The contemporary salience of āthe
end of the worldā as a topic scarcely needs to be highlighted. Social scientists wrestle on the one hand with abundant manifestations of the theme in international
popular culture (Danowski and
Viveiros de Castro 2017), and on the other address the widespread skepticism that has to date halted effective action on
climate change and the environmental
crisis (
Latour 2017).
Speculation on the end of the world is of course coherent with the most careful scientific analyses of the state of things, which show trends hockey-sticking out of the known and into a realm of extreme and irreversible change if we do not halt our consumption, especially of
fossil fuels. The
Stockholm Resilience Center has identified nine planetary boundaries in a careful attempt to measure damage and chances of recovery in areas of key concern, including the ozone layer,
biodiversity, ocean acidification, and climatic change (Rockstrƶm et al.
2009); a 2015 update to the Rockstrƶm et al. report concluded that four of these boundaries had already been crossed including two key areas,
biodiversity and
climate change, which as the reportās leading author indicates, ācould inadvertently drive the Earth System into a much less hospitable state, damaging efforts to reduce
poverty and leading to a deterioration of human wellbeing in many parts of the world, including wealthy countriesā (Steffen et al.
2015).
Such analyses too often separate these ānaturalā factors from the āsocial,ā the vast and increasing disparity of wealth itself predicted to topple the world economy sometime soon if no attempt is made to curb the excesses of those at the top (Motesharrei et al. 2014) in the era some call the Capitalocene (Moore 2015, 2017). The Capitalocene, as Brightman and Lewis (2018) indicate, marks where the agency of the Anthropocene is concentrated, in āmodern growth based market economies that have intensified resource extraction and consumption around the world, mostly externalising the cost to non-human species and environmentsā (Brightman and Lewis 2018: 14), yet Anthropocenic thinking can be perceived in all the environments it touches. Separating agentive culture from the mere materiality of ānatureā, the Anthropocene alienates humans from the environments they inhabit, magnifying anthropos against its landscape. Concordantly, the decline in the number of species with whom humans share the earth is so abrupt as to be called the sixth great extinction (Ceballos et al. 2017), a label it seems only contested by those who argue that while we are clearly on the brink of such a change it cannot yet be said to have happened.
Is it too late? James Lovelock, co-creator with Lynn Margulis of the influential Gaia theory (Lovelock and Margulis 1974) in 2008 proclaimed himself of the opinion that it was too late, only to recently conclude in the media that a robot takeover of the planet was likely to be a more pressing concern, introducing a third phalange of eschatological concern, culture/nature/cyborgs.1 Climate models speak of likelihoods and not of certainties. We are treading into unknown territory; while it is known, for example, that oceans will absorb carbon dioxide from the atmosphere, we cannot know exactly how much nor likewise the impact of flora, expanding in size as the environment becomes richer in carbon, on climatic change.
Out of this uncertainty spring apocalyptic imaginings. For both ISIS and US fundamentalists the end of the world is impending, a situation which neither side dread, as it will evince their status as true believers leading them to paradise. An extremely precarious situation. Perhaps it is, as Pratchett and Gaiman set out in their comic novel Good Omens (1990) that despite the darkness of the context we inhabit, the āend of the worldā is something we are led into by the narratives we tell ourselves. Turning our attention to innocent pursuits, as the scientist Mayer Hillman indicates,2 āmusic and love and education and happiness,ā which consume no fossil fuels, despite the tangible reality of the four horsemen of famine, pollution, avarice, and war in our everyday lives, we might (still) avoid crisis or, according to Hillman, at least stave it off a little longer.
As Latour indicates, climate change is the ārevenge of Gaiaā on the modern view in which ānatureā is deprived or āde-animatedā of agentive capacity, reduced to the status of object for human subject or ācultureā to manipulate. Our only chance of escaping it is to think our way out of the modern trap (Latour 2017). Let us therefore construct a cosmopolitics (Stengers 2005) of climate change, widening the concept of politics beyond its modern confines, resisting the tendency of the term to signify, as Latour puts it, āgive and take in an exclusive human clubā (Latour 2004: 454) to consult with communities who understand worlds from āotherā cosmological standpoints. Cosmos, in Stengersā rendering, refers to the unknown constituted by āmultiple divergent worlds, and the articulations of which they could eventually be capableā (Stengers 2005: 995).3 In this book we encounter various such articulations or reconciliations across registers that are commonly separated as science and mythology.
Mythology is a vehicle specialized in dealing with endings and beginnings and unlike science can construct moral narratives, connecting across the realms of ānatureā and āculture.ā Contemporary Amerindian communities, as Danowski and Viveiros de Castro (2017) indicate, with their sustainable technologies open to complex syncretic assemblages and modest human population sizes, could be considered āone of the possible chances of a subsistence of the futureā (Danowski and Viveiros de Castro 2017: 123). In this book we consult such communities on whether the world is ending, whether and why it has ended before, and how we can change contemporary practice to make it sustainable. Can it be saved? What does climate change look like to those who consider that the elements and landscape are imbued with what we might tentatively call consciousnessāthe capacity to reflect, act, feel? We consider how these communities are equivocating (Viveiros de Castro 2004) their views in cosmopolitical arenas and compare attempts by modern scientists to communicate with them, creating cross-cultural rapprochement.
The Latin American communities consulted here have in common that they inhabit worlds in which humans and spirits co-exist and exchange with one another for their subsistence. Relationships are fundamentally constitutive of the landscapes described, composed of cross-species networks of interacting agentive actors, visible and invisible. In a context where such relationships are more salient than a modern division between nature and culture, changes to the climate are considered inseparable from human actions, and indeed from a sense of crisis subsuming entire landscapes. These are all communities conversant with modernity, most of whom are agentively tackling incursions into their territory, whether from loggers, mining companies, or development agencies, as well as shifting lifestyles and beliefs among themselves.
The communities clearly concur that worlds end when we do not respect the spirits and other species layered into landscapes and indeed within what modernity might term ānatural resources.ā Sharing with other humans and animals that partake in these relational networks is key to entertaining their approval. People are currently ceasing to conduct āearth practicesā (Harvey 2007) of respecting and feeding telluric spirits, which across the communities is highlighted as the most prevalent concern. Crucially, we must ask before we take, expressing respect and acknowledgment, what we might call āconnection.ā While they also put forward salient critiques of capitalist extractivist modernity, it may seem remarkable the extent to which these ācommunities of the futu...