When being right is part of the problem

This week I have had the great privilege to host Aaron Thierry who was visiting Exeter to give a Global Systems Institute seminar. His talk was titled “Cassandra’s Children: scientific responsibility in an era of a climate emergency”. It was a fascinating presentation of his doctoral research that explored how climate scientists reconciled their increasing alarm about climate change within the norms and expected behaviours of academia. This sort of science and technology studies is desperately needed right now.

One of the arguments I have attempted to make over the years, is that academics have a responsibility to step over the invisible line that separates scholarly activities from societal issues. There is understandable reticence to do that, some of which comes from the concern that being seen to ‘take a position’ on an issue could be used to undermine scientist’s objectivity and so weaken the explanatory force of their scientific findings. I now see such worries as not just quaint but entirely misplaced. Look at Trump’s evisceration of science, and the very foundations of knowledge generation in the USA. Look at the rollback of climate policy across governments and businesses. Look at the wild claims of technofixes including AI. Not calling out this bullshit is taking the position that you are OK with that. There is also this sense of feeling overwhelmed. I look around at my various projects, the things I am either doing, am meant to be doing, or intend to do and none of it can feel remotely adequate.

I am very sympathetic to some of my colleagues’ arguments that part of the problem may be my assessment of the situation – or at least how I frame the situation. Is it any wonder I struggle with a sense of purpose if I go around talking about the end of the world? Apocalyptic language can be a powerful force for disengagement. Some may seek solace in deep adaptation communities in which meaning and purpose is woven together from the threads of whatever would remain after collapse. The problem I have always had with such a strategy is that I cannot get beyond the bit where billions of people die. For me that represents something like the last words on the matter.

At the same time I cannot sustain faith in technological solutions. Wouldn’t it be marvellous to wake up and discover someone has figured out how to suck billions of tons of carbon dioxide from the atmosphere and safely store it forever at a very low cost. Or a miraculous new particle had been invented that would carefully reduce some of the Sun’s energy that reached the Earth’s surface and so produce a near instantaneous cooling effect. What stops me is the stubborn belief in thermodynamics, and the relevance of the no free lunch theorem to the problem of ‘optimising’ climate strategies in a complex Earth system. I don’t doubt much progress will be made in carbon removal and solar geoengineering. I just can’t bring myself to believe it will be sufficient.

For some years I struggled with how I could reconcile such thoughts with my day job as an academic who is meant to be generating knowledge with some utility. Unfortunately I ended up in a reinforcing loop of disillusionment with academia, and how it was in many ways effectively enabling some of the most destructive aspects of society. This was motivation to become one of the co-founders of Faculty for a Future. Around the same time I was (to my knowledge) the only University of Exeter academic that spoke out publicly about the fossil fuel funding within my own university. It wasn’t much, just a single post on my personal website in which I argued that taking Shell’s money was a mistake. That wasn’t a tremendously smart career move. Later I reflected on some of this in partnership with George Monbiot on the paper What is the role of universities at a time of climate and ecological crisis?

What I soon discovered when beginning to work in this space, is that I was not alone. People alike Aaron had been thinking about his for a long time, and in much greater depth. To name some others: Adam Aron, Charlie Gardner, Alison Green, Wolfgang Knor, Juia Steinberger. It is from people such as these that I have learnt doing the work produces the purpose and meaning to do the work. Perhaps the most powerful realisation is that you are not alone. Indeed, the challenge of the moment forges the communities, networks, and relationships that not only can generate and sustain action, but also a sense of self and purpose. This can equip you to do difficult things. Like talk about the climate and ecological crisis with children.

Last week I had the good fortune to catch up with Ben Rawlence and hear about his recently published Think Like a Forest: Letters to my children from a changing planet. It’s a beautiful book full of wisdom, humanity, and love. He talked about the challenges of speaking about the possibility of very dark futures with his young family. What emerged from these conversations was the need to hold up climate change and examine it clearly in the light of day. The best horror writers and directors know that the most powerful narrative tool they have is the mind’s ability to project all manner of terrors onto the unknown: the darkness under the bed, the entity rattling the door handle. Ben's children looked at climate change directly and with honesty. In doing so they both decreased the dread it generated and were able to talk about ways to deal with it, to live in this world with purpose and intentionality.  

What a wonderful example of not just parenting, but a way to live in this turbulent and frequently frightening world.