For many environmentalists, the state of the world is problematic: too many people using too many resources and perturbing too many natural systems. Assuming this to be true -- and some don’t -- there are two fundamental responses: reduce human activity dramatically, or embrace an anthropogenic world. Many environmentalists incline toward the first option, leavened by political and moral reality. But I want to ask a more basic question: Why does the world look the way it does, and can that shed any light on future direction?

One clearly does not answer such a question in a single column. But there are obvious points. First, uniquely in the known universe, one species has risen to dominance over a world. That doesn’t mean ethical and rational control, but it does mean that, over the past 10 or 20 thousand years, one species has learned how to capture significant amounts of the available energy and resources, and convert much of the planet to suit its own interests.

This is not unique to the modern era: anthropogenic changes in atmospheric carbon concentration began a thousand years ago with the deforestation of Europe and North Africa; lakes and fossil ice around the world show spikes in concentrations of lead and copper reflecting the rise and fall of civilizations; new evidence indicates that “primitive” peoples had significantly altered the Amazon to support large populations; and manipulating the genetics of other species for human purposes began with the advent of agriculture. Some believe that non-European civilizations had a more “natural” or “sustainable” culture”-- a view that frequently coincides with a New Age placement of the Sacred within “nature” -- but modern scholarship cannot support this utopianism.

What has changed is the scale and technological leverage humans now bring to these traditional activities, not the inherent “will to power.” Concurrently, cultures compete with one another, and accordingly evolve both internally, and taken as a whole.

This technological and cultural evolution, unique to the human species, has three key characteristics. First, it does not appear to be directed to any particular end, and whether it is “good” or “bad” depends on one’s historical and cultural perspective. Second, while not “progress” in a normative sense, it does exhibit a continuing tendency towards greater complexity. Third, the overall effect is to reinforce the primacy of the human species.

Cultural and technological evolution are mutually dependent: all historical evidence indicates that cultures with more effective and efficient technology out-compete others. Thus, the Bronze Age replaced the Neolithic (New Stone) Age, and was in turn replaced by the Iron Age, and so on until today, when globalization reflects the ascendancy of capitalist, primarily Euro-American, culture. In general, more advanced technology will, through differential increases in cultural fitness, dominate.

These observations do not mean such dynamics are “desirable.” Rather, they respond to the question of “what is,” not “what should be.” But trying to answer the latter without clearly perceiving the former can only lead to significant conceptual mistakes -- and dysfunctional policies.

Has this happened to some elements of environmentalism? Suppose, for example, that the species “will to power” exhibited throughout history is foundational to being human. Is environmentalism in opposing this simply making itself irrelevant? And if the confluence of that will to power, and technological and cultural evolution, has led to an anthropogenic world, can environmentalism evolve itself in response, rather than indulge in ideological denial? And “sustainability” tends not to be comfortable with technology, cultural conflict, or evolutionary dynamics. Can it evolve as a viable construct, or is it condemned to be a marginalized cultural critique, much like classical Marxism?

I do not pretend to know the answers. But this approach suggests that, at the least, environmental education is seriously deficient to the extent it does not embrace a study of history and the human condition -- which it usually does not. Additionally, it suggests that it might be wise to develop a new and dynamic environmentalism, one comfortable with technological and cultural evolution, and humans as they appear to be . . . just in case history turns out to be a little more resilient than we think.

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Allenby is environment, health and safety vice president for AT&T, an adjunct professor at the University of Virginia’s Engineering School and Princeton Theological Seminary, and Batten Fellow at the University of Virginia’s Darden Business School. The views expressed herein are those of the author, and not any institution with which he is associated.