"Warn your audience of the dire consequences of their acts and call on them to change before it is too late. It was and is the favoured mode of fire and brimstone preachers, warning of torments of eternal punishments in hell should we not repent and amend our ways. I wonder whether this is the most effective way to tell the story."

Reports of catastrophe seem to be all around us. It may be the worst economic collapse since the Great Depression if not of the history of capitalism, or it may the urgent matter of global warming and environmental collapse, or it may the first glimmers of the end of that cheap black energy known as oil. These three jostle for our attention at the head of the queue, one leaping ahead of the other every now and then. Is my bank balance safe, I wonder, or is my job? Should I try to become more independent of oil, or should I retreat to the country and grow my own fruit and veg as we await catastrophic climate change?

However, if we look a little closer at the way these stories are told, they seem to follow some familiar patterns. The imminent catastrophes might be new in some way, but the shapes of the stories are certainly not. I like to call them the narratives of Repentance, Jonah and Noah.

Call to Repentance

Let me begin with the issue that has dominated our news and the concerns of our politicians in the last year or so: the latest cycle of bust in the ever unstable economic system with which we are saddled. After a prolonged boom, suddenly we read on a daily basis of the dire consequences of an era of stupid decisions by banks, rapacious businesses, insatiable greed of consumers and the laxity of politicians. People are on the streets protesting, unemployment is sky-rocketing, people are forced to leave their homes, social unrest is to follow; in short the golden age is past. Bleak pictures of long lines of the unemployed, of shopkeepers boarding up their shops, of the rise in crime as people try to feed themselves, and of jailed bank managers and corrupt business leaders are becoming our daily fare.

Yet this is something those of us older than 20 years of age have seen before. At least it is familiar, if somewhat grim. More catastrophic and unknown is the looming oil shortage. We had a taste in 2008 when oil prices peaked at USD $150 a barrel, before they collapsed with a rapid decline in demand. No doubt it will return with renewed force when the global economy picks up and demand increases once again. When that happens, we will see, again, that the unprecedented expansion of a ridiculously cheap source of energy (one unit of energy input produces twenty units of output) has brought us to the dangerous point when demand exceeds supply – the famous Hubbard’s Peak. Given that manufacturing, food production, plastics, let alone transport by sea, air, road and rail, all rely on oil, the shortage of oil will have an immense impact on the way we live: mass flying will come to an end, shipping will have to use sail, there will be food shortages, massive unemployment, energy refugees, oil stockpiling by rich nations for their armed forces, and energy wars. If you see the film Crude Awakening you witness a brutal scenario of apocalyptic proportions. The way of life that has been enabled a brief spurt of oil-addicted economic growth (about 70 years) will come to an abrupt end.

However, apart from economic bust and Peak Oil, the most consistent picture of catastrophe is the one associated with global warming and environmental destruction. Despite the glee of the global warming deniers at the shift of attention brought on by the economic downturn, environmental fears will not go away. Here the narrative goes roughly as follows. We have overused the earth’s resources; in fact, thinking about the earth as a ‘resource’ is part of the problem. Since the industrial revolution, the parts per million of carbon in the atmosphere have risen to dangerous levels through our thirst for fossil fuels. We have been encouraged to consume more and more, or at least those in the rich third of the world have. Needs we never thought we had have suddenly arisen, encouraged by the advertising (aka propaganda) industry. We use too much water, too many plastics, we fly too much, drive too much, eat too many processed foods. Our demand for ‘energy’, produced by heavy-polluting power stations, grows and grows. And when it gets hotter and hotter we simply turn the air-conditioner up. Our ‘carbon footprint’ is far too high. The scenario here is as grim as it can get. Large-scale extinctions are already under way, clean water for human beings becomes increasingly scarce, crops begin to fail in areas that have been until now the bread-baskets of the world, low-lying coastal cities (the major commercial centres) go under water as the sea rises, diseases we never have seen become rampant, increases in starvation follow, the Greenland ice-cap melts, the Arctic becomes ice-free in summers, large chunks of the Antarctic ice shelf break away, the Gulf Stream stops and northern Europe freezes up, extreme weather events increase, such as storms, floods, and cyclones, the tropics extend their reach into temperate zones, the deserts grow, and life itself faces its biggest challenge.

In each case – economics, oil or the environment, we find one doomsayer after another painting as grim a picture as possible. But the purpose of the narrative is to call for repentance. Greed and acquisition become the sins of economic excess; we must repent and espouse the virtues of frugality and restraint. The high salaries of bank managers and business CEOs come under scrutiny and governments intervene as stern judges condemning sin, priests who demand penance and saviours who will make sure it doesn’t happen again. Or in the case of oil, repentance requires giving up our addiction to oil and finding some other energy source, whether bio-fuels, or power from sun, wind, tides and hot rocks beneath the earth’s crust, or indeed nuclear power. All that stands between us and redemption is a great push for innovation.

As for the environment, one book after another, or one film or documentary after another, calls on us to repent of our destructive ways. We are to assess and reduce our ‘carbon footprint’, or find eco-friendly ways to live, whether growing our own vegetables, showering less, buying carbon offsets, or indeed walking, cycling and taking public transport. Take the film by Al Gore called An Inconvenient Truth. Here the apocalyptic scenes come thick and fast, based upon scientific consensus. And yet, we are told, it is not too late. If we act now and change our ways, we can still save the planet from its doom.

By now it will be clear that this narrative of imminent doom and the call for repentance is by no means new. Warn your audience of the dire consequences of their acts and call on them to change before it is too late. It was and is the favoured mode of fire and brimstone preachers, warning of torments of eternal punishments in hell should we not repent and amend our ways. I wonder whether this is the most effective way to tell the story.

The Jonah Story

Repentance is not the only way in which these stories of catastrophe are told. Another is what may be called the Jonah story, a title I draw from the biblical book of the same name. In that wonderful fictional novella Jonah is called by God to go and preach doom and destruction on Nineveh (in present-day Iraq). Jonah is less than impressed by the job description and heads in precisely the opposite direction, boarding a ship, incognito. But God is not going to let him get off the hook so easily, so he follows Jonah, brings on a great storm (as gods tend to do) and then forces him to admit to the crew that he is a prophet fleeing a less than attractive commission. They promptly toss him overboard, the storm ceases but a great fish swallows Jonah, swiftly gives him submarine passage to Nineveh and spits him out on the shore nearby. Properly pissed off by now, Jonah decides to let Ninevites have it. He strides about the city, crying out with great relish that the end is nigh, that they have only days left. Then he takes himself to a hill and finds a comfortable spot to watch the fireworks.

So also the Jonahs among us take grim satisfaction in telling us that the world is coming to end and that there is nothing we can do about it. Non-one will change, they say, people will keep on burning oil in their gas-guzzling cars, species will keep becoming extinct, and armies will be deployed to shoot and bomb those who come hammering on the gates of the wealthy nations. No one will in fact repent, people have brought this catastrophe on themselves, so damnation to the lot of them. Like Jonah, they preach destruction to an evil generation who will not change. Catastrophe is coming, so we had better get ready for it.

The Noah Story

There is one other narrative we hear from time to time. Somewhere between repentance and Jonah, I suggest it follows that age-old structure of the story of Noah. Told of a coming catastrophe (the Flood) some years in advance, Jonah sets about building a massive boat according to a divine blueprint. His neighbours laugh and mock and his family thinks male menopause has addled his brain. But Noah keeps building. When the catastrophe does arrive in the form of torrential rain and subsequent flooding, Noah manages to ensure a remnant makes it onto the ark, two of some species, seven of others, as well as his own family. Eventually the floods subside and the ark finds a resting place in order to start life again (except for the fish, who have done rather well).

More than one story of our impeding doom has invoked this story form. One of the many environmental organisations is in fact called ‘Planet Ark’, the occasional catastrophe film (meteorite strike, space invasion, monster storm and what have you) has its own version of the Noah’s ark story, and some in the environmental movement have called on this story as a means for ensuring some species survive.

An excellent example of the use of the Noah narrative is the ‘Survivalists’, a loose movement that shares the same basic assumptions. For them the arrival of Peak Oil and the catastrophic effects of global warming will mark the end of society as they know it. They buy land in remote areas that will be least affected by global warming, learn to become entirely self-sufficient, and seek to free themselves from oil dependence. However, this is not a collective act, done for the good of everyone. Instead, it is a retreat from the masses, a move to ensure that they will survive, even if every one else will not. So they stockpile weapons and ammunition to protect themselves from the starving, dispossessed hordes that will soon be raiding their land looking for food and shelter. In other words, they seek to build their own ‘arks’ for the coming deluge and will fight off anyone who might want to join them uninvited.

Another Narrative?

What are we to make of these stories? Some will point out that they are mere fictions, scary doomsday scenarios that we should really ignore, for they are no different from many similar prophecies of the end throughout human history. The problem with dismissing these stories is that deny the wall of scientific analysis which shows that global warming is a real danger and Peak Oil a massive challenge. The position of denial is, as others have pointed out, like still believing in a flat-earth.

I could argue that these three story forms are archetypes, basic patterns that we as human beings fall back on in ‘times of troubles’, as the Russians call them (originally periods of complete social breakdown after invasions and then the slow process of rebuilding). I prefer to point out that these apocalyptic narratives concerning the end of the world have a biblical heritage that still remains strong at a subterranean level. Anyone with some basic knowledge of the Bible can recognise them instantly. You don’t have to believe the religious content in order to see how these stories still shape our imaginations. (In fact, it is an advantage not to affirm that religious content, since then it is easier to see the form of the stories).

I want to stress that both the way we choose to tell the story and the reason we do so are as important as the story itself. I must admit that I have indulged in the Jonah narrative from time to time, telling myself it is the most realistic of the lot. People will not change, capitalism will keep ploughing on in its destructive path and so a grim forecast is the best approach. Assume the worst and then anything looks like an improvement. The Noah narrative is as grim although more individualistic and selfish. Once again, it claims to be realistic for much the same reasons as the Noah narrative but then says, ‘stuff the rest, I’m going to save myself’. As for the Repentance narrative, we need to ask, repentance for what? Is it to keep our current system staggering along with a few bandages and splints? Then I am not interested. Is it used for an argument to cut the birth-rate and reduce the umber of human beings on the planet? This Malthusian position simply has the cart before the horse. Is it, as the eco-socialists argue, a wake-up call to change an economic system that has led us to this point? Then I am more interested.

At this point I would like to suggest a fourth story, one that imagines what the globe would look like if the greenies, anarchists, socialists, pacifists, feminists, religious Lefties and whatnot had their way. Full of Utopian dreams, visions, plans and political agendas, this story spills out in all directions.

They are a mixture of old and new. Communism has its own myth, captured by the slogan, “from each according to his abilities, to each according to his need!” Anarchists too have their myth, one of the absence of the state and the self-organization by collectives, all of which is captured in Bakunin’s principle: “absolute rejection of every authority including that which sacrifices freedom for the convenience of the state”. Pacifism too has a long heritage, predicated as it is on a social and economic system in which peaceful cooperation is the rule rather than conflict and warfare. At its deepest level, pacifism argues that all forms of human society have been built around conflict, so what is needed is an entirely different social formation that is cooperative rather than conflictual.

Or there is the old tradition of Christian communism that has inspired one movement after another, including various religious collectives, Winstanley’s Diggers of the 17th century, Étienne Cabet’s (1788-1856) Icarian communities, the “Old Believers” in 19th century Russia, and International League of Christian Socialists today (www.ilrs.org). The source of their ideal is the mythic image from the Acts 2:44-5: “And all who believed were together and had all things in common; and they sold their possessions and goods and distributed them to all, as any had need.”

These are more or less well-known, with rather long histories, but they do provide the basis of another story. What about some of the newer directions? I might call upon the variety of feminist stories, not so much those that provide an image of an egalitarian capitalist society where women can acquire as much capital as men, but rather a post-capitalist and post-patriarchal society. What that might look like is the subject of much debate, but it is based on the point that all forms of human society have featured the complex dominations of one gender over another. Is the end of such patriarchies one of equality, of separate economic and social systems, of the celebration of difference?

Like the feminists, the greens have all manner of narratives, although they all turn on an economy and society that does not destroy the natural environment of which we are a part – whether in terms of global warming, the extinction of species, mono-culture, pesticides and herbicides and so on. Among the Greens there is an immense amount of discussion, planning and debate concerning the shape of society, new forms of global government, uses of technology and science, the role of religion and, of course, the structure of the economy.

The possibilities may keep multiplying and I am sure you will be able to come up with a few more. Some are wilder, some more practical. Many of them overlap with each other, sharing similar concerns, critiques and images, embodying the concerns one or more of the others within their own stories – such as eco-feminism, or eco-socialism, or primitivist anarchism and so forth.

Given that this new story actually has many directions, how would they interact with each other should they be given the chance to do so? The imposition of one over the others is a fatally flawed procedure, since it all too quickly dominates and controls. So I am devoted to a plurality of possibilities rather than one controlling master of all the others. What we really have is a multiplicity of stories, and all of them should be on the table in a process of constant debate, argument, negotiation, experiment, failure and beginning again.

Roland Boer is Associate Professor in Comparative Literature and Cultural Studies at Monash University, Australia.