Last semester in Environmental Theory, we dove into the very definitions of the word “theory” and explored the tricky facets of the field or fields. In class last week, Liz delineated theories in the natural science context from theories in the social science context. In the natural science context, theories are as good as it gets. Theories mean agreement and reinforcement and acceptance. In the topic of “earthquake communication” geologic and tectonic theories are paramount. However, in the interdisciplinary world of the environmental studies (particularly in my humanities corner), theories are lot more fluid and argumentative. They are models and logic problems. They are like philosophies. In literary studies, theory can sometimes be synonymous with criticism, indicating argument rather than agreement.
I believe my thesis is much more firmly rooted in the social sciences and humanities corners than in the hard sciences. While geologic theories of tectonic plates are, in many ways, the most abstract version of non-human nature in my study, social theories, psychological theories, and literary theories are the established models that I will be contending with and employing the most,.
I’m going to begin with concepts of contemporary environmentalism, a term that first appeared in my environmental studies notebook in February of 2014. While this term is certainly jargon of the Lewis & Clark ENVS department, it indicates a shift from apocalyptic, reductionist, essentialist thought to a more hopeful, dynamic, and technologically optimistic outlook. One collection that is fundamental to this brand of environmental thought is The Breakthrough Institute‘s Love Your Monsters. In particular, Bruno Latour’s titular essay “Love Your Monsters” effectively sums up some of the major arguments held by contemporary environmentalists (sometimes called “ecomodernists”). In this essay, Latour uses the Romantic science fiction novel Frankenstein to argue that we as a society should not shun or abandon our technologies. In his metaphor, Dr Frankenstein’s monster is the technology and the immense trouble that Victor encounters is a result of his neglected relationship with his “technology” and not the creation of the technology itself.
First, Latour’s discussion of Shelley’s Frankenstein and his description of the narrative of modernity speak to the relationship between environmental thought and the structure and genre of fiction. He writes:
The dominant, peculiar story of modernity is of humankind’s emancipation from Nature. Modernity is the thrusting-forward arrow of time — Progress — characterized by its juvenile enthusiasm, risk taking, frontier spirit, optimism, and indifference to the past. The spirit can be summarized in a single sentence: “Tomorrow, we will be able to separate more accurately what the world is really like from the subjective illusions we used to entertain about it.”
The very forward movement of the arrow of time and the frontier spirit associated with it (the modernizing front) is due to a certain conception of knowledge: “Tomorrow, we will be able to differentiate clearly what in the past was still mixed up, namely facts and values, thanks to Science.”
Science is the shibboleth that defines the right direction of the arrow of time because it, and only it, is able to cut into two well-separated parts what had, in the past, remained hopelessly confused: a morass of ideology, emotions, and values on the one hand, and, on the other, stark and naked matters of fact. (Latour, 2012).
To Latour, “modernity” is a “story,” in particular one defined by a forward pointing arrow. Science is at the forefront of this arrow, moving the story forward with gusto. Latour outlines a clean separation between things: future and past, reality and illusion, values/emotions and facts. Science is the method that delineates these things. Science is “right,” correct. However, Latour ultimately rejects this ideology and suggests that instead of looking to Science to further separate humans and Nature, future and past, illusion and reality, fact and value, we should be seeking intimacy and attachment. Emotions and values are not discrete from “stark and naked matters of fact.” We should see them as intertwined. Although Latour doesn’t outright say this, he does imply that “subjective illusions” are not too far from “what the world is really like.” In fact, perhaps they are the same. In my study, fiction would certainly fall into the category of “subjective illusion.” Indeed, what is a more “subjective illusion” than a novel? However, novels and fiction have teeth and literary folk are fond of arguing that fiction is often remarkably more True. When science and fictional subjective illusions are interwoven, like in certain strains of science fiction and in narrative science communication, perhaps Latour’s intimacy of attachment can be realized, at least in part. Latour himself employs this method, using a literary work of science fiction as a metaphor for his argument. He represents Science and modernism through a subjective illusion in a very compelling and, perhaps, true way. Latour shows that metaphor, even in the most literary Romantic sense, is a powerful tool for communicating scientific information.
Taken together with Ursula Le Guin’s “Carrier Bag Theory of Fiction,” Latour’s piece also speaks to the structure of narratives and stories. Latour emphasizes over and over that the dominant narrative of the modernist story is progress, a “forward-thrusting arrow.” Le Guin addresses this structural trope as well, also with a narrative metaphor. I’m struggling to summarize her incredible essay into a short post, but here is the abridged version:
What we hear about as the first technologies of humankind are often the weapons: the spears, the sticks, the long, hard, bony, things that people used to kill animals and kill each other. These are the stories that we hear. What we don’t hear about is what was probably the true first type of technology: the container, the thing to hold other things. The container brings energy in rather than expends energy out. Seems logical, right? After all, don’t people need a container to carry their weapons in? And a container to bring back the meat from the kill site?
There is an explicit gendered quality to this narrative. Receptacle versus protrusion.
Now, consider the common way that narratives are taught. Narratives are linear. They have a beginning, middle, and end. The proper shape of a narrative is often construed as an arrow or spear (see Latour above). And here is the punch line:
I differ with all of this. I would go so far as to say that the natural, proper, fitting shape of the novel might be that of a sack, a bag. A book holds words. Words hold things. They bear meanings. A novel is a medicine bundle, holding things in a particular, powerful relation to one another and to us (Le Guin, 1996).
In this way, Le Guin tackles the same linear narrative of progression that Latour posits and questions. She connects to environmental history and technology. In a funny way, both Latour and Le Guin are discussing the fundamental relationship of humans with technologies. Le Guin employs the carrier bag metaphor to fiction, and specifically science fiction. She argues that in the shape like a carrier bag, fiction has the power to hold “things in a particular, powerful relation to one other and to us.” There is intimacy and attachment in these relationships. These relationships are metaphors. They are science imbued with values, expressed through emotions. She shows how narratives and fictions through “subjective illusions” can not only represent, but alter “the way the world is really like.” Fiction here has the capacity to create intimacy and attachment. In this way, Le Guin upturns both the linear narratives of progress and Science and the scientific detachment cautioned against by Latour. In Le Guin, fiction becomes a technology, a cultural container for this very process of emotional intimation and transformative attachment.
These two frameworks suggest that narratives can have teeth. They can alter the stakes of the non-fictional “real” world. Latour’s ideas of attachment and intimacy can perhaps be achieved through literary (or at least fictional) representations, metaphors, and empathy-producing narratives. Especially if, in the particular case study of the earthquake messaging campaign, the goal of science communication is to connect scientific information to people’s emotions and their relationships (inciting fear, promoting community). Latour and The Breakthrough Institue’s contemporary environmentalism ultimately calls for an embrace of technology as the thing that makes us human and the thing that will continue to sustain us. Le Guin reminds us that language and stories are in fact technologies themselves and have a powerful capacity to represent and imagine the world. Science fiction, Le Guin’s stock and trade, in particular must struggle against the linear progress of heroes and detachment in order to succeed in this endeavor. In this way, her theory points to an ideal capacity of scientific fiction to contain and exude some truth.