Anthropocene. The first wriggling of that new-born term could have been noted some time ago in the niches of ecological and philosophical literature. However, its spectacular “coming-out” on the stage of scientific attention took place in February 2000 at an annual conference of stratigraphists (atmospheric chemists).[1] After a lecture by his colleagues on the profound biochemical changes of the earth in the Holocene (to date the most recent geological epoch), none other than the Nobel Prize winner Paul Crutzen burst his collar by intervening: “Stop using the word Holocene. We’re not in the Holocene anymore. We’re in the … the … Anthropocene!” What followed during the subsequent coffee break after an initial moment of embarrassed perplexity has not fallen silent to this day and is drawing ever wider circles at all levels.
It is precisely these that I would like to trace with you today. However, they are nothing more than sporadic, unfinished, small scratches of thought on the (earth’s) surface of the vast discussion about the Anthropocene, which cries out to be deepened, especially in theological ethics.
Let’s not fool ourselves: We are merely dealing with a (suggested) geological category, which means that there is neither an ecological, geological, philosophical, moral or even theological theory necessarily linked to it, let alone a spiritual movement.[2] For the sake of correctness, it must be added that the proposal of the Subcommission on Quaternary Stratigraphy (SQS) of the ICS (Internat. Comm. on Stratigraphy) of 29th August 2016 to rename the geological epoch of the present from Holocene to Anthropocene has not yet been accepted, even at the most recent meetings of the ICS.[3] In other words, the coffee break is still going on. The geological column still officially ends with the Holocene.
Anthropo-what?
But what exactly does this delimitation proposal mean and what is it based on? It states that in the Quaternary Period of Earth history (commencing 2.58 million years ago) the youngest and last geological epoch, the Holocene (composed of Greek holos = whole and kainos = new), commonly also called the post-glacial period, came to an end around 1950 and after 11,700 years was replaced by another epoch, the Anthropocene.[4] Thus, a relatively stable warm phase (with average temperature fluctuations of 1.5° C), which had made the development of human civilisation possible, was ended by humankind itself. Human-made carbon dioxide emissions, which can still be detected in the Earth’s atmosphere several thousand years later, are considered to be the decisive factor in this profound change.[5] Other stratigraphic markers (GSSP) clearly pointing back to humans are the radioactive fall-outs from the first nuclear tests in the early 1950s. Further human influences, such as resource consumption, livestock farming, ocean acidification, the hole in the ozone layer, the production of non-biodegradable waste, etc. are imprinted on the Earth’s history and will still be detectable in various ways in the distant future.
Even such a brief description of the geologically clearly definable GSSP clearly bears the character of an evaluation: The emergence and development of humankind can be seen as similar to other geological forces in the history of the earth, for example a meteorite impact. It does not take long to extract from these geological observations a deeply disturbing diagnosis of “living on a damaged planet”. In view of the long-standing debate on the environment and climate, this may no longer come as a surprise to anyone. Perhaps by now we are used to sentences like “By consuming fossil fuels, the present is burning up an immense past, namely 100 million years. At the same time, it is shaping an equally demonically long future that exceeds any humanly conceivable time horizon.”[6] (Eva Horn)
On the one hand not much of a surprise, on the other hand this statement relentlessly reveals an uncomfortable insight: Like no other model, the concept of the Anthropocene presents us with the difficulty in finding a scale in which a wide-spun geological history, the history of life on the planet, the species history of Homo sapiens as well as the even more recent history of industrialisation interconnect. This endeavour almost certainly will evoke human uncertainty:[7] With our horizon of experience clearly transcended, we look back in amazement at a geological history that has enabled the development of human civilisation (through climatic continuity) and which is now being transferred, as it were, to another time scale through this very development. This “greatest conceivable environmental-historical break with the climatic conditions enabling civilisation” (Eva Horn) [8] brings about an acceleration of changing living conditions escalating further and further (great acceleration).[9] We are therefore no longer dealing with a “catastrophe” (break-in) in a continuous historiography, but with an epochal upheaval that transcends the human horizon of experience and reaches out towards a deep future. This opens up horizons of thought that are shrouded and mysterious at best, but threatening at worst, which again brings us back to a dimension of moral impact, transcending a purely geological description.
What about ethics?
At this point, a fundamental ethical difficulty arises: Is it permitted to draw a normative conclusion immediately from a description of a state of affairs? Since G.E. Moore, many ethicists feel compelled to hold up the warning sign of naturalistic fallacy.[10] So there is no cheap and easy way from the conceptual postulation of an Anthropocene[11] to a catalogue of environmental or private measures.
It might be more prudent to start at the very foundations of normative ethics (which of course, are discussed within a metaethical frame), namely anthropology. Here, too, it should be clear that we are dealing with a human-made hermeneutical model of humankind. Thus it can never claim “objectivity”. There is no such thing as “the anthropology” which can claim universal validity. In the concept of the Anthropocene, humans are ascribed a power and force similar to that of volcanoes and tectonic shifts.[12] Here, “human” functions as a cumulative term of human-civilisational influence on the history of the earth, or, to bring another (problematic) term into play, on “nature”. Such a “nature” is no longer an object for human beings that can be beautified or tamed by human culture, but can be perceived already as a product of cultural and civilizational formation.[13] The distinction between nature and culture thus seems to become increasingly blurred. This initially gives the impression that humans have assumed a kind of creator role regarding a nature (religious connotations are certainly intended here). On the other hand however, the geophysical approach of the Anthropocene simultaneously finds the human species at the mercy of climate change, for example. In this way, “nature” takes on the role of a powerful, (almost god-like) personified counterpart to humans[14] and ultimately remains distinguishable from them. In this context, one could speak of an ethical interaction: Nature has always been and still is a culture-related task, while culture is also a task for nature to be enabled.[15]
How does responsibility work?
Within such an interrelatedness, a human being finds himself or herself positioned as an autonomous individual whose actions alone can carry the moral category of responsibility. But how is he or she able to exercise this responsibility? Two problems arise: Firstly, each individual estimates his or her own effectiveness in regard to global problems as very low, which, however, is very high in the sum of all participants (especially in highly industrialised countries).[16] Secondly, the problem of scale (see above) gives rise to a fundamental difficulty of impact assessment and thus of (teleologically) determining morally correct action. How can I know that I am doing the right thing if I have to consider the horizon of my actions in millennia, if not in millions of years? So it is no longer just about my future or that of my fellow citizens, children or grandchildren, but about the deep future of (human) life on earth as a whole. Thus, any use of a plastic straw could be seen as an unforgivable outrage against the development possibilities of planetary life on Earth and could not be justified under any circumstances. Aren’t we here at a limit of good old ethical consequentialism, insofar as all impact assessments become invalid (because too short-sighted)? What sort of normative approach could take its place? A new deontology of naturalistically based limits and prohibitions? But how (on earth) can we determine “nature” as a normative source without tapping into the well-known fallacy trap (see above)?
Help through virtue?
There is a chance that of all things, theological ethics can provide help insofar as it is committed to a virtue ethics of attitudes based on a universal human awareness of vulnerability and relationality (relatedness).[17] This of course is based on the anthropological assumption that living beings are related and interconnected. Thus a human being can be seen as an agent in an existential drama which becomes a Theodrama under the presupposition of the New Testament narrative. A certain act of this Theodrama on the stage of world history, the life and death of Jesus Christ, presents (or reveals) a meaning for the past and the (deep) future.[18] With a Saviour who showed himself to be truly human and at the same time truly divine in his vulnerability, virtue ethics can lead us to build connections and bridges to a wounded and vulnerable creation. Pope Francis chooses such an approach in his environmental encyclical of 2015. This deep awareness of being referred to one another, the awareness of a trinitarian relationality,[19] can help to form attitudes that reach beyond those vague calculations of utility already mentioned. Of course, this is not exhausted in a singular act of judgement, it is a spiritual process of growth and experience that is reflected in personal history and narratives.[20] We can only reflect the impact of human presence on earth through those narratives which in the process of narration start to change attitudes. In order to solidify and to draw circles, it must be able to be told, must be kept relevant in conversation and lively exchange – even during a coffee break.
I realise that now, at the end of this little article, you will be disappointed. So that’s it? A reference to Trinitarian relationality, Pope Francis and the power of spiritual awareness, which should always be kept alive in us through storytelling? This, too, would be a very cheap “way out”, a forcibly spiritualised release from the deep angst that comes over us when we look into abysses. This (inner) movement, we can at least hope, has something cathartic, cleansing, stirring, which at the same time makes clear to us our being at the mercy of a God who we believe created our world not only for and in a coffee break.
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[1] Cf. Eva Horn / Hannes Bergthaller, Anthropozän zur Einführung, Hamburg 2019, 8-9.
[2] Cf. Eva Horn, Menschen Geschichte als Erdgeschichte. Zeitskalen im Anthropozän, in: Stascha Rohmer / Georg Toepfer (Eds.), Anthropozän – Klimawandel – Biodiversität. Transdisziplinäre Perspektiven auf das gewandelte Verhältnis von Mensch und Natur, Munich 2021, 99-129, here: 100.
[3] Cf. http://quaternary.stratigraphy.org/working-groups/anthropocene/ (viewed 07/03/23), with latest publications on the subject of the Anthropocene by the working group of the SQS.
[4] Cf. Horn, Anthropozän 99.
[5] Cf. Eva Raimann, Implikationen des Anthropozän. Über die Verortungen des menschlichen Subjektes innerhalb der ‚Geologie der Menschheit‘, in: Stascha Rohmer / Georg Toepfer (Hgg.), Anthropozän – Klimawandel – Biodiversität. Transdisziplinäre Perspektiven auf das gewandelte Verhältnis von Mensch und Natur, München 2021: Alber, 82-98, here: 86.
[6] „Durch den Verbrauch von fossilen Brennstoffen verheizt die Gegenwart eine immense Vergangenheit, nämlich 100 Millionen Jahre. Sie prägt damit zugleich eine ebenso dämonisch lange Zukunft, die jeden menschlich denkbaren Zeithorizont übersteigt.“ – Horn, Geschichte 121.
[7] Cf. Erle C. Ellis, Anthropozän. Das Zeitalter des Menschen – eine Einführung, Munich 2020, 57-61.
[8] „größter nur denkbare umwelthistorische Bruch mit den klimatischen Möglichkeitsbedingungen der Zivilisation“ – Horn, Geschichte 106.
[9] Cf. ibid. 109.
[10] Cf. Maria Antonaccio, De-moralizing and Re-moralizing of the Anthropocene, in: Celia Deane-Drummond / Sigurd Bergmann / Markus Vogt (Eds.), Religion in the Anthropocene, Eugene OR 2017: Cascade, 121-137, here: 122.
[11] Cf. Celia Deane-Drummond, Performing the Beginning in the End. A Theological Anthropology for the Anthropocene, in: Id. / Sigurd Bergmann / Markus Vogt (Eds.), Religion in the Anthropocene, Eugene OR 2017, 173-187, here: 180.
[12] Cf. Antonaccio, De-moralizing 121-122.
[13] Cf. ibid. 132-133.
[14] Cf. Deane-Drummond, Beginning 185.
[15] „Natur ist nicht nur Kulturaufgabe, sondern Kultur ist auch Naturaufgabe“ – Raimann, Anthropozän 90.
[16] Cf. Horn, Geschichte 101.
[17] Cf. Deane-Drummond, Beginning 186.
[18] Cf. ibid. 185.
[19] Cf. Pope Francis, Encyclical „Laudato Si“ (24th May 2015), n. 238-240.
[20] Cf. Deane-Drummond, Beginning 177.