformation processes of related areas of need as described in section 5 aims to provide a further feature for the continuous refinement of the TA framework, especially with regard to ProTA.

As of third, the assessment of the sustainability performance of technologies should include much greater involvement of those actors who are particularly good at overseeing and influencing the innovation process—the innovators themselves. To ensure sufficient feedback with society, science has to open up to the public and the participation of society in the sense of transdisciplinary research. In this respect, initial assessments of the technology developers need to be discussed in real laboratories, that is, open-innovation environments that focus on cooperation between science and the public in an experimental environment. Hence, suggestions from society should in return become part of the innovation process (Möller et al., 2021b).

Ultimately, in order to give humankind a chance to adapt to itself (Toussaint et al., 2012), technology and society need to co-evolve. Global agreements on normative goals such as the Sustainable Development Goals of the 2030 Agenda form a good starting point in this respect. For a culture of sustainability, however, policy should promote cooperation between actors for societally desirable transformation processes to a much greater extent. Equally important is a “greening” of ongoing transformations that are not induced by environmental policy (Grießhammer and Brohmann, 2015). The need to foster cooperation can be illustrated by the example of the energy transition: Driving forces for the “Energiewende” can already be found in all stakeholder groups, that is in civil society and governmental actors, but also in science and companies. Unfortunately, however, these players in many cases still act independently of each other. Instead, earlier and greater involvement of business and industry in ongoing transformation processes, support for new business models, and greater international cooperation would be needed.

Funding

The author(s) disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: Funded by the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft (DFG, German Research Foundation) under Germany’s Excellence Strategy – EXC-2193/1 – 390951807.

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Feeling/Following: Creative Experiments and Material Play

The Anthropocene addresses us: it compels us to re-think how we—as researchers from fields of anthropology, geography, philosophy, and the arts—carry out investigations in the world. In this essay, we propose forms of creative experiments and play as a way to follow the life of materials. Such an endeavor is part of a particular ontological commitment to new ways of knowing in the Anthropocene. This contribution is a statement of purpose for radically interdisciplinary modes of research that emerged from a series of animated conversations about creative experimentation at the Anthropocene Campus.

Modern disciplines are organized around orientations to particular spheres and zones of life. However, based on the ecologies of practices they enlist, disciplines can also be thought of as particular ways of being affected. If, following Brian Massumi, we accept that affect is as much about a capacity to be affected as it is a capacity to affect and act in return, this poses larger, global questions when considering affect as a proposition for an anthropocenic re-assembling of disciplinary boundaries. What would a reframing of discipline offer our performance of research in a planetary context, in which being affected is an urgent political and ethical condition?

The question: “What is the Anthropocene?” is still an unanswerable one. Despite the array of proposals for various “markers” for this geologic epoch—from traces of Strontium 90 to the topographical stamps of plantations—there is doubt about our capacity to adequately define this era, and its relation to planetary history. However, the Anthropocene certainly affects our practices as scholars, thinkers, and sentient beings. It forces us to reconsider our notions of time, nature, work, and the human. The demands of the Anthropocene do not operate only at the level of research presentation, but clash in the liminal realm of methods, devices, and concepts. In many ways, the Anthropocene does more than just resist our categorizations: it addresses what we mean by knowing, and enrolls us as cognizant beings in a world of multiple ontologies that exceed the human. We suggest that this blur should be taken as an opportunity: if we cannot “address the Anthropocene”—in the way that modern disciplines hoped to address objects situated in the world—we must at least explore its contours. We begin, here, by paying attention to the ways in which the Anthropocene affects us. We prioritize the ways it moves us and demands our attention; we remain open to the questions it poses to our established convictions. Here, our ambition is not to define the Anthropocene, nor to affix its boundaries as an object of research. Rather, we propose a reinvigoration of experimental, creative practices as privileged processes of knowing, and a “following” of materials that multiplies the repertoires in which we can speak about life in the Anthropocene.

Crucially, our attention to creative experiments is an endeavor to revive experimentation as an open source ecological practice, and to equate it with experience once again. The separation of experience from experiment was a project of the Enlightenment, one that sought to strip the mythology of the personal (subjective) from the rational order and canon of scientific knowledge. Here, in parallel with an emergent hegemony of rational thought, an epistemological weight was ascribed to experiment stripped of its subjective character—and thus denied its ability to respond to those experiential elements not yet quantifiable or describable by the language of logic.1. Within this movement, the “experiment” came to stand for first-order, observable, or reproducible qualia, with experience relegated to the position of secondary, internal, or subjective qualia. The experiment has come to be equated with a kind of secluded ritual space, with specific properties that circumscribe the scope of “valid” knowledge, and root it in multiple forms of violence. This violence is notably one of the methods—an obligated, unitary access to the world, brandished against all others which are doomed for elimination.2. It is also the violence of the current process of writing, in response to research calls and proposals, with its attendant need for ethical protocols, risk assessment, pre-framing of methods, well-defined objects, boundaries of fieldwork, and expected results. However, similar difficulties can also be encountered in a phenomenological approach that adopts experience as the category of establishing knowledge; this approach ignores the subtleties of difference and fails to nuance the complex ways in which people experience their environments.3. Subjective experience—while always historically and culturally situated—informs knowledge production. As such, it intersects with the realm of objective knowledge. Subjective qualia cannot be cleanly segregated from the seemingly “objective” first-order qualia.

The creative experiments compelled by the Anthropocene are not those that would codify processes and events such that they can be replicated in particular assemblages, ready to be reconstructed; as such practices risk denying us the possibility of being affected by the experiment. What we mean by experiment has a different tenor: experimentation as that which places knowledge at risk, questions what we know and how we know it, and seeks to reinstate knowledge as grounded in subjective, self-reflexive, and transforming practices. Creative experiments are careful, exploratory engagements through which we follow, act, react, record, and trace the often-messy material convergences of concept, matter, and energy in the universe.

Knowledge is in and of the world. To recognize this is to expose our knowledge to change or challenge. It is to be open to the unexpected, to accidents and coincidences, to “embrace failure,”4. and to welcome serendipity. In creative experiments, knowledge is not the result, but that which is generated along the experimental process. In the History of Modern Fact, Mary Poovey demonstrates that paying attention to the process of fact-creation allows one to critically reflect on knowledge itself.5. Knowledge is not viewed here as a discrete category, but as one that constantly intersects with its specific epistemological frames and thought traditions. Creative experiments must embrace this trait by accounting for the unfolding processes inherent to objects of research. We propose inquiries that make, assemble, grow, and curate in ways that cannot be assessed in pre-established outputs: the processes of these experiments’ unruly deployment “change[s] the end in changing the means.”6.

By beginning with the Anthropocene, and how it affects us and demands a reformulation for understanding and studying it, we find ourselves proposing “creative experiments”: a material play-cum-experimentation that attends to and follows the movements and ontologies that emerge at the level of experience. This is our opportunity to reconcile experience with experiment, to re-insert “value” into the experiential as a way of understanding and thinking about materials. Importantly, the experimental trajectory of material play is never predetermined by the “already-givens” of material science. This is not to suggest that material play blinds itself to empirical data or the mechanics of scientific experimentation; rather, these scientific givens offer up a set of conditions through which such play might emerge. Here, the endless treatise, methodologies, and theoretical data with which scientific experimentation has gifted us exist as invitations; as nominative thresholds to be tested, probed, and manipulated through a playful interaction with materials, which seek to link that empirical data with an experiential knowledge—embodied, intuited, unfolding. What is offered is the experimental possibility of bringing together first- and second-order qualia at the level of enquiry, and a re-formulation of objects and method, such that each communicates the same thing, through the condition of raw experience.

Feeling/Following

Given the difficulties that the Anthropocene poses, we propose the creative experiment as a process of discovery. At its heart lies a radical openness that makes it possible for the researcher to engage with his or her chosen object of study without being bound-up in and limited by pre-established grids of knowledge. In this section, we draw from Henri Bergson to help articulate the nuanced ways in which we, as researchers, hope to creatively experiment with the Anthropocene.

In Matter and Memory (2004), Bergson argues that a purely rational reading of material and space limits us only to the realm of what is already known. Our normative reading of material and space is subtractive: from the wealth of information, movement, and change given in and of our milieu and relations, we tend to extract only those elements of which we estimate that we can make some functional use.7. To overcome these dominant narratives—that is, to shift beyond the limits of a purely logical and linear reading of materials and milieu—requires a twist in our perceptual frames and devices, such that we are able to attend to something other.

For Bergson, the primary method of attuning and attending to this otherness was his concept of intuition, which he attempted to elevate to the level of scientific method by gifting intuition its own precise methodology.8.

Here, intuition as a method broadly asks for a process of thinking and attending which is located in the flow and rhythm of duration—that is, in the subjective experience of the passage of time. It is here, by attending to the internal rhythm of one’s own duration, that Bergson claims we are able to move outward, and seek a sympathetic resonance with the rhythm of the objects, materials, and elements surrounding us. This sympathetic durational resonance is at the heart of an intuitive understanding of matter and material. It is here, also, that we might locate a different basis for perceptual selection and reification in creative experiments and material play, guided by intuitive resonance rather than by utility or habit. Importantly, an intuitive understanding of material is underwritten by the condition of primary, sensory experience: experience as it happens, experience prior to logical codification, experience as it emerges in the passage of time. Creative experiments and material play thus require a different kind of attention, one that moves beyond the filters normatively imposed on one’s perceptual framework by the hegemonic tropes of linearity, utility, and habit. This kind of creative play both enables and requires a shift in perceptual hierarchies, such that we can attend equally to the minor and the peripheral, the occluded and the “useless,” the mutating and the fleeting. In breaking with these filters—in attending to an excluded otherness—we are able to open onto possibilities for experimentation that are guided by intuition, sensation, and experience. We are able to draw from the realm of the “unknown.”

Creative experiments, for us, are fundamentally about feeling and following materials. Embedded in this logic is our conviction that the Anthropocene obliges us to think of knowledge without the schema of traditional disciplinary frameworks: it invites us to invent different ad hoc disciplinary paths and diagrams, to multiply them, to follow new or ancient grains in the textures of thought. This, to us, is less a methodology than a procedure of discovery.

We take inspiration from what makers and artisans have always done: splitting timber, for instance, “is a question of surrendering to the wood and following where it leads.”9. As Tim Ingold argues, to describe the properties of things in a processual world is to describe their stories as they flow and metamorphose.10

Breaking with “methods” whose aim is to purify phenomena by isolating them from “background noise,” following is to embark on a quest through the Anthropocene in its open-ended multiplicity. To follow the opacity and obduracy of the Anthropocene, we must let it initiate its own terms of enquiry. Following anthropocenic materials will lead us into terrains where we find contradictions. Rather than trying to resolve these, creative experimentation and material play identifies the shifting contours within which the Anthropocene is made explicit.

“Following,” as an orientation for research, is also resonant with the ethos of Isabelle Stengers’ metaphor of the “solitary hunter.” According to Stengers, the solitary hunter “takes his time”; the art of the solitary hunt is “empathy.”11. The German word for “empathy”—Einfühlung— translates directly as “feeling into.” Without taking too many liberties with Stengers, we read “the art of [feeling into]” as a negotiation between the pull of the one followed, and the acuity of the one following. The task of the hunter/huntress is to suspend his or her own logic in order to be radically open to the logic of the “prey.” This meaning of feeling/ following articulates our methodological affinity for research that is as much about apprehending the trajectory of specific concepts (e.g. kinds of pain, or affective atmospheres) as it is about tracing the many impressions of these concepts in a “milieu,” or “field.” An empathic practice of “feeling into” requires a shift in the understanding of our roles as researchers, and of what is possible within these roles. To find ourselves thoroughly immersed in spaces of dense relations to carry out research—spaces that are at once concrete and enigmatic—is to trace sequences of material impressions through radically interdisciplinary landscapes.

As in Stengers’ metaphor of the hunt, following is not a static logic but an athletic one. It is not a passive engagement, but an ontological commitment to allow oneself to be affected by threads that reach far beyond one’s “home” discipline. This notion of collaboration with materials, therefore, works to reconstitute disciplinary zones, even to abolish entirely the gaps between them, instead tracing various filaments across fields of study.

1Raymond Williams, Keywords: A vocabulary of culture and society. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1976, pp. 115‒17.

2Isabelle Stengers, “Wondering about materialism,” in: Levy Bryant et al. (eds), The Speculative Turn: Continental materialism and realism. Melbourne: re.press, 2011, pp. 368‒80.

3Robert Desjarlais, Shelter Blues. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1997.

4Erin Manning and Brian Massumi, Thought in the Act: Passages in the ecology of experience. Minneapolis, MN, and London: University of Minnesota Press, 2014.

5Mary Poovey, History of Modern Fact: Problems of knowledge in the sciences of wealth and society. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1998.

6Bruno Latour, “Morality and technology: The end of the means,” Theory, Culture and Society, vol. 19, nos 5/6 (2002): pp. 247‒60, p. 252.

7Henri Bergson, Matter and Memory, tr. N. M. Paul and W. S. Palmer. New York: Dover Publications, 2004, p. 30.

8Bergson, Henri, The Creative Mind: An introduction to metaphysics, tr. M. L. Andison. New York, NY: Dover Books, 2007, p. 20; Gilles Deleuze,Bergsonism. New York, NY: Zone Books, 1991, p. 13.

9Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus. New York, NY: Zone Books, 2004, p. 451.

10Tim Ingold, “Materials against materiality,” Archaeological Dialogues, vol. 14, no. 1 (2007): pp. 1‒16.

11Isabelle Stengers, Power and Invention: Situating Science. Minneapolis. MN: University of Minnesota Press, 1997.

Conditions of Visuality Under the Anthropocene and Images of the Anthropocene to Come

Irmgard Emmelhainz

There is no harmony in the universe. We have to get acquainted to this idea that there is no real harmony as we have conceived it.
—Werner Herzog

In the experience of deep sadness, the world itself seems altered in some way: colored by sadness, or disfigured … [This originates] in desolation, in the sense that the world is frozen and that nothing new is possible. This can lead to terrible paroxysms of destruction, attempts to shatter the carapace of reality and release the authentic self trapped within; but it can also lead away from the self altogether, towards new worldly commitments that recognize the urgent need to develop another logic of existence, another way of going on.
—Dominic Fox

The Anthropocene is the era in which man’s impact on the earth has become the single force driving change on the planet, thus giving shape to nature, shifting seas, changing the climate, and causing the disappearance of innumerable species, including placing humanity on the brink of extinction. The Anthropocene thus announces the collapse of the future through “slow fragmentation towards primitivism, perpetual crisis and planetary ecological collapse.” Instead of being conceived as speculative images of our future economic and political system, the Anthropocene has been reduced to an apocalyptic fantasy of human finitude, world finitude, and the manageable problem of climate change. In the last decade, films about the end of the world have been characterized by an apocalyptic and doomsday narrative that may end with moral redemption—from The Day After Tomorrow (2004), and 2012 (2009), to Lars von Trier’s Melancholia (2011) and World War Z (2013). In parallel, we have seen in the mass media a narrative presenting climate change as a fixable catastrophe, just like any other (such as the 2008 financial crisis, or the 2010 BP gulf oil spill). Neither our condition of finitude nor the world after the human has been imagined, and the massive environmental impact from the industrial era onward, with its long-term geomorphic implications, has become unintelligible.

This object was on display in Jean-Luc Godard’s “Voyage(s) en utopie” at the Centre Pompidou, Paris 2006. Photo: Michael Witt.

The Anthropocene has meant not a new image of the world, but rather a radical change in the conditions of visuality and the subsequent transformation of the world into images. These developments have had epistemological as well as phenomenological consequences: while images now participate in forming worlds, they have become forms of thought constituting a new kind of knowledge—one that is grounded in visual communication, and thereby dependent on perception, demanding the development of the optical mind. The radical changes in the conditions of visuality under the Anthropocene have brought a new subject position, announced by the reformulating trajectories between impressionism and cubism, and those between cubism and experimental film. While cubism culminated with the antihumanist rupture of the picture plane and converted the visual object, along with surrealism, into “manifestation,” “event,” “symptom,” and “hallucination,” experimental film introduced a mechanical, posthuman eye conveying solipsistic images at the sensorimotor level of perception. The consequence of these developments is that images, as opposed to being subject to our “beliefs,” or being objects of contemplation and beauty, came to be perceived as “the extant.” This involves a passage from representation to presentation, that is, instead of showing a perpetual present in a parallel temporality in order to make the absent partially present, the image has become sheer presence, immediacy: the here and now in real time. Made up of particles of time, wrested out of sensation and turned into cognition, the image deals more with concepts and saying than with intuition and showing.

With its break from the Renaissance point of view, cubism decomposed anthropomorphism. Based on linear perspective, Renaissance perspective had normalized a viewing position as a centered, one-eyed static entity within a mathematical, homogenous space. Creating the illusion of a view to the outside world, Renaissance perspective made the pictorial plane analogous to a window. Images constructed with traditional perspective bestow identities and subjects given a priori, configured by the point of view provided by the picture plane. Cubism, in contrast, turned space, time, and the subject upside down, redefining spatial experience by rupturing the picture plane. If classical representation conveys a continuous space, cubism invented discontinuous space by subverting the relations between subject and object, making identity and difference relative, questioning classical metaphysics. The cubist image renewed the image of the world by dissociating gaze, subject, and space, but without estranging them from each other, bringing about a new, antihumanist subject position. Moreover, with cubism, temporality—duration—and a multiplicity of points of view became embedded in the picture plane.

With North American experimental (or structural) film in the 1960s and 1970s, notably influenced by Andy Warhol’s filmic work, duration became a key component of aesthetic experience, grounded in an exploration of the filmic apparatus and seeking to make it analogous to human consciousness. By creating cinematic equivalents or metaphors of consciousness, experimental film brought about a prosthetic vision giving way to solipsistic visual experiences. A futuristic technoscape, Michael Snow’s experimental film La Région centrale (1971) is exemplary in this regard. In the film (as in all of his work), Snow explores the genetic properties of the filmic apparatus, using it to intensify and diminish aspects of normal vision. La Région centrale shows images from the wilderness collected by a machine specifically designed to shoot the film (De La). The machine was able to move in all directions, turn around 360 degrees, and zoom in and out, reaching places no human eye could perceive before. The resulting footage was independent of any human decisions and framing vision: a three-and-a-half hour topological exploration of the wilderness, a “gigantic landscape.”

Because De La extracts gravity from the situation as well as human (preconstructed or given) referential points of view, La Région hypostazises the cubist relativization of identity and difference and its rejection of a priori space. Furthermore, the film puts forth an experience of matter within, decentering the subject, which is constituted by the experience of the work itself. To paraphrase Rosalind Krauss on minimalism, the film subverts the notion of a stable structure that could mirror the viewer’s own self—a self that is completely constituted prior to experience. That is to say, the film formulates a notion of self that exists only at the moment of externality of that particular experience. By presenting every possible position of the framing-camera in relationship to itself, La Région releases the subject from its human coordinates, creating a “space without reference points where the ground and the sky, the horizontal and the vertical inter-exchange.” The references to human coordinates are the screen’s rectangular frame and the breaks made by the intermittent appearance of a big glowing yellow “X” against a black screen. Every time the X comes up, it fixes the screen and transfers the movement in a different way or direction; thus, the Xs are the point of view embodying the apprehension of the passage from chaos to form. In viewing the film, the present is experienced as immediacy, a pure phenomenological consciousness without the contamination of historical or a priori meaning; the world is thus experienced as self-sufficient, pure presence, foregrounding an awareness of the presence of the viewer’s own perceptual processes. As Snow stated:

My films are experiences: real experiences … The structure is obviously important, and one describes it because it’s more easily describable than other aspects, but the shape, with all the other elements, adds up to something which can’t be said verbally and that’s why the work is, why it exists.

In general, experimental film sought to posit alternatives to the mimetical inscription of lived experience into simulacral images (signs) by artistic neovanguardist practices that came to be embedded within the logic of spectacle—not in order to dislodge subjectivity (early modernism) or to constitute subjects by mapping out signs (postmodernism), but by exploring through film the conditions of cognition and perception. And while there is something in the image delivered by La Région that shares something with the condition of thought, it yields a solipsistic subject at the genetic level of perception; beyond auditory or optical perceptions, it delivers motor-sensory perceptions. Therefore, the machine delivers a posthuman, prosthetic enhancement of vision, inaugurating three important developments in the history of perception.

First, the machine introduces the incipient normalization of perception as augmented reality and the solipsistic visualization of data. Second, as Donna Haraway posited, the prosthetic enhancement of vision brings about the notion of limitlessness and an “unregulated gluttony” that desires to see everything from nowhere, spreading the assumption that anything can and is seen. Third, with La Région, machinic vision becomes an epistemological product of a centered human point of view (with the Xs) without stable reference points, foregrounding the conditions of contemporary visuality. While cubism embodies the antihumanist scission of the subject and the possibility of the construction of many psychical planes, La Région embodies the displacement of the human agent from the subjective center of operations. Both epitomize modernity’s fragmentation by mechanization, its alienating character, its inability to give back an image or to serve as a reflective mirror—it can never do this because the antihumanist image is indifferent to me. And yet, this was always going to be the fate of an image and of art based on contemplation. These works also attest to the fact that the foundational experience of modernity is to refuse, in advance, the “given” as a ground for thought.

In the British Channel 4 series Black Mirror, episode “The National Anthem,” the prime minister is blackmailed into raping a pig live on television.

The Transformation of Everything into Data-Images

As previously explained, the Anthropocene era implies not a new image of the world, but the transformation of the world into images. Humanity’s alteration of the biophysical systems of earth is parallel to the rapid modifications of the receptive fields of the human visual cortex announced by cubism and experimental film. This alteration is also accompanied by an unprecedented explosion in the circulation of visibilities, which are actually making the outcome of these alterations opaque. For instance, the exhaustive visualization and documentation of wildlife is actually rendering its ongoing extinction invisible. Aside from having become shields against reality, images are not only substitutes for first-hand experience, but have also become certifiers of reality, and, as Susan Sontag points out, they have extraordinary powers to determine our demands on reality. In discussing the democratization of tourism in the 1970s, Sontag further described tourists’ dependence of photographic cameras for making real their experiences abroad:

Taking photographs … is a way of certifying experience, [but] also a way of refusing it—by limiting experience to a search for the photogenic, by converting experience into an image, a souvenir … The very activity of taking pictures is soothing, and assuages general feelings of disorientation that are likely to be exacerbated by travel.

Almost forty years later, posing for, taking, sharing, liking, forwarding, and looking at images are actions that are not only integral to tourism; they actually give shape to contemporary experience. Arguably, representation has ceased to exist in plain view and manifests itself as experience, event, or the appropriation and sharing of a mediatic space. Instead of representation, we have media objects (i.e., a twitterbot) that purport to provide vague participatory representational events that ground our cultural and social experience. Thus, as Stephen Shaviro points out, in the contemporary world, the opposition between reality-based and image-based modes of presentation breaks down, and the most intense and vivid reality is precisely the reality of images.

In other words, images have in themselves become opaque cognitive and empirical experiences. Each episode of the recent British science-fiction television series Black Mirror explores the implications of this precise phenomena—of images becoming not only an intrinsic part of our empirical experience but also our cognitive experience at large. The “black mirror,” then, is nothing other than the LCD screen through which we give shape to reality.

One of the show’s early episodes, “The Entire History of You” (2011), imagines a world in which almost everyone has a “grain” implanted behind their ear. This grain has the capacity to transform human eyes into cameras that record reality and projectors that can reproduce it, thereby amalgamating lived experience, memory, and image. In a later episode, “Be Right Back” (2013), a woman is able to revive her dead partner with a program that rebuilds him—first his writing habits, then speech patterns, and eventually his very self via a cloned, synthetic body—solely from the proliferation of information he uploaded on the internet when he was alive. The deathless and bodiless information, images, and signs—the inert map of a life—becomes embodied by an avatar that exists in actual, not virtual, reality, and that has the (albeit limited) capacity to exist and interact directly with humans. In the episode, the fabrication of subjectivity from data—which implies the automatization of subjectivity—foreshadows the relationship between determinist automatisms and cognitive activity, which, according to Franco Berardi, is the core goal of the Google Empire: to capture user attention and to translate our cognitive acts into automatic sequences. The consequence is the replacement of cognition by a chain of automated connections, seeking to automatize the subjectivities of users.

Aside from the fact that images and data are taking the place of or giving form to experience, automating our will and thought, they are also transforming things into signs by welding together image and discourse, bringing about a tautological form of vision. With the widespread use of photography and digital imaging, all signs begin to lead to other signs, prompted by the desire to see and to know, to document and to archive information. Thus the fantasy that everything is or can be made visible coexists with the increasing automation of cognition, which, following Franco Berardi, is the basic condition of semiocapital (the valorization and accumulation of signs as economic assets).

In the pilot episode of Black Mirror, “The National Anthem” (2011), an alleged terrorist group kidnaps a nationally beloved British princess in the early morning hours. In order to free her, the anonymous group demands that the prime minister have sex on live television with a pig at four o’clock that same afternoon. The video in which the princess announces the “price” of the ransom goes viral and the whole nation pressures the prime minister to fulfill the kidnappers’ demands. At the end of the episode, postcoitus, it is revealed that the kidnapping was a singular artist’s gesture, intended in its successful implementation to point critically to the obscenely inflated role the media has in shaping public opinion and official policy. The artist’s action, in other words, illuminates the highly visceral shift in power brought on almost instantaneously by the ransom video’s circulation in the infosphere. Insofar as the episode unfolds montages of the whole nation glued to televisions in the pub, workplace, and waiting room at four o’clock, the artist highlights how connective interfaces actually govern, as they have the direct capacity to manipulate and coordinate behavior on almost every level.

Under the conditions of semiocapitalism, images and signs acquire value and/or power by means of being seen, largely through “likes” and retweets. The fact that sign-value has supplanted exchange-value means moreover that we no longer consume material things, but rather swallow cognitive signs embedded in and around them. Aside from consuming “experiences” or “moods,” we buy immaterial commodities (in the name of lifestyle and branding) and consume signs for “equality,” “happiness,” “wellness,” and “fulfillment.” In Don Delillo’s White Noise (1985), Jack Gladney describes a trip to the supermarket and makes clear how the signs found in the brands and labels of products that he and his wife buy have the power to relieve them of the mysteries and anxieties brought about by everyday life:

It seemed to me that Babette and I, in the mass and variety of our purchases, in the sheer plenitude those crowded bags suggested, the weight and size and number, the familiar package designs and vivid lettering, the giant sizes, the family bargain packs with Day-Glo sale stickers, in the sense of replenishment we felt, the sense of well-being, the security and contentment these products brought to some snug home in our souls—it seemed we had achieved a fullness of being that is not known to people who need less, expect less, who plan their lives around lonely walks in the evening.

What becomes evident in this paragraph is Baudrillard’s assertion that objects are no longer commodities whose message and meaning we can appropriate and decipher, but rather, tests that interrogate us. For him, commodities are a referendum, the verification of a code, circularity as well as sameness and homogeneity: here the commodities bring a well-being that reflects the well-being of the consumer and his or her lifestyle. Furthermore, the acceleration in proliferation of cognitive signs since the time of Delillo’s novel is another of the features of communicative capitalism’s subjugation, submitting the mind to an ever-increasing pace of perceptual stimuli, and in so doing generating not only panic and anxiety, but also destroying all possible forms of autonomous subjectivation. Under communicative capitalism, images transformed into signs embody the current concatenation of knowledge and machines—that is, the technological organization of capitalism to produce value. With the enabling of the visualization of data by machines, images have become scientific, managerial, and military instruments of knowledge, and thus of capital and power. In this context, seeing means the accelerating perception of the fields of everyday experiences, or rather, the field of trivial visual analogies of experience: a kind of groundless, accelerated tautological vision derived from passive observation. This is for Berardi another of communicative capitalism’s forms of governance, as this kind of vision generates technolinguistic automatisms by carrying information without meaning, automating thought and the will.

An astronaut floats off in space in this film still from Cuarón’s 2014 movie Gravity.

Images as Cognition and thus Forms of Power

Images circulating in the infosphere are also charged with affect, exposing the viewer to sensations that go beyond everyday perception. Hollywood cinema, for instance, delivers pure sensation and intensities that have no meaning. In Alfonso Cuarón’s Gravity (2013), the main characters try to survive in outer space by solving practical and technical problems. The movie repudiates a point of view and a ground for vision in favor of immersion, transforming images into physical sensations mobilized by the visual and auditory (especially in its 3-D version), and thus into affect. The becoming-affect of images derives from communicative capitalism’s ruthless conversion of sensation and aesthetic experiences into cognition: its transformation of these experiences into information, sensations, and intensities without meaning is precisely what enables them to be exploited as forms of work and sold as new experiences and exciting lifestyle choices. One of the problems that arises is that affect cannot be linked to a larger network of identity and meaning. Gravity also presents itself as a symptom of the normalization of a groundless seeing brought about by modernity’s decentering of the subject parallel to our exposure to aerial images (for example, Google Earth). The hegemonic sight convention of visuality is an empowered, unstable, free-falling, and floating bird’s eye view that mirrors the present moment’s ubiquitous condition of groundlessness.

Installation view of “Voyage(s) en utopie” at the Centre Pompidou, Paris, 2006. Photo: Michael Witt.

According to many thinkers, this groundlessness characterizes the Anthropocene. The current fragmentation and transience of sociopolitical movements attests to the fact that we are first of all lacking ground on which to found politics, our social lives, and our relationship to the environment. Second, as Claire Colebrook put it, with the Anthropocene we are facing human extinction, as well as causing other extinctions, thereby annihilating that which makes us human. We are thus all thrown into a situation of urgent interconnectedness, in which a complex multiplicity of diverging forces and timelines that exceed any manageable point of view converge. In this context, criticality is both in trouble and spinning on its head. Many questions arise: How do we redefine the ground of deterritorialized subjectivation beyond the subsumption of subjectivity by the modes of governance of accelerated tautological forms of vision and communicative capitalism? How can we transform our relationship to the indeterminacy of deterritorialization and the multiplicity of diverging points of view in order to provide a heightened sense of place, giving way to the possibility of collective autonomous subjectivation and thus a new sense of politics and of the image?

In an era of ubiquitous synthetic and digital images dissociated from human vision and directly tied to power and capital, when images and aesthetic experience have been turned into cognition and thus into empty sensations or tautological truths about reality, the image of the Anthropocene is yet to come. The Anthropocene is “the age of man” that announces its own extinction. In other words, the Anthropocene thesis posits “man” as the end of its own destiny. Therefore, while the Anthropocene narrative keeps “man” at its very center, it marks the death of the posthuman and of antihumanism, because there can be no redeeming critical antihumanist or posthuman figure in which either metaphysics or technological and scientific advances would find a way to reconcile human life with ecology. In short, images of the Anthropocene are missing. Thus, it is necessary to transcend our incapacity to imagine an alternative or something better. We can first do this: draw a distinction between images and imagery, or pictures. Although it is related to the optic nerve, the picture does not make an image. In order to make images, it is necessary to make vision assassinate perception; it is necessary to ground vision, and then perform (as in artistic activity) and think vision (as in critical activity).

Jean-Luc Godard and Anne-Marie Miéville, The Old Place, 2001. Film still.

Images to Come

Following Jean-Luc Godard, who operates in his work between the registers of the real, the imaginary, and art, only cinema is capable of delivering images as opposed to imagery, conveying not a subject but the supposition of the subject and thus the verb (substance). Alterity is absolutely necessary for the image, as the image is an intensification of presence—this is why it is able to hold out against all experiences of vision. In this light,Godard’s cinematic project can be interpreted as a conception of the image as a promise of flesh. For Godard, the image is incertitude, it is “trying to see” and the possibility of “giving voices back to their bodies.” For the filmmaker, images do not show; rather, images are a matter of belief and a desire to see (which is different from the desire to know or to possess).

An essay-film Godard made with Anne-Marie Miéville, The Old Place (2001), addresses the Anthropocenic concerns of life after the extinction of man, the current groundlessness of vision, and the lack of images of the world and of humanity. While we see images from outer space, Miéville and Godard discuss “CLIO,” the archaeological bird of the future, a microsatellite sent into space in 2001. The satellite is supposed to come back to earth in five thousand years to inform its future inhabitants about the past. Aside from carrying traditional human forms of knowledge, the bird will deliver messages written by the current inhabitants of the globe addressed to its future inhabitants. Miéville and Godard ponder whether humanist messages such as “Love each other,” or “Eliminate discrimination against women,” will be included in the satellite (they doubt it). Later on, they conclude:

We are all lost in the immensity of the universe and in the depth of our own spirit. There is no way back home, there is no home. The human species has blown up and dispersed in the stars. We can neither deal with the past nor with the present, and the future takes us more and more away from the concept of home. We are not free, as we like to think, but lost.

Here Godard and Miéville paint the termination of a world, its exhaustion and estrangement from its conditions of possibility. As they underscore the lack of a home for the spirit, they highlight the loss of a sense of origin and destination, implying that the active principle of the world has ceased to function. The last line is spoken while we see the image of a mother polar bear staring at her dead cub, followed by an image of Alberto Giacometti’s sculpture L’homme qui marche (Walking Man, 1961): life persists irrationally, not given form by imagination, ceasing to cohere into a higher truth.

In The Old Place, Godard and Miéville explore the image of humanity throughout the Western history of art, underscoring the fact that for two thousand Eurocentric, Christian years, the image was sacred. We also see images of violence, torture, and death juxtaposed with beautiful sculpted and painted figures and faces created throughout all the ages of humanity: people by turns smiling, screaming, or crying.

For Godard and Miéville, the image is also something related to the origin that reveals itself as the new but that had been there all along: an originary landscape always present and inextricable from history. Marking the passage to the current regime of communicative capitalism, where images are permeated by discourse and tautological truths about reality, they state: “The image today is not what we see, but what the caption states.” This is the definition of publicity, which they further link to the transformation of art into market and marketing represented by both Andy Warhol, and by the fact that “The last Citroën will be named Picasso,” which has as a consequence that “The spaces of publicity now occupy the spaces of hope.” And yet, in spite of the ubiquity of communicative capitalism, for them there is something that resists, something that remains in art and in the image. Meanwhile, we see a blank canvas held by four mechanical legs moving furiously. This evokes the resisting image to come; this resisting image is a question of (sensible, un-automated) purity and, in post-Christian secular sense, of the sacred and redemption, of an ambivalent relationship between image and text, foreign to knowledge and intrinsically tied to belief. At the end of The Old Place, the filmmakers posit the Malay legend of A Bao A Qu as the paradigm of the image of these times in which “we are lost without a home,” as they state. “The text of A Bao A Qu is the illustration of this film.” The legend is rewritten by Jorge Luis Borges in his Book of Imaginary Beings:

To see the most lovely landscape in the world, a traveler must climb the Tower of Victory in Chitor. A winding staircase gives access to the circular terrace on top, but only those who do not believe in the legend dare climb the tower. On the stairway there has lived since the beginning of time a being sensitive to the many shades of the human soul known as A Bao A Qu. It sleeps until the approach of a traveler and some secret life within it begins to glow and its translucent body begins to stir. As the traveler climbs the stairs, the being regains consciousness and follows at the traveler’s heels, becoming more intense in bluish color and coming closer to perfection. But it achieves its ultimate form only at the topmost step, and only when the traveler is one who has already attained Nirvana, whose acts cast no shadows. Otherwise, the being hesitates at the final step and suffers at its inability to achieve perfection. As the traveler climbs back down, it tumbles back to the first step and collapses weary and shapeless, awaiting the approach of the next traveler. It is only possible to see it properly when it has climbed half the steps, as it takes a clear shape when its body stretches out in order to help itself climb up. Those who have seen it, say that it can look with all of its body and that at the touch, it reminds one of a peach’s skin. In the course of the centuries, A Bao A Qu has reached the terrace only once.

In their film, Godard and Miéville explore the imprint of the quest of what it means to be human throughout the history of images. Humanity transpires as a mark that is perpetually reinscribed in a form of an address. A Bao A Qu is an inhuman thing activated by the passage of humans wishing to see the most beautiful landscape in the world. The act of vision is a unique event, and what delivers the vision of the landscape and of the creature are the purity and desire of the viewer. A Bao A Qu is an image of alterity; it stares back with all of its body. A Bao A Qu is an antidote to the lack of imagination in our times: an inhuman vision that undermines the narrative that holds the human as the central figure of its ultimate form of vision and destruction.

In the voiceover of his most recent film, Adieu au langage (Farewell to Language, 2014), Godard quotes Rilke: “It is not the animal which is blind, but man. Blinded by consciousness, man is incapable of seeing the world.” With a strident palette and saturated sound, the film evokes abstract, fauvist, cubist, and impressionist painting, and is Godard’s most radically experimental film (as in the genre, because all his work is experimental and radical) to date. Rilke’s quote, together with an aphorism he attributes to Monet, frame Godard’s quest in this film: “It is not about seeing what we see, because we do not see anything, but [it is about] painting what we cannot see.” In parallel, Godard revives the romantic poet’s wish to “describe” immediate reality, to hit the viewer with electroshocks that make a real visible and audible world emerge from language. In the film, as a way to enable a new form of communication beyond tautological digital communication (Godard points out that with texting there is neither the chance to interpret a code nor room for ambiguity) and to reestablish harmony between the couple in the movie who can no longer communicate face to face, Roxy Miéville’s dog appears. Roxy becomes the metaphor for the possibility of an “other” post-anthropocentric language “between” humans. In the movie, the dog asks, “What is man? What is a city? What is war?” Rocky’s comings and goings between the couple bear the possibility of giving back freedom to the face-to-face encounter. Godard compare’s Roxy’s “other” language to the lost language of the poor, the excluded, animals, plants, the handicapped—those who are out of the frame. In sum, the movie is a giant mirror that reflects a grammar of thought that no longer resides in enunciation (and this is the farewell to language): marking the absence of a relationship between the characters by using Roxy—the third person, the post-anthropocentric “other”—as a vehicle of communication.

In both The Old Place and Adieu au langage, Godard addresses spectacular modernity’s (semiocapitalism’s) crisis of visuality, which causes a lack of imagination, or even blindness. He also posits alternatives: an inhuman vision beyond a humanist-centered view, a post-anthropocentric “other.” In contrast to post-humanism, the filmic camera and technology are not what enable vision in these films. Rather, vision is enabled by a mythical being (A Bao A Qu) and by Roxy the dog, which, at the end of Adieu, barks in unison with the cry of a newborn baby, announcing the new to come.

Notes

Werner Herzog, Herzog on Herzog (New York: Faber and Faber, 2003), 164.

Dominic Fox, Cold World: The Aesthetics of Dejection and the Politics of Militant Dysphoria (London: Zero Books, 2009), 1.

Nick Srnieck and Alex Williams, “#ACCELERATE MANIFESTO for an Accelerationist Politics,” May 14, 2013, par. 23 .

Stan Brakhage, “From ‘Metaphors on Vision,’” The Avant-Garde Film: A Reader of Theory and Criticism, ed. P. Adams Sitney(New York: Anthology Film Archives, 1978), 120.

Georges Didi-Huberman, “Picture = Rupture: Visual Experience, Form and Symptom According to Carl Einstein,” Papers of Surrealism 7 (2007): 5.

Ibid., 6.

Anthology Film Archives is a theater in New York where in the late sixties and early seventies filmmakers and artists (Snow amongst them) would gather to watch films. At the time, the theater had wing-like chairs that isolated the viewer sensorially in order to “equate” her field of vision to the screen, thereby delivering a solipsistic experience.

Michael Snow, The Michael Snow Project: The Collected Writings of Michael Snow (Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 1994), 56.

Krauss, 50.

Gilles Deleuze, Cinema I: The Movement-Image (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1986), 84.

Snow, The Michael Snow Project, 44.

Deleuze, Cinema I, 85.

Donna Haraway, “Situated Knowledges: The Science Question in Feminism and the Privilege of Partial Perspective” Feminist Studies, vol. 14, no. 3 (Autumn 1988): 575–99, 582.

Didi-Huberman, “Picture = Rupture,” 9.

Melissa McMahon, “Beauty: Machinic Repetition in the Age of Art,” in A Shock to Thought: Expression After Deleuze and Guattari, ed. Brian Massumi (London: Routledge, 2002), 4.

Ibid., 8.

Rob Nixon, Slow Violence and the Environmentalism of the Poor (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2011), 12.

Susan Sontag, On Photography (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1977), 80.

Ibid., 177

Stephen Shaviro, “Post-Cinematic Affect: On Grace Jones, Boarding Gate and Southland Tales,” Film Philosophy 14.1 (2010): 12.

Franco “Bifo” Berardi, “The Neuroplastic Dilemma: Consciousness and Evolution,” e-flux journal 60 (Dec. 2014): pars. 21–23 .

Ibid., par. 3.

Franco “Bifo” Berardi, The Uprising: On Poetry and Finance (New York: Semiotexte, 2012), 15.

Don Delillo, White Noise (New York: Picador, 2002), 20.

Jean Baudrillard,“Toward a Critique of the Political Economy of the Sign,” trans. Carl R. Lovitt and Denise Klopsch, SubStance, vol. 5, no. 15 (1976): 111–116.

Franco “Bifo” Berardi, “Accelerationism Questioned from the Point of View of the Body” e-flux journal 46 (June 2013): par. 11 .

Benjamin Bratton,“Some Trace Effects of the Post-Anthropocene: On Accelerationist Geopolitical Aesthetics,” e-flux journal 46 (June 2013): par. 16 .

Berardi, The Uprising, 41.

Shaviro, “Post-Cinematic Affect,” par. 14.

Hito Steyerl, “In Free Fall: A Thought Experiment on Vertical Perspective,” e-flux journal 24 (April 2011): par. 6 .

Claire Colebrook and Cary Wolfe, “Dialogue on the Anthropocene,” Haus der Kulturen der Welt, Berlin, Jan. 23, 2013 .

Serge Daney, “Before and After the Image,” Revue des Études Palestiniennes 40 (Summer 1991): par. 2 .

Didi-Huberman, “Picture = Rupture,” 17.

Georges Didi-Huberman, “The Supposition of the Aura: The Now, the Then, and Modernity,” Walter Benjamin and History, ed. Andrew Benjamin (New York: Continuum, 2006), 8.

Daney, “Before and After the Image,” par. 2.

Fox, Cold World, 7.

Ibid., 70.

I have been unable to locate the author, title, date and location of this evocative mechanical sculpture.

Jorge Luis Borges, The Book of Imaginary Beings, trans. Andrew Hurley (New York: Viking, 1967), 2.

I would like to thank π who knows why and Romi Mikulinski for her feedback and comments on an earlier version of this essay, which is a chapter from Art in the Anthropocene: Encounters Among Aesthetics, Politics, Environments and Epistemologies, eds. Heather Davis and Etienne Turpin (Ann Arbor: Open Humanities Press, forthcoming 2015).

Irmgard Emmelhainz is an independent translator, writer, researcher, and lecturer based in Mexico City. Her work about film, the Palestine Question, art, cinema, culture, and neoliberalism has been translated to Italian, French, English, Arabic, Turkish, Hebrew, and Serbian and she has presented it at an array of international venues. She is member of the editorial board of Scapegoat Journal, and has recently finished a book on neoliberalism as a sensibility and common sense embedded in urban planning, work and life, culture, social movements, mourning, and women’s struggle.

Humanity’s Endgame

A new history of societal collapse by an expert in existential risk argues that our globalized society is edging toward the precipice.

Illustration by Nicolas Ortega for Noema Magazine.

Nicolas Ortega for Noema Magazine

By Henry Wismayer

Henry Wismayer is a writer based in London.

LONDON — There are 8 million artifacts in the British Museum. But to commence his tale of existential jeopardy, risk expert Luke Kemp made a beeline for just two items housed in a single room. On a visit in early fall, beyond a series of first-floor galleries displaying sarcophagi from pharaonic Egypt, we stopped beside a scatter of human bones.

The exhibit comprised two of the 64 skeletons unearthed from the sands of Jebel Sahaba, in northern Sudan, in 1964. Believed to be over 13,000 years old, the bodies in this prehistoric cemetery were significant for what they revealed about how their owners died. Of those 64 skeletons, at least 38 showed signs of violent deaths: caved-in skulls, forearm bones with parry fractures from victims staving off blows, or other injuries. Whether a result of organized warfare, intercommunal conflict or even outright massacre, Jebel Sahaba is widely considered to be some of the earliest evidence of mass violence in the archaeological record.

According to Kemp, these shattered bones were a foreshadowing of another object in this room. Ten feet away, displayed at knee-height, was the Palette of Narmer. Hewn from a tapering tablet of grey-green siltstone, the item on display was an exact cast of the 5,000-year-old original — discovered by British archaeologists in 1898 — that now sits in Cairo’s Egyptian Museum.

At the center of the stone stands the giant figure of Narmer, the first king of Egypt. His left hand clasps the head of an enemy, presumed to be a rival ruler of the Western Delta. In his raised right hand he holds a mace. The image is thought to depict Narmer bludgeoning his greatest opponent to death, an act that solidified his sovereignty over all Egypt. Beneath his feet lie the contorted bodies of two other victims, while overhead a falcon presents Narmer with a ribbon, believed to represent the god Horus bestowing a gift of the Western Nile. “Here we have perfect historical evidence of what the social contract is. It’s written in blood,” Kemp told me. “This is the first depiction of how states are made.”

In the British Museum’s repository of ancient treasures and colonial loot, the palette is by no means a star attraction. For the half hour we spent in the room, few visitors gave it more than a passing glance. But to Kemp, its imagery “is the most important artwork in the world” — a blueprint for every city-state, nation and empire that has ever been carved out by force of arms, reified in stone and subsequently turned to dust.

Systematizing Collapse

When Kemp set out seven years ago to write his book about how societies rise and fall — and why he fears that our own is headed for disaster — one biblical event provided him with the perfect allegory: the story of the Battle of the Valley of Elah, recounted in 1 Samuel 17. Fought between the Israelites and the Philistines in the 11th century BCE, it’s a tale more commonly known by the names of its protagonists, David and Goliath.

Goliath, we are told, was a Philistine warrior standing “six cubits and a span,” or around 9 feet, 9 inches, clad in the alloy of copper and tin armor that would give his epoch its name: the Bronze Age. As the rival armies faced off across the valley, the giant stepped onto the battlefield and laid down a challenge that the conflict should be resolved in single combat.

For 40 days, Goliath goaded his enemy to nominate a champion, until a shepherd named David came forward from the Israelite ranks, strung a stone into his slingshot and catapulted it into Goliath’s brow, killing him at a stroke, and taking his head with the giant’s own sword. For centuries thereafter, the story of David and Goliath has served as a parable challenging the superiority of physical might. Even the most impressive entity has hidden frailties. A colossus can be felled by a single blow.

According to Kemp’s new book, “Goliath’s Curse,” it’s a lesson we would do well to heed. Early on, he dispenses with the word “civilization,” because in his telling, there is little that might be considered civil about how states are born and sustained. Instead, he argues that “Goliath” is a more apposite metaphor for the kind of exploitative, hierarchical systems that have grown to organize human society.

“‘Goliath’ is a more apposite metaphor for the kind of exploitative, hierarchical systems that have grown to organize human society.”

Like the Philistine warrior, the Goliath state is defined by its size; in time, centralized polities would evolve to dwarf the hunter-gatherer societies that prevailed for the first 300,000 years of Homo sapiens. Ostensibly, it is well-armored and intimidating, exerting power through the threat and exercise of violence. And, in kind with the biblical colossus, it is vulnerable: Those characteristics that most project strength, like autocracy and social complexity, conceal hidden weaknesses. (A more modern allegory, Kemp writes, can be found in the early Star Wars movies, in which a moon-sized space station with the capacity to blow up a planet can be destroyed by a well-placed photon torpedo.)

Kemp is, of course, by no means the first scholar to try to chart this violence and vulnerability through the ages. The question of what causes societies to fail is arguably the ultimate mission of big-picture history, and a perennial cultural fixation. In the modern era, the historian Jared Diamond has found fame with his theories that collapse is usually a product of geographical determinism. The “Fall of Civilizations” podcast, hosted by the historian Paul Cooper, has over 220 million listens. Perusing a bookshop recently, I spotted a recent release, entitled “A Brief History of the End of the F*cking World,” among the bestsellers.

What distinguishes Kemp’s book from much of the canon is the consistencies he identifies in how different political entities evolved, and the circumstances that precipitated their fall. A panoramic synthesis of archaeology, psychology and evolutionary biology, “Goliath’s Curse” is, above all, an attempt to systematize collapse. Reviewers have hailed the book as a skeleton key to understanding societal precarity. Cooper has described it as “a masterpiece of data-driven collapsology.”

Moreover, it is a sobering insight into why our own globalized society feels like it is edging toward the precipice. That’s because, despite all the features that distinguish modern society from empires of the past, some rules hold true throughout the millennia.

Becoming ‘Dr. Doom’

In September, Kemp traveled down from Cambridge to meet me in London for the day. Given his subject, I half-expected a superannuated and eccentric individual, someone like Diamond with his trademark pilgrim-father beard and penchant for European chamber music. But Kemp, 35, would prove to be the antithesis of the anguished catastrophist. The man waiting for me on the concourse at King’s Cross was athletic, swarthily handsome and lantern-jawed. He’d signed off emails regarding our plans to meet with a puckish “Cheerio.”

Kemp’s background is also hardly stereotypical of the bookish scholar. He spent his early years in the dairy-farming town of Bega in New South Wales, Australia, where cattle outnumbered people three-to-one. It was “something of a broken home,” he told me. His father was an active member of the Hell’s Angels, involved in organized crime, a formative presence that would later germinate Kemp’s interest in power dynamics, the way violence is at once a lever for domination and for ruin.

Escaping to Canberra, after high school, Kemp read “interdisciplinary studies” at the Australian National University (ANU), where he found a mentor in the statistical climatologist Jeanette Lindsay. In 2009, it was Lindsay who persuaded him to join a student delegation heading to COP15 in Copenhagen, where Kemp found himself with a front row seat to what he calls “the paralysis of geopolitics.”

At one stage, during a symposium over measures to curb deforestation, he watched his own Australian delegation engage in endless circumlocutions to derail the debate. Representatives from wealthier countries, most notably America, had large teams that they could swap in and out of the floor, enabling them to filibuster vital, potentially existential questions to a deadlock. “If you’re from Tuvalu, you don’t have that privilege,” Kemp explained.

Afterward, Kemp became preoccupied by “a startling red thread” evident in so many spheres of international negotiation: the role of America as arbiter of, and all too often barrier to, multilateral cooperation. Kemp wrote his doctoral thesis on how pivotal issues — such as biodiversity loss, nuclear weapons and climate change — had grown captive to the whims of the world’s great superpower. Later, when he published a couple of academic articles on the same subject, “the ideas weren’t very popular,” he said. “Then Trump got elected, and suddenly the views skyrocketed.”

In 2018, Kemp relocated to the United Kingdom, landing a job as a research affiliate at Cambridge University’s “Centre for the Study of Existential Risk” (CSER, often articulated, in an inadvertent nod to a historical avatar of unalloyed power, to “Caesar”). His brother’s congratulatory present, a 3-D printed, hand-engraved mask of the Marvel character “Dr. Doom,” would prove prophetic. Years later, as Kemp began to publish his theories of societal collapse, colleagues at CSER began referring to him by the very same moniker.

“Goliath hierarchies select for assholes — or, to use Kemp’s preferred epithet, ‘dark triad’ personalities: people with high levels of psychopathy, narcissism and Machiavellianism.”

It was around this time that Kemp read “Against the Grain,” a revisionist history of nascent conurbations by James C. Scott. Kemp had always been an avid reader of history, but Scott’s thesis, which argued that the growth of centralized states “hadn’t been particularly emancipatory or even necessarily good for human wellbeing,” turned some of Kemp’s earlier assumptions about human nature on their head.

Such iconoclastic ideas — subsequently popularized in blockbuster works of non-fiction like Rutger Bregman’s “Humankind” (2019), and “The Dawn of Everything” (2021) by Graeber and Wengrove — would prompt years of research and rumination about the preconditions that enable states and empires to rise, and why they never last forever.

‘Hobbes’ Delusion’

“Goliath’s Curse” opens with a refutation of a 17th-century figure whose theories still cast a long shadow across all considerations of societal fragility. In “Leviathan” (1651), the English philosopher Thomas Hobbes proposed that the social contract was contingent on the stewardship of a central authority — a “Leviathan” designed to keep a lid on humanity’s basest instincts. Political scientists refer to this doctrine as “veneer theory.”

“Once civilization is peeled away, chaos spreads like brushfire,” Kemp surmises. “Whether it be in post-apocalyptic fiction, disaster movies or popular history books, collapse is often portrayed as a Hobbesian nightmare.”

For decades now, the predominant version of history has been beholden to this misanthropic worldview. Many of the most influential recent theories of collapse have echoed Hobbes’ grand theory with specific exemplars. Diamond has famously argued that the society on Rapa Nui, or Easter Island, unraveled due to self-inflicted ecocide before devolving into civil war. That interpretation, in which the islanders deforested the land in the service of ancestor worship, has since been held up as a species-wide admonition — evidence, as researchers John Flenley and Paul Bahn have written, that “humankind’s covetousness is boundless. Its selfishness appears to be genetically inborn.” In “The Better Angels of Our Nature” (2011), Steven Pinker estimated that 15% of Paleolithic people died of violent causes.

But Kemp was struck by a persistent “lack of empirics” undermining these hypotheses, an academic tendency to focus on a handful of “cherry-picked” and emotive case studies — often on islands, in isolated communities or atypical environments that failed to provide useful analogs for the modern world. Diamond’s theories about the demise of Rapa Nui — so often presented as a salutary cautionary tale —have since been debunked.

To further rebut such ideas, Kemp highlights a 2013 study by the anthropologists Jonathan Haas and Matthew Piscitelli of Chicago’s Field Museum. In what amounted to the most comprehensive survey of violence in prehistory, the authors analyzed almost 3,000 skeletons interred during the Paleolithic Era. Of the more than 400 sites in the survey, they identified just one instance of mass conflict: the bones of Jebel Sahaba. “The presumed universality of warfare in human history and ancestry may be satisfying to popular sentiment; however, such universality lacks empirical support,” Haas and Piscitelli wrote.

If there was any truth to the Hobbesian standpoint, the Paleolithic, with its absence of stratified social structures, should have been marked by mass panic and all-out war. Yet the hunter-gatherer period appears to have been a time of relative, if fragile, peace. Instead, conflict and mass violence seemed to be by-products of the very hierarchical organization that Hobbes and his antecedents essentialized. Cave art of armies wielding bows and swords dates only to around 10,000 years ago. “As soon as you start tugging on the threat of collapse, the entire tapestry of history unravels,” Kemp told me.

But if Hobbes was wrong about the human condition — if most people are averse to violence, if mass panic and mutual animosity are not the principal vectors of societal disintegration — what then explains the successive state failures in the historical record? Where or what, to mix metaphors, is Goliath’s Achilles’ heel?

What Fuels Goliath?

In seeking to disentangle a template of collapse from this historiography, Kemp turned to historical data, searching for traits of state emergence and disintegration shared by different polities. “When I see a pattern which needs to be explained, it becomes a fascination bordering upon obsession,” he told me.

A central pillar of his research was the Seshat Global History Databank, an open-source database incorporating more than 862 polities dating back to the early Neolithic. Named after the Egyptian goddess of wisdom, Seshat includes a range of metrics like the degree of centralization and the presence of different types of weaponry; it aggregates these to create nine “complexity characteristics” (CCs), including polity size, hierarchy, governmental framework and infrastructure.

“Wherever Goliath took hold, ‘arms races’ followed, as other status-seeking aspirants jostled for hegemony. And Goliaths were contagious.”

Using this and other sources, Kemp set out to collate his own novel dataset, this time focusing on the common features not of complexity, but of collapse. In keeping with Seshat’s old-god nomenclature, he dubbed it the “Mortality of States” index, shortened to “Moros”, after the Greek god of doom. Covering 300 states spanning the last five millennia, the resulting catalogue is, Kemp claims, “the most exhaustive list of state lifespans available today.”

To some extent, Kemp’s data told a story that has become received wisdom: As Earth thawed out from the last ice age, we entered the Holocene, a period of warmer temperatures and climatic stability. This shift laid the terrain for the first big inflection point: the advent of agriculture, which encouraged our previously itinerant species to settle in place, leading to greater population density and eventually proto-city-states. These early states rose and fell, often condemned by internal conflict, climatic shocks, disease or natural disasters. But gradually the organization of human societies trended toward higher levels of complexity, from the diffuse proto-city-states, through the birth of nations, then empires, to the globalized system of today. The violent paroxysms of the past were merely hiccups on a continuum toward increased sophistication and civility, and perhaps someday immortality. Such is the tale that is commonly framed as the arc of human progress.

But trawling through the data in more detail also revealed unexpected and recurrent patterns, leading Kemp to an early realization: states observably age. “For the first 200 years, they seem to become more vulnerable to terminating. And after 200 years, they stay at a high risk thereafter,” Kemp told me.

The other glaring commonality concerned the structure of these societies. “The common thread across all of them is not necessarily that they had writing or long-distance trade,” Kemp said. “Instead, it’s that they were organized into dominance hierarchies in which one person or one group gains hegemony through its ability to inflict violence on others.”

Kemp argues that dominance hierarchies arise due to the presence of three “Goliath fuels.” The first of these is “lootable resources,” assets that can be easily seen, stolen and stored. In this respect, the advent of agriculture was indisputably foundational. Cereal grains like wheat and rice could be taxed and stockpiled, giving rise to centralized authorities and, later, bureaucracies of the state.

The second Goliath fuel is “monopolizable weapons.” As weaponry evolved from flint to bronze, the expertise and relative scarcity of the source material required for early metallurgy meant that later weapons could be hoarded by powerful individuals or groups, giving those who controlled the supply chain a martial advantage over potential rivals.

The third criterion for Goliath evolution is “caged land,” territories with few exit options. Centralized power is predicated on barriers that hinder people from fleeing oppressive hierarchies.

In Kemp’s telling, every single political entity has grown from one of these seeds, or more commonly, a combination of all three. Bronze Age fiefdoms expanded at the tip of their metal weaponry. “Rome,” Kemp writes, “was an autocratic machine for turning grain into swords,” its vast armies sustained by crop imports from the Nile Valley, its endless military campaigns funded by the silver mines it controlled in Spain. In China, the Han dynasty circumscribed its territory with its Great Wall to the north, intended both to keep Xiongnu horseback raiders out and the citizenry in. Europe’s colonial empires were built, in Diamond’s famous summation, by “Guns, Germs and Steel.”

For millennia, the nature of forager societies kept these acquisitive impulses to some extent contained, Kemp argues. The evolutionary logic of hunting and gathering demanded cooperation and reciprocity, giving rise to “counter-dominance strategies”: teasing, shaming or exile. With the advent of Goliath polities, however, the “darker angels of our nature” were given free rein, yielding social arrangements “more like the dominance hierarchies of gorillas and chimpanzees.”

“Rather than a stepladder of progress,” Kemp writes, “this movement from civilization to Goliath is better described as evolutionary backsliding.” Moreover, Goliaths “contain the seeds of their own demise: they are cursed. This is why they have collapsed repeatedly throughout history.”

In Kemp’s narrative, our retrograde rush toward these vicious social structures has been less about consensus than the relentless ascent of the wrong sort of people. Goliath hierarchies select for assholes — or, to use Kemp’s preferred epithet, “dark triad” personalities: people with high levels of psychopathy, narcissism and Machiavellianism. Consequently, history has been shaped by pathological figures in the Narmer mold, dominance-seekers predisposed to aggression. Reinforced by exceptionalist and paranoid ideologies, these strongmen have used violence and patronage to secure their dominion, whether driven by a lust for power or to avenge a humiliation. Several of the rebellions that plagued dynastic China, Kemp points out, were spearheaded by aggrieved people who failed their civil service examinations.

“Whether societies collapsed through gradual depopulation, like Çatalhöyük, or abruptly, as with Teotihuacan’s conflagration, Kemp argues that the triggers were the same.”

Wherever Goliath took hold, “arms races” followed, as other status-seeking aspirants jostled for hegemony. And Goliaths were contagious. The growth of “one bellicose city-state” would often produce a domino effect, in which the threat of an ascendant Goliath would provoke other regional polities to turn to their own in-house authoritarian as a counterweight to the authoritarian next door.

In this way, humankind gravitated “from hunting and gathering to being hunted and gathered,” Kemp writes. Early states had little to distinguish them from “criminal gangs running protection rackets.” Many of the great men of history, who are often said to have bent society to their will, Kemp told me, are better thought of as “a rollcall of serial killers.”

The 1% View Of History

Back downstairs, on the British Museum’s ground floor, we walked into a long gallery off the central atrium containing dozens of megalithic totems from the great ages of antiquity. The giant granite bust of Rameses II sat beatific on a pediment, and visitors peered into a glass cabinet containing the Rosetta Stone. Kemp, slaloming through the crowds, murmured: “The 1% view of history made manifest.”

Along both walls of an adjacent corridor, we came upon a series of bas-reliefs from the neo-Assyrian city of Nimrud, in modern-day Iraq. Depicting scenes from the life of the Ashurnasirpal II, who ruled Nimrud in the 9th century BCE, the gypsum slabs were like an artistic expression of Kemp’s historical themes: Ashurnasirpal sitting on a throne before vassals bearing tribute; Ashurnasirpal surrounded by protective spirits; Ashurnasirpal’s army ramming the walls of an enemy city, rivals dragging themselves along the ground, backs perforated with arrows. The entire carving was overlaid with cuneiform script, transcribed onto signage below, with sporadic sentences translated into English: “great king, strong king, king of the universe. … Whose command disintegrates mountains and seas.

Across the atrium, in a low-lit room containing a bequest from the Rothschild family’s antique collection, Kemp lingered over an assortment of small wooden altarpieces, with biblical scenes and iconography carved in minuscule, intricate detail. Elite status could be projected in the imposing size of a granite statue, he said. But it could just as well be archived in the countless hours spent chiseling the Last Supper into a fragment of boxwood.

It is, of course, inevitable that our sense of history is skewed by this elite bias, Kemp explained. While quotidian objects and utensils were typically made of perishable materials, the palaces and monuments of the governing class were designed to be beautiful, awe-inspiring and durable. In the hours that we spent on the upper floors, we spied just one relic of ordinary life: a 3,000-year-old wooden yoke from Cambridgeshire.

Likewise, early writing often evolved to reinforce the “1% view of history” and formalize modes of control. The predominance of this elite narrative has produced a cultural blind spot, obscuring the brutality and oppression that has forever been the lot of those living at the base of a pyramid, both figurative and actual.

From all this aristocratic residue, Kemp sought to extract a “people’s history of collapse” — some means of inferring what it was like to live through collapse for the average person, rather than the elites immortalized in scripture and stone.

The Curse Of Inequality

If Kemp’s research revealed that historical state formation appears to follow a pattern, so, too, did the forces that inexorably led toward their demise. To illustrate how the process works, Kemp provides the example of Çatalhöyük, a proto-city that arose on the Konya Plain in south-central Turkey around 9,000 years ago, one of thousands of “tells,” mounded remnants of aborted settlements found throughout the Near East.

Excavations of the site’s oldest layers suggest that early Çatalhöyük was notable for its lack of social differentiation. Crammed together in a dense fractal of similarly sized mud-brick dwellings, the settlement in this period exhibits no remnants of fortification and no signs of warfare. Analysis of male and female skeletons has shown that both sexes ate the same diet and performed the same work, indicating a remarkable degree of gender equity.

This social arrangement, which the Stanford archaeologist Ian Hodder has described as “aggressively egalitarian,” lasted for around 1,000 years. Then, in the middle of the 7th millennium BCE, the archaeological record starts to shift. House sizes begin to diverge; evidence of communal activity declines. Later skeletal remains show more evidence of osteoarthritis, possibly betraying higher levels of workload and bodily stress. Economists have estimated that the Gini coefficient, which measures disparities in household income, doubled in the space of three centuries — “a larger jump than moving from being as equal as the Netherlands to as lopsided as Brazil,” Kemp writes. Within a few centuries, the settlement was abandoned.

“In almost every case, [societal] decline or collapse was foreshadowed by increases in the appearance of proxies of inequality.”

The fate of Çatalhöyük established a template that almost every subsequent town, city-state and empire would mirror. Its trajectory resounds throughout the historical record and across continents. Similar patterns can be discerned from the remnants of the Jenne-Jeno in Mali, the Olmecs of Mesoamerica, the Tiwanaku in Titicaca, and the Cahokia in pre-Columbian North America.

Occasionally, the archaeological record suggests a fluctuation between equality and disparity and back again. In Teotihuacan, near today’s Mexico City, the erection of the Feathered Serpent Pyramid by an emergent priestly class in around 200 CE ushered in a period of ritual bloodletting. A more egalitarian chapter followed, during which the temple was razed, and the city’s wealth was rechanneled into urban renewal. Then the old oligarchy reasserted itself, and the entire settlement, beset by elite conflict or popular rebellion, was engulfed in flames.

Whether societies collapsed through gradual depopulation, like Çatalhöyük, or abruptly, as with Teotihuacan’s conflagration, Kemp argues that the triggers were the same. As Acemoğlu and Robinson explored in “Why Nations Fail” (2012), the correlation between inequality and state failure often rests on whether its institutions are inclusive, involving democratic decision-making and redistribution, or extractive: “designed to extract incomes and wealth from one subset of society to benefit a different subset.” Time and again, the historical record shows the same pattern repeating — of status competition and resource extraction spiraling until a tipping-point, often in the shape of a rebellion, or an external shock, like a major climate shift or natural disaster, which the elites, their decision-making fatally undermined by the imperative to maintain their grip on power, fail to navigate.

In almost every case, decline or collapse was foreshadowed by increases in the appearance of proxies of inequality. A rise in the presence of large communal pots indicates an upsurge in feasting. Deviation in the size of dwellings, preserved in the excavated footprints of early conurbations, is a measure of social stratification, as wealth accumulates among the elite. Graves of that same nobility become stuffed with burial goods. Great monuments, honoring political and religious leaders or the gods who were supposed to have anointed them, proliferate. Many of the most lucrative lootable resources throughout history have been materials that connote elevated social standing, an obsession with conspicuous consumption or “wastefully using resources,” that marked a break from the hunter-gatherer principle of taking only what was needed. (Kemp wears a reminder of the human compulsion to covet beauty as much as utility, an obsidian arrowhead, on his wrist.)

All the while, these signs of burgeoning inequality have tended to be twinborn with an increasing concentration of power, and its corollary: violence. War, often instigated for no more reason than the pursuit of glory and prestige, was just “the continuation of status competition by other means,” Kemp writes. On occasion, this violence would be manifested in the ultimate waste of all: human sacrifice, a practice custom-made to demonstrate the leadership’s exceptionality — above ordinary morality.

Better Off Stateless

As Kemp dug into the data in more detail, his research substantiated another startling paradox. Societal collapse, though invariably catastrophic for elites, has often proved to be a boon for the population at large.

Here again, Kemp found that the historiography is subject to pervasive and fallacious simplifications. In his book, he repudiates the 14th-century Tuscan scholar Petrarch, who promulgated the notion that the fall of classical Rome and Greece ushered in a “dark age” of cultural atrophy and barbarism. His was a reiteration of sentiments found in many earlier examples of “lamentation literature,” left behind on engraved tablets and sheaves of papyrus, which have depicted collapse as a Gomorran hellscape. One of Kemp’s favorites is the “Admonitions of Ipuwer,” which portrays the decline of Egypt’s Old Kingdom as a time of social breakdown, civil war and cannibalism. “But it actually spends a lot more time fretting about poor people becoming richer,” he said.

In reality, Kemp contends, Petrarch’s “rise-and-fall vision of history is spectacularly wrong.” For if collapse often engulfed ancient polities “like a brushfire,” the scorched earth left behind was often surprisingly fertile. Again, osteoarcheology, the study of ancient bones, gives the lie to the idea that moments of societal disintegration always spelled misery for the population at large.

Take human height, which archaeologists often turn to as a biophysical indicator of general health. “We can look at things like did they have cavities in their teeth, did they have bone lesions,” Kemp explained. “Skeletal remains are a good indicator of how much exercise people were getting, how good their diet was, whether there was lots of disease.”

“Societal collapse, though invariably catastrophic for elites, has often proved to be a boon for the population at large.”

Prior to the rise of Rome, for example, average heights in regions that would subsequently fall under its yoke were increasing. As the empire expanded, those gains stalled. By the end of the Western Empire, people were eight centimeters shorter than they would have been if the preceding trends had continued. “The old trope of the muscle-bound Germanic barbarian is somewhat true. To an Italian soldier, they would have seemed very large,” Kemp said. People in the Mediterranean only started to get taller again following Rome’s decline. (In a striking parenthesis, Kemp points out that the average male height today remains two centimeters shorter than that of our Paleolithic forebears.)

Elsewhere, too, collapse was not necessarily synonymous with popular immiseration. The demise of the extravagant Mycenaean civilization in Greece was pursued by a cultural efflorescence, paving the way for the proto-democracy of Athens. Collapse could be emancipatory, freeing the populace from instruments of state control such as taxes and forced labor. Even the Black Death, which killed as much as half of Europe’s population in the mid-14th century, became in time an economic leveler, slashing inequality and accelerating the decline of feudalism.

It’s a pattern that can still be discerned in modern contexts. In Somalia, the decade following the fall of the Barre regime in 1991 would see almost every single indicator of quality of life improve. “Maternal mortality drops by 30%, mortality by 24%, extreme poverty by 20%,” Kemp recounted from memory. Of course, there are endless caveats. But often, “people are better off stateless.”

Invariably, however, Goliaths re-emerged, stronger and more bureaucratically sophisticated than before. Colonial empires refined systems of extraction and dominance until their tentacles covered diffuse expanses of the globe. Kemp, never shy of metaphor, calls this the “rimless wheel,” a centripetal arrangement in which the core reaps benefits at the margins’ expense.

At times, such regimes were simply continuations of existing models of extraction. In 1521, when the Spanish conquistador Hernán Cortés unseated the Aztec ruler Moctezuma II, it was merely a case of “translatio imperi” — the handing over of empire. The European imperial projects in the Americas were an unforgivable stain, Kemp said. But, more often than not, they assumed the mantle from pre-existing hierarchies.

Endgame

In the afternoon, we walked north from the British Museum over to Coal Drops Yard, formerly a Victorian entrepôt for the import and distribution of coal, now a shiny vignette of urban regeneration. The morning rain had cleared, and Granary Square was full of tourists and office workers enjoying the late summer sun. Kids stripped to their underwear and played among low fountains; people chatted at public tables beneath a matrix of linden trees. Kemp and I found an empty table and sat down to talk about how it could all fall apart.

As “Goliath’s Curse” approaches its conclusion, the book betrays a sense of impending doom about our current moment. The final section, in which Kemp applies his schema to the present day, is entitled “Endgame,” after the stage in chess where only a few moves remain.

Today, we live in what Kemp calls the “Global Goliath,” a single interconnected polity. Its lootable resources are data, fossil fuels and the synthetic fertilizers derived from petrochemicals. Centuries of arms races have yielded an arsenal of monopolizable weapons like autonomous drones and thermonuclear warheads that are “50 trillion times more powerful than a bow and arrow.” The land — sectored into national borders, monitored by a “stalker complex” of mass surveillance systems and “digital trawl-nets” — is more caged than ever.

We have reached the apotheosis of the colonial age, a time when extractive institutions and administrative reach have been so perfected that they now span the globe. However, the resulting interdependencies and fetishes for unending growth have created an ever-growing catalog of “latent risks,” or accumulated hazards yet to be realized, and “tail risks,” or outcomes with a low probability but disastrous consequences. Kemp characterizes this predicament, in which the zenith of human achievement is also our moment of peak vulnerability, as a “rungless ladder.” The higher we go, the greater the fall.

“We have reached the apotheosis of the colonial age, a time when extractive institutions and administrative reach have been so perfected that they now span the globe.”

Under a series of apocalyptic subtitles — “Mors ex Machina,” “Evolutionary Suicide,” “A Hellish Earth” — Kemp enumerates the existential threats that have come to shape the widespread intuition, now playing out in our geopolitics, that globalized society is sprinting toward disaster. After the post-Cold War decades of non-proliferation, nuclear weapons stockpiles are now growing. The architects of artificial intelligence muse about its potential to wipe out humanity while simultaneously lobbying governments to obstruct regulation. Our densifying cities have become prospective breeding grounds for doomsday diseases. Anthropogenic climate change now threatens to shatter the stability of the Holocene, warming the planet at “an order of magnitude (tenfold) faster than the heating that triggered the world’s greatest mass extinction event, the Great Permian Dying, which wiped away 80–90% of life on earth 252 million years ago,” Kemp warns.

The culprits in this unfolding tragedy are not to be found among the ranks of common people. The free market has always been predicated on the concept of Homo economicus, a notional figure governed by dispassionate self-interest. But while most people don’t embody this paradigm, we are in thrall to political structures and corporations created in that image, with Dark Triad personalities at the wheel. “The best place to find a psychopath is in prison,” Kemp told me. “The second is in the boardroom.”

Now, deep into the Global Goliath’s senescence, several of the indicators that Kemp identifies as having historically presaged collapse — egalitarian backsliding, diminishing returns on extraction, the rise of oligarchy — are flashing red. Donning his risk analyst hat, Kemp arrives at the darkest possible prognosis: The most likely destination for our globalized society is “self-termination,” self-inflicted collapse on a hitherto unprecedented scale. Goliath is more powerful than ever, but it is on a collision course with David’s stone.

Lootable Silicon

All of this seemed hard to reconcile with the atmosphere of contented civility in Granary Square on this sunny September afternoon. I proposed that an advocate for global capitalism would doubtless view our current circumstances as evidence of the Global Goliath’s collective, trickle-down bounty.

“We should be thankful for a whole bunch of things that started, by and large, in the Industrial Revolution,” Kemp said. “Vaccines, the eradication of smallpox, low infant mortality and the fact that over 80% of the population is literate. These are genuine achievements to be celebrated.”

Kemp argued that most redistribution has been a product of “stands against domination”; for example, the formation of unions, public health movements and other campaigns for social justice. Meanwhile, underlying prosperity still depends on the rimless wheel: the hub exploiting the periphery. “If we were here 150 years ago, we’d be seeing child laborers working in these courtyards,” he said, gesturing at the former coal warehouses that are now an upmarket shopping mall and that once served as a nerve center of the fossil fuel industry that built the modern age.

The same dynamics hold sway today, albeit at a further remove. Just south of us, across the Regent’s Canal, sat the London headquarters of Google, a billion-dollar glass edifice. At first glance, Kemp gave the building an enthusiastic middle finger.

Later, he explained: “The people sitting in that building are probably having a pretty good time. They have lots of ping pong tables and Huel. But the cobalt that they’re using in their microchips is still often dug up by artisanal miners in the Democratic Republic of Congo, getting paid less than a couple of dollars a day.”

Like much of the oligarchic class, the boy-gods of Silicon Valley still cleave to Hobbesian myths to justify their grip on wealth and power. Their techno-Utopian convictions, encapsulated in Bill Gates’ mantra that “innovation is the real driver of progress,” are merely a secular iteration of the divine mandates that Goliaths once used to legitimize their rule. Promises of rewards in the afterlife have been supplanted by dreams of a technological singularity and interplanetary civilization.

Another plausible eventuality, which Kemp dubs the “Silicon Goliath,” is a future in which democracy and freedom are crushed beneath the heel of advanced algorithmic systems. He is already at work on his next book about the evolution of mass surveillance, an inquiry that he told me “is in many ways even more depressing.”

Slaying Goliath

Toward the end of “Goliath’s Curse,” Kemp imagines a scenario in which the decision of whether to detonate the Trinity atomic bomb test in New Mexico in 1945 was made not by a Department of War but by a “Trinity jury,” an assembly of randomly selected members of the public.

“Now several of the indicators that Kemp identifies as having historically presaged collapse — egalitarian backsliding, diminishing returns on extraction, the rise of oligarchy — are flashing red.”

In such a counterfactual, with the Nazis defeated, Japan already inches from surrender and Manhattan Project physicists warning of a non-zero possibility that the test could ignite the whole atmosphere and exterminate all life on Earth, Kemp contends that a more inclusive decision-making process would have changed the course of history. “If you had a random selection by lottery of 100 U.S. citizens and asked them, ‘Should we detonate the bomb?’ What decision do they come to? Almost certainly ‘No,’ he told me.

As Kemp sees it, the widespread adoption of such open democracy is the only viable route to escape the endgame. These citizen juries wouldn’t be free-for-alls, where the loudest or most outrageous voice wins, but deliberative procedures that necessitate juror exposure to expert, nonpartisan context.

Such assemblies wouldn’t be enough to “slay Goliath” on their own, Kemp told me. “Corporations and states … [must] pay for the environmental and social damages they cause … to make the economy honest again.” Per capita wealth, Kemp added, should be limited to a maximum of $10 million.

I challenged Kemp that this wish-list was beginning to sound like a Rousseauvian fever-dream. But seven years immersed in the worst excesses of human folly had left him in no mood for half-measures. “I’m not an anarcho-primitivist,” he said. There was no point trying to revivify our hunter-gatherer past. “We’d need multiple planet Earths!” Kemp conceded. And yet the urgency of our current circumstances demanded a radical departure from the existing status quo, and no less a shift in mindset.

His final demotic prescription, “Don’t be a dick,” was an injunction to everyone that our collective future depends as much on moral ambition as political revolution. Otherwise, Goliath won’t be just a Bible story. It could also be our epitaph.

Cultivating agro-ecology to harvest positive social impact

Agroecology advances environmental sustainability and revitalizes the economy and culture of rural communities. How does it achieve this? 

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Javier Pardo Torregrosa

Can a crop represent action for change? Or a cow, grazing, an instrument against climate change? In a world where fields are often reduced to statistics, chemicals or massive harvests, there is another way to farm. It is not only about eliminating pesticides and rendering the soil fertile once more, but connecting ancestral knowledge with science, countryside with culture, production with dignity. And also with flavors!

Change in the agro-food sector toward production that is respectful to the environment has become fundamental in achieving climate neutrality and a more sustainable world. Ecological agriculture contributes a much deeper and more integrated view of how to do this, with its own implications and needs.

What will I read in this article?

What is agro-ecology and why is it key to a sustainable future?

But what exactly is agro-ecology? According to the Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO) of the United Nations, agro-ecology is a way of connecting traditional and scientific knowledge with the aim of producing food in a more sustainable way. It is based on, says the FAO, the three pillars of sustainable development, so that, through the economic, social and environmental aspects, countries can increase their food production at the same time they protect the environment and promote social inclusion. In other words, as a practice, agro-ecology pursues the optimization and stabilization of production through less-polluting techniques, biodiversity conservation and the protection of animal well-being. But, also, through social movement, it aims to improve social justice, nourish rural identity and culture, and reinforce the economic viability of rural areas.

Agro-ecology pursues the optimization and stabilization of production through less-polluting techniques, biodiversity conservation and the protection of animal well-being

Biological control to chemical-free farming

Food systems face enormous challenges, from soil degradation to biodiversity loss and the climate crisis. Agro-ecology is not just the most viable option, but also the most urgent. More than a technique, it is a way of thinking and relating to the land, a view combining tradition, science and innovation to produce food sustainably, respecting ecosystems and those who live in them.

For agro-ecology to begin to become a reality, we need to forget all kinds of pesticides, herbicides and chemical and synthetic fertilizers, and control infestations biologically. Europe, for example, has spent years introducing the parasitic wasp Encarsia formosa into greenhouses for tomatoes and peppers, with the aim of controlling whitefly populations while significantly reducing the use of chemical pesticides.

Although the emphasis is often on applying innovative techniques, sometimes it is enough to look back to the past. We can achieve soil regeneration, for example, by using traditional historical and cultural practices such as organic fertilizers and incorporating livestock into the farming cycle. Or find the response in respecting nature’s cycles and its inherent way of doing things. This way we can imitate natural ecosystems through a seasonal crop and varied natural environment integrating autochthonous trees, plants and animals, which helps in the capture of carbon and, simultaneously, biodiversity conservation.

Although the emphasis is often on applying innovative techniques, sometimes it is enough to look back to the past

Technology and agro-ecology, an alliance for sustainable farming

Agro-ecology also requires us to steer technological and scientific advances toward better efficiencies in farming, always maintaining a position of respect toward nature. This is what the project, AgriBIT, financed by European funds, aims to do. Its researchers have developed a series of services using AI-based precision technologies for remote, real-time detection of plagues and bacterial infections in crops such as industrial tomatoes, using satellites and ground-based sensors. These kind of technologies can also serve systems for monitoring, harvesting, irrigation and soil regeneration. Also key is the implementation of solar photovoltaic systems and wind turbine generators, and the use of biomass derived from farming and livestock waste, to increase energy independence and reduce carbon emissions.

Social and economic benefits of agro-ecology

But the agro-ecological movement is not limited to a series of farming techniques focused exclusively on caring for the environment, it also pursues economic, social and cultural benefits.person in crop field

Agro-ecology results in better soil fertility and increased regularity in production, as well as diversifying the risk in cultivating different foods. It contributes to economic dynamism and job creation in rural communities, and involves civil society in the re-activation of areas.

One inspiring example of agro-ecology as an engine of social change is the Agroecology Action Research Network (AARN) in Australia. The network connects researchers, farmers and educators to promote the transformation of food and agricultural systems in the country through the co-creation of knowledge and the implementation of agro-ecological practices adapted to local needs.

Among the specific initiatives developed include so-called Agro-ecology Farmer Field Schools, spaces where farmers demonstrate and validate the techniques they are using to manage plagues, diversify crops and reduce synthetic inputs. The network also explores new research fields, such as the organic management of disease, agriculture without ploughing, and carbon sequestration on farmland.

The role of the community

Often when we fill the basket full of shopping, we ask ourselves why some products are so expensive. Meanwhile, small farmers are complaining that sometimes they are forced to sell below the cost of production. Agro-ecology looks for mechanisms to improve direct sales to consumers and consumer groups, as well as establish principles underpinning better balance in supply chains. It also calls on communities to buy locally directly from the farmer or small shops, also reducing pollution from transport. In Spain, the project Roots: Women, Agro-ecology and Local Consumption, for example, seeks to establish producer networks that come together to distribute their products, generating short distribution channels, organizing eco-markets with producers, and certification marks for participants. The program also takes into account the special role of women in rural areas.