climate change

Free your heart from climate change penitence and impotence

Free your heart from climate change penitence and impotence

In the shadow of the immense climate crisis, what difference could it possibly make to bike to work or eat less meat? The mismatch between what we’re being asked to do and the size of the problem has created disillusionment, as changes in personal lifestyle like these have been promoted as a primary way to prevent climate change.1 It’s natural to ask: how are my tiny choices going to do anything about our civilization’s fundamental energy system? What good is reducing the size of my carbon footprint when it’s just a billionth of our collective carbon emissions?

Out of this disillusionment, a number of strategic counterarguments have risen. Seeing that a significant response to climate change would require major shifts in our society’s structure, some have begun asking for political engagement rather than responsible consumption. From this perspective, the way advocating for lifestyle changes places the locus of responsibility on individual consumers is a misdirection—diverting our focus from other responsible parties, like governments, the fossil fuel industry, and other large corporations. Alternatively, some might turn to carbon offsets as an easier and more efficient way of mitigating personal carbon emissions. Why make personal sacrifices like eating less meat or flying less, when you can just buy relatively cheap carbon offsets to counteract your carbon emissions?

For a good while, I was swayed by the argument to emphasize political engagement rather than responsible consumption, but I’ve come back around to hold personal consumption as an important driver of social change. My goal here isn’t to add to the chorus of voices saying that you urgently need to reduce your fossil fuel emissions to prevent climate change, but rather to offer a different way of understanding and relating to these kinds of choices—one that nourishes and frees the heart, rather than saddling it with penitence and impotence. To understand this possibility, we’ll need to zoom out and consider climate change and our response to it on the level of our civilizational paradigms.

Climate change and paradigms: the geomechanical and living earth worldviews

We can’t avoid catastrophic climate change by adjusting things around the edges, rather we need deep systemic change. And not just of our energy, agriculture, and transportation systems, or the finance system that underlies them. We need deep change in our culture, in our worldview and values that all these systems are built on, those that drove the creation of these systems in the first place.

The geomechanical wordlview

One aspect of the underlying worldview that has brought about climate change and broader environmental destruction is the mechanical view of nature, which says that the non-human world works essentially as a machine, a non-living system with replaceable, interchangeable parts. It says we can readily comprehend the functions of these parts. Their value is based entirely on their value to human beings. While this geomechanical worldview has enabled the development of significant power through science and technology, it is also propelling us into a global environmental crisis.

The geomechanical worldview assumes that we can understand the entirety of our impact on the natural world as we interact with it, yet we repeatedly fail to do so. This is a kind of hubris, one that thinks we can micromanage the world. It fails to see the natural world as a complex, dynamic, interrelated ecosystem. In a classic example, the Bureau of Sugar Experiment Stations introduced cane toads to Australia to control beetles that damaged the sugar cane crops. However, there was no evidence that their introduction did anything about the beetles, and resulted in “the depletion of native species that die eating cane toads; the poisoning of pets and humans; depletion of native fauna preyed on by cane toads; and reduced prey populations for native insectivores.”2

Perhaps more significantly, the geomechanical worldview enables extractive capitalism to justify environmental destruction for profit. Built on this is the financialization of nature—the idea that the value of various individual parts of the natural world can be accurately measured or determined, and based on that, brought into the economy. With the value of natural resources only evaluated based on their value to human beings, ignoring their many functions in the Earth’s interconnected systems, the forces of capital are permitted to extract whatever resources are deemed profitable, destroying ecosystems along the way.

The living earth worldview

The living earth paradigm presents a radically different point of view. Charles Eisenstein defines some of the key points of the living earth paradigm3 as:

Earth is a living organism

Each biome, local ecosystem, and species contributes in unique ways to the health and resiliency of the whole; they are the organs and tissues of the Gaian organism

All beings—plants and animals, soil, rivers, oceans, mountains, forests, etc.—deserve respect as alive, sentient subjects and not mere things.

Any damage to the integrity of the planet or the beings on it inevitably damages human beings as well, whether or not the causal pathways for that damage are visible.

A civilization based on this paradigm would have these values expressed in its norms and institutions. How might such a society behave? It might legally codify of the rights of the various organs of the Earth’s body—the right of a river to not be polluted, or the right of a domesticated animal to have humane living conditions. I don’t think it would have allowed the environmental destruction we’ve perpetrated so far, and if it existed now would set about trying to restore the health of the Earth’s organs.

Shifting from the geomechanical view to the living earth view is about changing our fundamental relationship with the natural world. Not just our material relationship, but also our inner, felt experience of that relationship. From the paradigmatic perspective, changes at this deep level would ripple out into changes in our collective behavior and institutions.

Practicing paradigm change

By living in such a way that we embody the future paradigm we wish for, we begin to actualize it here and now. Paradigmatic acts can propagate in a number of ways:

  1. Simple person to person transmission: we are social, often conforming beings, always looking to others as guides for what to do. Each person engaging in a norm helps that norm propagate.
  2. Values and identity often follow behavior, so moderate changes to personal behavior can pave the way for more invested action in the future. So for example, beginning to eat less meat may lead to identifying as someone who cares about animal wellbeing, leading to voting for humane farming ballot measures or giving money to animal welfare organizations.
  3. Choices often have an economic gravitational pull to draw other institutions toward the new paradigm. With eating meat, eating less or ethically sourced meat encourages restaurants to offer vegetarian options, the development of lab-grown meat, and sustainable, humane farming.

So a moderate change in behavior can create a momentum beyond just the immediate, quantifiable impact of that action.

Inner dimensions of paradigmatic practice

Our paradigm-shifting practices, including those of responsible consumption and self-taxing, have inner dimensions that shape their results, both on others and ourselves. Because they are about changing the worldview at the root of society, beginning with our own, our internal experience of them is important, not only their immediate tangible results. In this case, as a part of a shift from a utilitarian relationship to the natural world to one that recognizes it’s intrinsic value, these choices can be felt as meaningful in themselves, beyond their impact.

When we engage in practices like these, we can gently investigate our intentions and the qualities we bring to them—what comes up in our hearts? Are we doing this to absolve our guilt or is there an empowering sense of responsibility? Do we feel that by doing good in one area we’re let off the hook in other areas? Are we losing connection to our care by developing a sense of moral superiority? These are all traps we can disentangle ourselves from through mindfulness and inquiry, to uncover a simple motivation of care and respect for life.

Responsible consumption as a part of paradigm change

When considered from the perspective of its direct impact on fossil fuel emissions, changes in personal consumption can seem pointless, but they can be a potent intervention to bring about paradigm change. Our choices about consumption are an element of our relationship with nature, a place where that relationship is expressed daily, and a place where that relationship can begin to be changed.

When living the shift toward the living earth paradigm through the practice of responsible consumption, our care can extend beyond just considering carbon emissions. If we are thinking of eating meat, for example, the greenhouse gasses produced would just be one factor among many—we’d consider too the animal’s living conditions, the sustainability practices of the farm, and our own inner relationship to eating this meat. This gives the heart a lot more room to get involved than the one-dimensional consideration of carbon emissions.

Investing in a Just Transition instead of carbon offsets

Alternatively, to reduce our carbon footprint we might be told to buy carbon offsets, a form of self-taxing.4 But carbon offsets are built on the geomechanical worldview and financialization of nature, and their adoption perpetuates and furthers it.

With carbon offsets, the value of carbon in the atmosphere is measured and valued independently of how it got there or where else it might go. The value of the carbon held in the Amazon rainforest, for example, is deemed interchangeable with carbon in monocrop tree plantations. So it’s ok to clearcut the Amazon, so long as you plant trees somewhere else. Or, we’re fine to drill for oil wherever we please, as long as we also build industrial carbon capture and sequestration plants. Widespread adoption of carbon offsets could lead to a world where the wealthy continue to destroy life-supporting ecosystems while trying to replace the lost ecosystem services with artificial alternatives, an arrogant and hopeless endeavor.

While carbon offsets are built on the mechanistic view of nature, we can self-tax for paradigm change. But rather than trying to cancel out our carbon emissions, which so often comes from a place of anxiety and guilt, we could invest in institutions that embody the worldview, culture, or values we wish to see in the world.

One aspect of paradigm change is the inseparability of the means and the ends. The Climate Justice Alliance’s definition of a just transition5 speaks to this well:

Just Transition is a vision-led, unifying and place-based set of principles, processes, and practices that build economic and political power to shift from an extractive economy to a regenerative economy. This means approaching production and consumption cycles holistically and waste-free. The transition itself must be just and equitable; redressing past harms and creating new relationships of power for the future through reparations. If the process of transition is not just, the outcome will never be. Just Transition describes both where we are going and how we get there.

A strategy framework for a Just Transition

Because the means and the ends are consistent, when we invest in this kind of change, we are brining the future we want into existence here and now, rather than trying to avert a dangerous future. This grants inspiration and confidence in the merit of what we’re doing.

Cultivating the heart

Through engaging in these practices, we can begin the long journey of restoring our relationship with the natural world. We can nurture a caring heart by bringing our sincere intention into our daily choices—remembering our vision of an alternate paradigm and using them as a way to call it into being. Cultivating a heartfulness of practice in this way is itself a paradigmatic act—the world we’d like to bring about is one where people are motivated by genuine care for the earth and their overall impact in the world.

References

[1] Personal Actions can fix climate change; that recent study didn’t mention them

[2] National Geographic, Cane Toad

[3] Climate: A New Story

[4] Rhys Lindmark, We should tithe more and where I’m personally giving 20% of my income

[5] Climate Justice Alliance, Just Transition

Posted by Edmund Mills in Essays, 0 comments
Building a home in our vulnerability to climate disruption

Building a home in our vulnerability to climate disruption

Two weeks ago, an unusually intense fire season erupted across California, amplified by climate change.1 Global heating’s presence was felt everywhere in smoke and ash. Along with tens of thousands of evacuees, I entered a period of intense unknown. Our approximate certainties of daily life were gone. We had to move without knowing whether to leave, the true risk of staying, the duration we might be displaced, the danger loved ones might be in, and the state of our possessions. So far, this has been the most directly I’ve been touched by climate change. I’m tempted to call this the new normal, but that doesn’t go far enough—we can expect these fires to worsen. This is merely the latest flare in a continuing escalation.

The sudden influx of uncertainty generated by the fires activated my cultural conditioning. When this conditioning meets California fire season, I feel the impulse to head for the exit—to move to Canada, or at least somewhere further north, or somewhere without a fire season. In other words, to seek security and safety as our climate deterioration accelerates. I come from a rootless culture, one that prioritizes self-interest and ambition over dedication to a place or community. In Braiding Sweetgrass, Robin Wall Kimmerer writes

After all these generations since Columbus, some of the wisest of Native elders still puzzle over over the people who come to our shores. They look at the toll on the land and say, “The problem with these new people is that they don’t have both feet on the shore. One is still on the boat. They don’t seem to know whether they’re staying or not.”

Coming from such a culture, with weak ties to place or community, I am ready to pursue an imagined self-interest to the further detriment of my connection to community and belonging to place.

Climate anxiety in the body

The impulse to flight springs from a tightness in my chest, a constricted breath. I feel a kinesthetic memory of bolting, muscles tensing throughout my body in readiness. My thoughts take on a seeking quality, looking with anticipation for any possibility of security to seize. But the cup of my mind does not overflow this time, it does not spill into action. I am not reading up on Canadian immigration rules like last time.

Instead, I try to make myself a home in vulnerability to climate disruption. I feel my body, cloaking it in gentle awareness. I allow this vulnerability to be the constellation of physical sensations and thoughts that it is. I unlink it from action, allowing it’s momentum to spin harmlessly. Holding it in a warm inner embrace soothes the emotional activation and dissipates the impulse toward flight.

Why not just run with the momentum? The drive to find security pulls us out of the pool of shared vulnerability, drying out our compassion and solidarity. Instead, I want to be baptized in this water, bathed and cleansed of my colonialist conditioning, my rootlessness.

Now soothed and tender, I can take in the important and inescapable truths of this situation. There is no ultimate security—to be in accord with reality is to be vulnerable. Climate disruption is a facet of this truth that shines particularly clearly. I remind myself that my life and everything I hold dear will be taken from me. And that I share this basic situation with countless others, most of whom experience this more intensely than myself. By taking in my small measure, I affirm our shared fate and responsibility to care. When the heart is opened to compassion, the heart knows that to live in pursuit of security while others suffer is meaningless.

To practice making a home in climate vulnerability is to perform the alchemy of turning our climate anxiety into compassion, a way of finding meaning and aliveness in a catastrophe, a key to an open heart and peace in a disintegrating world.

Climate anxiety in the collective

Our collective anxiety is another storm intensified by climate change—it spins in our unconscious waters, spreads from body to body, floods into our conscious minds sometimes, accompanied by flashes of flight, fright, or freeze. We try to hold it at bay by ignoring or denying the situation. When anxiety and the drive toward security churn in the collective, there is real danger. It can be channeled in dangerous directions, toward authoritarianism and national self-interest. It can drive us toward lifeboat ethics, pursuing the survival and wellbeing of the few to the detriment of the many. It is one thing to embrace universal humanitarianism and compassion when our lives feel stable and secure, but can we do the same when we feel personally at risk? When doing right by those most impacted by climate change means sacrificing a measure of security, accepting a reduction in material wellbeing, or letting go of some of our cherished dreams for the future?

Alternatively, collective fear can be diverted into wishful thinking, into placing our hopes in saviors like negative emissions technology or geo-engineering. Fear leads to motivated reasoning, distortions in our thinking and perception. It prevents us from taking in our situation in a clearheaded way and responding appropriately and altruistically.

To collectively unhook our reactivity, to remain open as tides of fear wash through our bodies, to let them swell up, crash and recede from the shore of our hearts, to not lunge toward alluring illusions of safety, turns us into bulwarks against the storms of reactivity raging through our collective nervous system. Thich Nhat Hahn tells this story:

When the crowded Vietnamese refugee boats met with storms or pirates, if everyone panicked all would be lost. But if even one person on the boat remained calm and centered, it was enough. It showed the way for everyone to survive.

By not being swept along in our collective reactivity, we can steer our vessel towards collective gracefulness amidst chaos. And by renouncing our pursuit of security, we can find solid ground in our solidarity and goodwill.

References

[Image] Fire at Sea, J M W Turner

[1] Fast-Moving California Wildfires Boosted by Climate Change, Anne C. MulkernE&E News on August 24, 2020

Posted by Edmund Mills in Reflections, 0 comments
Planet of the Humans exploits our unprocessed climate grief

Planet of the Humans exploits our unprocessed climate grief

After watching Planet of the Humans (POTH), Michael Moore and Jeff Gibbs’ recent film about the ecological crisis, I found I had a sympathy for it that was hard to understand. After all, the movie is premised on misleading science and unjustified attacks on leaders of the environmental movement. The failures and falsehoods of this movie are by now well documented. Then what was this sympathy about? What chord was it striking in me? And what might others’ reactions to this film illuminate?

With Planet of the Humans, the production team aims to take down the idea that green energy will save us from climate change, and to provoke deeper and wider conversations about how we’re living in relation to our planet. It has two main attacks—pointing out deficiencies in solar and wind energy, and critiquing biofuels and environmental leaders who once supported them. It presents a grim and hopeless picture of our situation, one in which we have been sold false hope and been betrayed.

The film was extremely controversial, was met with intense criticism, and was taken down from YouTube after being watched 7.5 million times in about a month.

A deeply flawed movie

Planet of the Humans uses outdated and misleading science, portraying the state of renewable energy roughly ten years ago as current and using out of context examples. The directors claim that this doesn’t matter, that what they are trying to reveal is the delusional and almost religious nature of our faith in green energy, which has been unchanged over the decade or so over which they made the film.

It’s interesting that their overall point may be true—there are significant limitations to wind and solar, and it’s unlikely that we’d be able to maintain our current lifestyles while transitioning completely to green energy. But since the movie is based on inaccurate science, much of the conversation about it has focused on debunking the science and dismissing the movie, or, on the other side, defending the movie and denying the validity of the criticism. Although the directors hoped to avoid conversations focused on technical details, their use of misleading science guaranteed that that would be the result. In my experience, it hasn’t yet resulted in genuine conversation about how much of a green energy transition is truly possible, or how we might change the way we live.

The other major thrust of the movie is an attack on Bill Mckibben and other environmental activists and groups for being corrupted, and again they miss the mark. But, taken impressionistically and ignoring the particulars, their general point is true—there are environmental groups corrupted by financial interest, well documented for example by Naomi Klein in Capitalism vs. the Climate. Again, the odd combination of an emotionally resonant, generally valid larger point built from a pile of falsehoods seems perfectly designed to generate fruitless debate.

Lastly, the movie raises questions that environmental movements have been grappling with for years and decades as if they were new, without presenting any of the ideas, projects, organizations that seek to answer them. For example, the idea that just changing our energy system won’t solve our ecological crisis is found in groups spanning the indigenous sovereignty movement, the techno-optimists of drawdown, de-growthers, eco-socialists, and eco-spiritualists, each with their own analysis and vision.

The producers counter that given the lack of progress the environmental movement has made, disruption by outsiders is needed. But their timing is poor: over the last few years, the climate movement has been gaining momentum, especially through youth climate strikes, and has developed a policy agenda that is unifying and inspiring. As the movie ignores the depth of understanding in the environmental movement and the momentum it’s built, things that people have devoted their lives to out of their love for the world, it’s easy to understand why it’s provoked such pushback and frustration.

Feeding on despair

And yet, in spite of all of this, there’s a part of me that’s still sympathetic. The movie speaks to my pain and frustration with the failures of the climate movement, my grief and despair about the ecological crisis. If you relax your eyes and allow the details to blur out, the emotional arc of the film comes into focus. It’s a story of a journey from curiosity and optimism through questioning, betrayal, and ultimately, despair. And in relation to climate change, despair resonates now.

There’s been a patronizing tendency in the climate movement to only find hope and optimism acceptable, at least in it’s public-facing messaging, out of the belief that the message must remain positive to prevent people from becoming overwhelmed. This limiting of acceptable responses happens both in the relationship between activists and the general public, and culturally within activist organizations, leaving people’s anxiety, despair, confusion, and grief unspoken and unaddressed.

In contrast, Planet of the Humans opens with asking people on the street how long they think it will be before humans go extinct, openly embracing despair. The appeal of this movie is a reflection of widespread unprocessed climate grief. It speaks to this dimension of our emotional lives when there are few things that do.

By mirroring these emotions, POTH elicited my sympathy. These emotions, our grief and despair, flow from our care for humanity and all of life. By validating them, this part of me felt seen and accepted. When the movie is denounced and rejected, this important part of myself is felt to be denounced and rejected. Extrapolating to others, is it any wonder that the movie is vigorously defended?

On the other side of the argument are people who have invested their hope and energy into a green energy future. In what for me was the most compelling part of the film, the producers interview Sheldon Solomon, who argues that we fixate on green energy to avoid facing our mortality. Might some of the defensiveness be resistance to facing the possibility of climate catastrophe?

Accompanying climate grief

The journey of living with the truth of our precarious situation, of learning to live in the emotional landscape of climate change, including the despair, grief, and anxiety, is essential. We need to learn how to carry these weights without falling into cynicism, how to stay connected to the love at their roots. We need stories to teach us the way and communities where we accompany each other along the way.

Planet of the Humans fails in this regard. It leads us into our despair and leaves us there. For some, this is doubtlessly part of the appeal. Despair abdicates responsibility, our obligation to act. To know what will happen is a relief—it’s harder to live with not knowing, to grapple with finding an appropriate response to a wildly uncertain future.

A different climate change documentary that attempts to do this is Josh Fox’s How to Let Go of the World and Love All the Things Climate Cant Change. The film paints the grim picture of climate change, and then explores the courage of those resisting around the world, including those most impacted. But it’s really about the director’s journey through despair to renewed hope, and the possibility of finding joy in spite of loss, learning how to hold both.

I’d also like to highlight Extinction Rebellion as a movement that tries to make space for climate grief. In their introductory talk, Heading for Extinction and What to Do About It (& Pt. 2), they aim to tell the truth about our climate emergency, give time to grieve, and call for courage rather than hope.

From controversy to constructive conversations

Now that the debate about Planet of the Humans has quieted down, I hope we can move on to constructively engage with some of the questions it gestures toward:

  • How do we process our collective grief and come out with grace and compassion, not bitterness and cynicism?
  • How do we make meaning of our lives in the shadow of possible climate catastrophe?
  • How can we change how we live together on this Earth? If changes beyond adopting green energy are needed, what does humane de-growth look like? Are there possibilities for more meaningful and happier lives within it?
  • Can we create a compassionate society in the midst of climate disruption and prevent the rise of eco-fascism?

Posted by Edmund Mills in Essays, 0 comments