Babylonian Banter

Tower of Babylon (by Jankaka on Wikimedia Commons).

In November I gave a seminar talk for the Planetary Limits Academic Network about why I believe modernity to be a dead-end, while also touching on underlying attitudes that drive us in this destructive direction. When presenting the narrative that sequential development of agriculture, writing, money, science, and fossil fuels collectively constituted a decisive trap leading us to the current state, I got pushback from a few in the audience over the notion of determinism. See my Time on the River post for a flavor of this narrative.

Fans of Graeber & Wengrow’s Dawn of Everything (and there are many, especially in the left-leaning academic circles from which I hail) tend to be—like the authors—allergic to suggestions of determinism. They find the notion very appealing that we could just as well have designed and conjured the ideal technological society: egalitarian, global, peaceful, prosperous, clean, and all the rest. See Abundance as recent example of such eco-modernist fantasy. I was honestly stunned by the gross simplifications in Graeber & Wengrow’s book, which elicited a sharp critique from me.

The moderator of the seminar prodded Chris Smaje, in attendance, to comment on my negative portrayal of agriculture. Chris has written, among other books, A Small Farm Future, runs a blog of the same name, and is generally an advocate of a small-scale agrarian response as a path to exit modernity—which in itself I believe is a fine (transitional) strategy.

The discussion prompted Chris to draft a blog post, which he passed by me to avoid misrepresentation and to solicit comments. We had an engaging e-mail exchange for a bit, and last week his post (By the Rivers of Babylon: debating agrarianism with Tom Murphy) went live. This post offers my follow-up response on the subject.

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Space as a Window

A reflected window on space camp (Wikimedia Commons).

I grew up as a space enthusiast before I grew up. Part of the maturation process involved work on a Space Shuttle project, two decades of uninterrupted funding from NASA, reviewing many dozens of NASA proposals for space/rocket investigations, and serving as Principal Investigator for a mission concept study centered at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory to put a laser transponder on Phobos. Oh, and the most significant chunk of my astrophysics career relied upon the reflectors placed on the lunar regolith by astronaut hands.

No single moment stands out as a crossing of the Rubicon in terms of my migration away from fantasy. But by October 2011 my faith had eroded sufficiently to put out a blog post titled Why Not Space—motivated by responses to the “growth can’t last on a finite planet” drive that initiated this blog. “We’ll just expand into space,” some countered. Note: always beware the word “just,” especially when attached to feats of unprecedented difficulty.

I reprised the theme in Chapter 4 of my textbook (out in 2021), and again a few weeks back. In the last five years, my journey has produced significantly new perspectives (for me) which only serve to make the space delusion more strikingly fascinating and revealing. At this point, it’s hard to identify a phenomenon that so completely captures the religion of the day and its unhinged basis.

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Systems Mindset

World3 model (from Meadows et al., The Limits to Growth, 1972)

Our culture suffers an epidemic of disconnected narrow analyses. Almost every single news article, opinion piece, insight from pundits, bestseller book, or internet screed fails to absorb a broad-enough view to fully contextualize this moment in time. What remains can be effectively useless or invalidated by a more complete and enveloping context.

A small but growing cadre of folks promote “systems thinking,” broadening the boundaries to acknowledge complex relationships “external” to the considerations of typical works. Whether those broader elements involve biophysical, planetary, anthropological, ecological, or more-than-human considerations, the effect can dramatically change conclusions and prescriptions.

So, systems thinking can make positive contributions. But it has a dark side as well. Novice engagement in this heady practice can serve to amplify a nasty human habit of deluding ourselves into believing that we can master it all—that our crude maps are essentially-complete captures of all relevant aspects of the territory. Encouraged by climbing atop a “big-boy” horse without falling off, one might be tempted to think they can gallop their way into a more perfect system for humanity on Earth. I’ll make the argument that the horse of hubris is inherently unrideable, and that the best lesson from systems thinking is that systems tend to be far too complex for our meat-brains to master. We’re not going to think our way to paradise. Any place deserving the name “paradise” has never been constructed by humans, but by a Community of Life over deep time.

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Animistic Physics

Murmuration by Mostafameraji (Wikinedia Commons).

It might seem that animistic beliefs—which prevailed prior to agriculture—would be about as far away from modern physics as possible. Yet, I find them to be rather compatible in a number of foundational ways. Allow me to elaborate. And don’t worry: it’s not about quantum mumbo-jumbo.

What is animism? While not a formal belief system, animists tend to view nearly everything in the world as being animated by spirits or forces beyond our capacity to fully comprehend. We can call these animating agents spirits or “the gods.” Animists live in the hands of the gods along with all other Life: not particularly special. These spirits not only move animals and plants, but also weather, landscapes, oceans, rivers, mountains, rocks, and soil.

Modern languages (reflecting a non-animistic worldview) objectify the world by being noun-dominated—which deeply affects how we think about the world. Animist languages, by contrast, are often verb-dominated (verbal people!), so that verbs are used to connote mountains, rivers, bays, trees, etc.—reflecting the sense that such beings are always in a state of motion and change. What we call a sand bar is “verbalized” as “to be a sand bar”—it is acting as a living, changing, life-interacting entity, or being. Note that the noun “being” itself carries an echo of animism, embodying this state of verbiness, as a variant of “be.” It’s a nounified verb.

An important tip-off as to how animism relates to physics is provided by Daniel Quinn in The Story of B, on page 136.

Animism looks for truth in the universe, not in books, revelations, and authorities. Science is the same. Though animism and science read the universe in different ways, both have complete confidence in its truthfulness.

Below, I outline five (connected) ways that animism meshes well with physics, mirroring a conversation I had with Derrick Jensen that you can listen to here. While very few scientists would volunteer that they have animistic leanings, these connections might make it easier to identify as such.

As an aside, I “privilege” physics here not only because that’s my own background, but because all other sciences appear to rest on (abide by) a physics foundation, often characterized by complexity that eludes first-principles formulations in the style of physics. One might say that chemistry is applied physics, biology is applied chemistry, etc. The word “science” may easily be substituted for “physics” in what follows.

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The Writing on the Wall

Image by Greg Montani from Pixabay.

Almost as if done deliberately to demonstrate mental incapacity, I recently found myself making a connection that was staring me in the face for years but that I never recognized. Surely, scads more sit waiting in plain view, yet will never be smoked by me as long as I live.

In this case, several overt clues tried waving it in my face, but I remained oblivious. I feel like my former best-buddy cat who was always mesmerized by water, never tiring of watching it slosh, splash, and splatter. My wife and I once took the cat(s) on a reluctant car trip passing along the coast of northern California. The road came right up on the beach, and I stopped with the idea that I would show the ocean to him, which would surely captivate his attention and blow his mind. We were so close that the ocean and waves dumping on the beach were almost all that could be seen out the window. I held him up to take in the sight, but in his squirming state—questioning what new cruelty I was subjecting him to on top of this already-heinous and interminable car ride—he somehow managed to completely fail in ever noticing the ocean. But it was right there in front of him! You can lead a cat to water…

Oh—I should get to the point? A couple weeks back, the post on Spare Capacity mentioned the outsized detrimental impact written language has had. I know. Here I am still using it. But like my cat, I failed to notice what kept filling my field of vision.

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Scramble and Cling

Ivan Aivazovsky: La Nona Onda (from Wikimedia Commons)

The mental image is easy to form: it’s just after first light on a morning in 1800 and your wooden ship has sunk after a surprise attack by canon fire. Random bits of wood and spars bob here and there on the waves, and you’ve managed to scramble atop the largest one. The next thing you notice is a horde of rats desperately treading water and aiming for your floating safety—as if vacuuming them from the surface of the sea. Within minutes your haven is teeming with clinging rats. Aside from the rapidly-receding gunboat, the horizon is clear of any other escape from immersion. It’s just you and the rats.

Why bother to describe this scene? It will serve a dual purpose. First, it vaguely mirrors a false impression many have of modernity as the only safe way to live in a perilous world. Second, it serves as an instructive contrast to actual encounters between modernity and tribal people. Both highlight the severe misimpression we have been handed of life outside modernity.

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Eye of Newt

Photo by Tom Murphy

Witches just love to toss “eye of newt” into their bubbling cauldrons, but the docile critters did nothing do deserve such a sinister association. For me, newts have opened a window of appreciation into the broader community of life.

I find solace in asking a newt what it thinks of our politics, our technology, our schemes. The act of asking such questions out loud in the presence of a newt is as silly as it sounds, but only because the subject matter is silly. Conversing with a newt is just basic politeness. The newt is a genius in that it doesn’t waste a single moment caught up in such trivialities. The newt is fully engaged in Life, which is incomprehensibly more amazing, rich, complex, and bad-ass than anything humans have ever—or could ever—create.

In this post, I will explore what a newt’s-eye view can tell us about ourselves and our obsessions.

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Evidence, Please?

I spend a fair bit of time asking myself the question: Am I crazy?

I mean, without really wanting to do so, I seem to have landed on a fringe view within our culture, which is not a comfortable place for me in a social sense. I don’t love it. The easiest—seemingly most likely—explanation for the glaring mismatch is that I’m the one off kilter.

My statement: Modernity (even if defining starting 10,000 years ago) is a short-lived phase that will self-terminate—likely starting this century.

Common response: That’s crazy. Just look around you! We’ve created a new normal. Humans have transcended the bounds of nature—no longer mere animals. Ingenuity has unlimited potential, and we’re really on our way now. This changes everything, and we will never lose our technological mastery, now that we have found it. Modernity is our destiny—and kind-of the whole point of it all.  It’s what makes us truly human.

But let’s look at evidence: like evidence that modernity is a new normal that can go on at least as long as our species is around (relevant timescales are 106±1 years, or a million years plus-or-minus an order of magnitude).

What’s that? Zero evidence? Of course we can’t know. The future is not kind enough to present evidence to the present. Hmmm—maybe that’s because we’re so mean to the future, frantically robbing its lives of Earth’s bounty and biodiversity.

The basic observation that we can receive no evidence from the future cuts both ways, of course. I have no future evidence that modernity will begin shutting down within a century.

However, we are not completely in the dark, here. We know some things (see my previous post on things about which I can be relatively certain).  As obvious illustrations, we can be super-confident that day will follow night in a consistent cycle throughout our lives, that we will each die someday, and that the sun will render Earth uninhabitable on its way to spending its fuel.  In a similar fashion, we can lay claim to a host of other near-certainties even without evidence from the future.

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Certainty

Image by Victoria from Pixabay

I struggle to strike a balance between certainty and circumspection. Our culture has a tendency to favor certainty, while one of my favorite and frequent fall-backs—seldom wrong—is: “we don’t know.” Certainty is often the hobgoblin of decontextualized, rigid, (only) logical thinking: an artificial by-product of incomplete mental models. That said, I feel that I can do more than throw up my hands on every issue. I can be fairly certain that I will never perform a standing jump to the moon or breathe underwater (without apparatus) like I often do in dreams.

Thus, I write this post in full appreciation of the red flag around certainty. Yet, in full consideration, I can indeed identify some elements of reality about which I can be fairly certain—to a reasonable degree. At the very least, these things would appear to be consistent with a robust account of how the world appears to work.

I’ll skip an exhaustive list of certainties, and stick with points that have some bearing on the meta-crisis of modernity.  But for illustration that certainty is not misplaced, I think most would agree that we can function under certainty that in the next billion years, say, gravity won’t turn off; the sun will continue to shine; Earth will keep rotating to produce the familiar day/night pattern; if I pound my fist on the table my hand won’t sail through it, etc.  We are justified in “taking these to the bank.”  The items below are not all as completely iron-clad, but are helpful in forming a basis.  I have asked myself for each one: “could I be convinced otherwise?”  Generally the answer is “yes, I suppose,” to varying degrees, but some would be a tough pull, requiring solid evidence.  Most of the content is a repackaging of points I have expressed before, but I hope in a useful, consolidated form.

So let’s get to it: here are things I am reasonably (functionally) certain about:

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MM #8: Timeline

This is the eighth of 18 installments in the Metastatic Modernity video series (see launch announcement), putting the meta-crisis in perspective as a cancerous disease afflicting humanity and the greater community of life on Earth. This episode provides several ways to develop intuition about the brevity and temporary nature of modernity.

As is the custom for the series, I provide a stand-alone companion piece in written form (not a transcript) so that the key ideas may be absorbed by a different channel. The write-up that follows is arranged according to “chapters” in the video, navigable via links in the YouTube description field.

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