My normal reading tends to be on technical matters – about, for example, the dangers facing democracy; clinate change; development; or reform – in which a problem and possible causes are identified and solutions floated. I often get bored and impatient with the dryness with which an important tale is told – so it came as a great delight when I stumbled on At Work in the Ruins – finding our place in a time of science, climate change, pandemics and other emergencies by Dougald Hine (2023). Instead of the usual dryness, I find an almost poetic originality – a baring of the soul. Let Hine introduce his work
When we start to talk about climate change, we enter into a conversation that is framedby science. How could it be otherwise? Climate change is a scientific term. It refers to aset of processes that are described by the natural sciences. Yet climate change also asksquestions that science cannot answer. Some lie downstream of the work of science. Whenit comes to what to do about climate change, responsibility passes from the scientists to theengineers and the economists, while psychologists and marketing experts are brought in tofigure out how to ‘deliver the message’ and ‘drive behaviour change’. In the rooms where I was brought together with religious leaders and artists and Indigenouselders, it mostly felt as though we were being enlisted in this downstream effort. The hopewas that we had some wisdom or experience or practice that might help the news from theclimate scientists to reach the wider public imagination. But the point that I would make inthose rooms – and that often seemed to land and lead to fruitful conversations with the scientistspresent – is that there are also questions that lie upstream of the work of science and takeus beyond the frame it draws. These are not about what needs doing and how, but abouthow we got here in the first place, the nature and the implications of the trouble we are in.Such questions might sound abstract compared to the practical concerns of those who wantto find solutions, but how we answer them has consequences. It shapes our understanding ofthe situation, what kind of problem we think we’re dealing with and, therefore, what kind ofsolutions we go looking for. You could hear this vulnerability in the voices of those at the heart of the climate movementsthat erupted in 2018 and in the quieter conversations going on within the local groups thatformed during that moment. Yet all this talk was still taking place within the vessel of science,and this produced strange contortions and contradictions. The language of science isunderstated by design. It is hardly suited to speaking in prophetic tones, but this was thesignature of these movements. The strangeness of the shift in register applied as much toGreta Thunberg, who was fiercely careful to keep her statements within the bounds of thescientific consensus, as it did to Extinction Rebellion’s Roger Hallam or to Jem Bendell, theCumbria University professor whose self-published paper ‘Deep Adaptation: A Map forNavigating Climate Tragedy’ – based on his alternative interpretation of the scientific data– went viral that autumn. Whether in alliance with or antagonism to the actual climate scientists, the calls to action were increasingly framed in the name of something called ‘the science’.An understandable shorthand for the consensus over the key processes of climate changebuilt up over decades of research by thousands of teams around the world, this way of talkingalso had the effect of invoking a singular authority whose implications remained to be seen. ‘Unite Behind the Science’ read the placards and the hashtags, and the more this messagewas repeated, the stronger the frame of science around our climate conversations becameand the less room there would be for looking beyond that frame.
It may seem odd to be calling a book premised on the world ending shortly “delightful” but it is one of these rare ones which makes you look at the world differently.There’s an excellent video discussion here for
those of you who prefer to see the interaction and how people deal with difficult questions
Two things happened next to change the context of anything that any of us might have to say about climate change. First, in the time of Covid, the political invocation of science took on a new colour. Faced with a novel threat about which there was far less scientific understanding or consensus than climate change, politicians nonetheless discovered the effectiveness of introducing radical policies in the name of ‘following the science’. Meanwhile, the implications of the demand to ‘Unite Behind the Science’ became clearer. I saw the people who had taught me to think carefully about science and the questions that it cannot answer on its own, when they attempted to address the questions raised by the pandemic, being told by angry, frightened readers to ‘Just shut up and take the fucking vaccine!’ Or being scolded by their peers for drifting towards ‘conspiracy theory’. In the name of ‘the science’, it is possible to decree what should be done and to close off the possibility of further public conversation.And I particularly liked his image of a fork in the road
Here is what I’m seeing, then: the political contours emerging from the pandemic foreshadow a fork in the road for the politics of climate change. We would always have come to this fork, one way or another. As long as the goal was to have climate change taken seriously, this could unite us, however different our understandings of what taking climate change seriously might mean. As we near that goal, though, the differences in understanding come more sharply into focus. But we have reached that point, or something like it, under conditions in which the authority of ‘the science’ has been supercharged. Two paths lead from here: one big, one small. The big path is a brightly lit
highway on which many lanes converge. It unites elements of left and right, from Silicon Valley visionaries and Wall Street investors, through a broad
swathe of liberal opinion and in some form it will constitute the political orthodoxy
\of the 2020s. It sets out to limit the damage of climate change through large-scale
efforts of management, control, surveillance and innovation, oriented to sustaining a
version of existing trajectories of technological progress, economic growth and development.
The small path is a trail that branches off into many paths. It is made by those
who seek to build resilience closer to the ground, nurturing capacities and relationships,
oriented to a future in which existing trajectories of technological progress, economic
growth and development will not be sustained, but where the possibility of a ‘world
worth living for’ nonetheless remains. Humble as it looks, as your eyes adjust, you mayrecognise just how many feet have walked this way and how many continue to do so, even now.
Which of these paths I would have us take is clear enough. The big path is a fast track to nowhere. We will not arrive at the world of fossil-free jumbo jets promised by the airport
adverts. The entitlements of late modernity are not compatible with the realities of
life on a finite planet and they do not even make us happy. But we may well follow that path for a while longer, as it leads us deeper into dystopia and leaves us more dependenton fragile technological systems that few of us understand or can imagine living without.
And what I think I can see now is that the very language of climate change will be owned,
from here on out, by the engineers and marketeers of the big path. Any conversation about
the trouble we are in, so long as it starts within the newly politicised frame of science,
will lead inexorably to their solutions.
A critical review of the book can be found here Further video discussions about the book
https://www.youtube.com/@dougald
Feb Leeds https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5iCzlw9e2hM&ab_channel=DougaldHine better sound
April 2023 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-B42sHf9p80&ab_channel=JohnGIClarke
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZaCatcin7n8&ab_channel=DougaldHine
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