Trilogy Part 1 -
Future of Technology: A New Perspective
the Focus of How We Use
By Thom Hartmann
We cannot cheat on DNA. We cannot get round photosynthesis. We cannot say, "I
am not going to give a damn about phytoplankton."All these tiny mechanisms provide
the preconditions of our planetary life. To say we do not care is to say in the most
literal sense that "we choose death."-- Barbara Ward (1914-81), Who
Speaks for Earth?
In the opening chapters of this book, I pointed out how our lifestyle and, indeed, our
entire worldwide modern civilization, is possible only because we're rapidly using up a
300-million-year-old non-renewable resource: ancient sunlight, principally in the form of
oil, but also coal and gas. I also cited figures which indicated that this resource -- at
current rates of consumption -- will run out in our or our children's lifetimes. The way
it'll most likely play out, though, is nowhere near that simple. We won't just one day
suddenly wake up to a world of dry gas pumps and grounded jetliners.
Instead, as oil becomes progressively less available, its price will rise. This rise in
price will affect the price of everything made from or with oil -- from plastics to
manufactured goods to the food we eat produced by oil-powered farm machinery and
transported in oil-powered trucks and trains. As it did during the oil crisis of the early
1970s when oil prices temporarily shot up, this will produce economic crises, exacerbate
the gap between rich and poor, and stress the social fabric of countries worldwide. A
return of conditions such as prevailed during the Great Depression is not inconceivable
and, given that the world now has three times more people on it than it did in 1930, the
situation may even be far worse than it was at that time. Some futurists are predicting
"oil wars" and global conflicts over the ownership of energy
Whatever the details of the way increasing oil scarcity will affect the world, one
thing is certain: people will be forced to use less oil. Because of this, the
40-year-and-we're-out prediction is unrealistic. Instead, sometime in the next decade or
two, as oil wells begin to run dry around the world or countries decide to hoard the
reserves they still have, rising oil prices will force consumers and nations into less
oil-intensive ways of living.
Use our oil to not use oil. While we still have a chance, let's use what energy
resources we have to develop renewable alternatives.
Oil currently fires the furnace of industry and government. But we're using it in a
"once-through" fashion -- we burn it, and that's that: the resource is gone,
never to produce another benefit. That's precisely the kind of mistake Dwight Eisenhower
meant when he said that the building of war machinery represented a theft from our
children: he was referring to the "once-through" nature of military spending. If
the government uses tax dollars to build a bullet (or tank or missile), there is a
short-term stimulation of the economy as the result of that expenditure. Somebody is hired
to manufacture the bullet, somebody else mined and smelted the lead, and so on. Over the
short term, it stimulates the economy as it increases employment and consumes materials
extracted, refined, and manufactured by industry. We've seen this in the short-term
economic benefits of military spending during World War II, the Korean War, the Vietnam
War, and the trillions of dollars spent during the Reagan administration on the Star Wars
The problem, however, is that once that money is spent and those jobs are finished, we
hit a wall. The only thing military armaments can be used for (economically, not
politically) is their own destruction. When a bullet is fired, it's gone. No more
productive use can be put to the gunpowder that burned, or the lead slug that's now buried
in somebody's body. When a tank or a bomber or a missile are used they produce no
secondary gain to the overall economy. (Of course, there is the ripple effect through the
economy of the workers who built the bomb spending their pay, but that is minor compared
to the multiple ripples that would be produced if the bomb itself were
On the other hand, when the same money and resources are used to build a commercial
long-haul truck, that truck participates in the economy for its useful life-span,
facilitating commerce and contributing value to the economy every day. It's no longer a
once-through expenditure; it's become something that works with the rest of the system to
produce further value. Building a bomber is a one-time expenditure, as if the money were
poured into a hole and buried; building a commercial jetliner creates an economic tool
which then can provide employment and transportation for thousands of people for decades.
Particularly important are the products which, when used, capture current sunlight
energy and transform it into a form which can replace fossil fuels. Such products have an
ongoing useful and productive life, and they also reduce the future amounts of
fossil-fuels we'll need.
As such, they could be viewed as putting capital into our energy bank, rather than
simply removing energy from it. Solar panels, wind power systems, hydro power systems,
hydrogen production and storage systems: all of these represent ways that current oil can
be used as an investment rather than an expenditure.
If we as a society begin to wisely use our fossil-fuel resources to wean ourselves off
the need to use fossil-fuels for heat and electricity production, then the impact of
"the end of oil" can be softened. At the same time, we'd be reducing our
consumption of oil as these alternative-energy systems come
While ultimately this will have to happen nation- and world-wide, it's already
beginning on a small-scale basis in homes and rural communities all over the world.
Here in Vermont, electricity is pretty cheap. It costs us about nine cents for a
thousand watts of electricity for an hour, so having ten 100-watt bulbs fully illuminating
different rooms in the house at the same time costs less than a dime an hour. But that
can't last very much longer.
Living "off the grid"
There's a growing movement in the United States to generate one's own power. It started
a few decades ago, mostly by people living in extremely remote areas where bringing in
power from the local utility grid was impractical or costly. Over the past twenty years or
so, with the development of efficient and inexpensive wind, water, and solar generators
that are practical for home use, it has spread to people who value their independence,
have concerns about the reliability or cost of future electric supplies, or are cautious
about the ecological impact of "big electric."
It's now technologically possible for most suburban and rural dwellers in the
industrialized world to generate their own electricity for their own home. Sanyo of Japan
manufactures roofing tiles and window panes which are solar-electric generators, and in
many parts of the world roof- or yard-mounted wind generators can power a home. The cost
of solar-cell-produced electricity has dropped from over $30/kilowatt-hour in 1975 to less
than thirty cents per kilowatt-hour in 1996, a 100-fold decrease that is expected to drop
tenfold again over the next five years. Storage batteries and inverters are dropping in
price, and the hydrogen-powered fuel-cell (currently used only in space programs) holds
great promise for power storage, since hydrogen can be easily produced by running electric
current through water.
Similarly, in a pinch, most homes could grow their own food. An acre of prime land can
produce 50,000 pounds of tomatoes or 40,000 pounds of potatoes in one year. In many parts
of the world (particularly in small towns of many European nations), it's fashionable to
turn the front lawn or back yard (or both) from grass production into a huge vegetable
garden, which often supplies a significant portion of the family's food needs. Many
Americans alive today remember that this was also common in this country during the
Depression and up until the end of World War II (these plots were referred to as
Water purification systems have come a long way, too, with hand-powered reverse-osmosis
filters capable of detoxifying rain- and groundwater virtually anywhere.
The idea of moving "off the grid" is a popular one in rural areas and among
the political fringe who see the government as a malevolent force. As such, it's very much
a minority way of life.
However, decentralization of power, food, and water production may well hold one key to
how we can come through the coming changes in world oil availability without collapsing
into chaos and tragedy.
This holds promise because according to a 1990 US government study, renewable energy
sources (solar, wind, water, biomass) could supply over 70% of the power requirements of
this nation. In California alone, for example, over 15,000 wind generators now produce
enough electricity to theoretically light the city of San Francisco.
Government subsidies for the production of renewable energy, however, are largely
limited to the huge oil- and coal-based power generating companies with enough campaign
donation dollars to sway legislation. Concerned about future generations' dependence on
dwindling oil supplies, Jimmy Carter introduced subsidies for small-scale electricity
production, which jump-started an industry, but under pressure from big oil campaign
contributors Ronald Reagan eliminated them as one of his first acts of office, causing the
embryonic small-scale solar industry to die a sudden death.
Nonetheless, a small remnant of that industry has struggled back to life, and
increasingly people are experimenting with small-scale solar, wind, and hydro power.
While large-scale centralization may seem economical, ultimately it's not Centralized,
hierarchical structures are inherently less stable than decentralized, grassroots ones.
Monolithic systems richly benefit those who control them, but often offer only a form of
ongoing dependence to their customers.
In a story reminiscent of how American companies are now removing natural resources
from third-world countries and then selling back to those countries finished goods (and
controlling agribusiness while wiping out family farms), Mahatma Gandhi put pictures of
the simple spinning wheel, a hand-made tool to convert wool or cotton into thread, as the
symbol of his nationalist movement against the British. At that time, the British had
ordered the shutdown of all clothing manufacturing facilities in India, and shipped cheap
Indian cotton to England to be made into clothing by British workers. While this provided
work for the English citizenry -- something popular in the English countryside, hugely
profitable for the owners of the clothing factories, and politically helpful to the
British government -- it impoverished the Indians, who were now forced to pay high prices
for clothing imported from England which they, themselves, had been inexpensively
manufacturing only years earlier.
Gandhi argued for a return of local economies rather than centralized ones, and
suggested that families or, at the largest end of the scale of practicality, villages
should grow their own cotton, spin their own thread, and make their own clothing. He did
this himself, making his own simple clothes by hand, and soon the logo of the
spinning-wheel was a powerful emblem of change all across India, as well as the unofficial
logo of his independence movement.
As Gandhi well knew, when people produce their own food, heat, and light, they are more
free and independent. Even more important, they are usually more efficient in their use of
these resources, because they're so familiar with them and close to their sources. Looking
at their own light, eating their own food, and feeling their own heat, they have an
intimate knowledge of the significance and importance of these essentials to human life
that many people living "on the grid" lack. And out of that knowledge, they
become more frugal in the use of the resources they have so carefully extracted from their
own direct environment.
When we moved to Vermont in May of 1997, we quickly discovered one of the unique
aspects of living out in the country on the side of a mountain: power outages.
In our first month here, we had three days with no power. The locals say that it's not
usually this bad -- the weather has been unusually severe -- but nonetheless we quickly
learned how to use an emergency generator, to light a house with candles and oil lamps,
and the value of battery-operated radios and computers.
Which led me to discover how really wasteful my consumption of electricity is -- and
how relatively easy conservation is.
Since conservation lowers how much electricity we need to generate, it has the further
benefit of making it easier to live off the grid.
Take lighting, for example. It's only in the past 100 years or so that we've had the
idea that an entire room need be lit for occupancy. For all the rest of human history, we
used "area lighting": a whale- or vegetable-oil lamp to read by, or a beeswax
candle for conversation. These forms of lighting consumed insignificant amounts of fuel --
the equivalent of a 10 or 20 watt bulb, at best.
Similarly, many people are discovering that it feels very satisfying to live
efficiently. Driving a bicycle instead of a car; saving and reusing food packages;
recycling table scraps into a compost pile; buying second-hand clothes and repairing the
old ones we've kept; superinsulating the house so it uses less fuel; maintaining the car
so it can reach 200,000 miles and still run well.
There's a sense of accomplishment in living frugally, a feeling of independence. In
recent years, frugality has even been touted in consumer and women's magazines as a
fashionable way to live.
Nonetheless, there's a nagging voice in the backs of many peoples' heads, perhaps an
echo of the Reagan years, that to voluntarily not consume, to not grow and compete and
acquire and dominate, is somehow an admission of failure. Could it be? On the contrary,
it's an act of self-preservation and qualifies as highly successful behavior.
3 Things YOU Can Do
1. Read the rest of this exerpt from The Last Hours of Ancient Sunlight on
2. Buy the book and read the whole thing. For more information, explore http://www.mythical.net
3. Send your comments to THOM@compuserve.com and
Excerpt from Heavy Weather
by Bruce Sterling
Novel exploring the not-too-distant future of weather and population control
"Well," said Leo, "my friends and I are very interested in dead spots.
This is a big dead spot, and that's why we're here. We've put ourselves here quite
deliberately, just like you and your Troupe did. Because we knew that this area would be
the epicenter of damage from my brother's F-6."
"Leo, I gotta hand it to that brother of yours!" called out the second chess
player, with what sounded like real gratitude. "Personally, I had the gravest doubts
about any so-called F-6 tornado, it seemed like a real reach, a real nutcase long shot,
but Leo, I admit it now." The chess player straightened up from his board, lifting
one finger. "Your brother has really delivered. I mean, just look at that
coverage!" he pointed briskly at the television. "This disaster is
"Thanks," Leo said. "You see, Jane, there are many places in America
where human beings just can't live anymore, but that's not true for our communications
technologies. The machines are literally everywhere. In the U.S.--even Alaska!--there's
not one square meter left that's not in a satellite footprint, or a radio-navigation
triangulation area, or a cellular link, or in packet range of netnode sites or of wireless
cable TV... 'Wirelsss cable,' that's a nasty little oxymoron,
isn't it?" Leo shook his head. "It took a truly warped society to invent that
Leo seemed lost for a moment, then recovered himself. "Except, Jane, not here and
not now! For one shining moment, not here, not around us! Because we are inside the F-6!
The most intense, thorough, widespread devastation that the national communications
infrastructure has suffered in modern times. Bigger than a hurricane. Bigger than
earthquakes. Far bigger than arson or sabotage, because arson and sabotage on this huge
scale would be far too risky, and far too much hard work. And yet here we are, you see? In
the silence! And no one can overhear us! No one can monitor us! Not a soul."
"So that's why you overheard me in my car? My distress call? Because you're paying
so much attention to broadcasts?"
"Yes, that's it exactly. We're listening to everything on the spectrum. Hoping,
aiming, for perfect silence. Luckily, we have the resources to help the project along a
bit--to take out a few crucial relays and especially solid towers, and such. Because God
knows, the damned repairmen will all be back in force soon enough! With their cellular
emergency phone service, and the emergency radio relays, and even those idiot ham
operators with their damned private services out of ham shacks and even their bathroom
closets, God help us! But for a little while, a brilliant, perfect silence, and in that
moment all things are possible. Everything is possible! Even freedom."
Someone, lackadaisically, applauded.
"We've come here to stop being what we are," Leo said. "There's no way
out of the Game, no way outside the code of silence. Except for death, of course; death
always works. So we've found a kind of silence now that's an electronic, virtual death.
We're going to cut our bonds away, and we'll die in the world of the networks, and we'll
become other people, and we'll leave and vanish for good."
"Leo, what have you done that's so horrible? Why do you have to do anything this
weird and elaborate?" She looked into his eyes. They were not cruel eyes. They were
like Jerry's eyes. They only looked very troubled. "Leo, why don't you just come to
the Troupe camp? We have our own people there, we have resources and ways to get people
out of trouble. I can talk to Jerry about it, maybe we can straighten all this out."
"That's very sweet of you, Jane. It's very good of you. I'm sorry I never had a
chance to know you better." He lifted his voice to the others. "Did you hear
that? What she just offered? I was right to do what I did." He looked into her face.
"It doesn't matter. In any case, after this meeting you'll never see me again."
He gestured at the ceiling--at the storm outside their bank vault. "Because we are
far beneath the disaster now. We're all just empty names now, in the long roll call of the
dead and missing from the F-6. Everyone you see here--we all died inside the F-6. We
vanished, we were consumed. You'll never see me again; Jerry will never see me again,
ever. We're all cutting ties, annihilating our identities, and Jane, we're the kind of
people who know how to do that and are good at doing it. And that's the way it has to be.
There's no way out of what I've become, except to stop being what I am. Forever."
"What on earth have you done?"
"It's impossible to say, really," one of the women remarked. "That's the
beauty of the scheme."
"Maybe you'll understand it best this way," Leo told her. "When your
friend and colleague April Logan was asking the Troupers about when the human race lost
all power over its own destiny--"
"Leo, how do you know about that? You weren't there."
"Oh," said Leo, surprised. He smiled. "I'm inside the system in camp.
I've always been inside the Troupe's system. No one knows, but, well, there I am.
"My brother's an academic, academics never pay any real attention to security
"I'll say," said another of the shelter people, speaking up for the first
time. He was big and dark, and he was wearing a charcoal-gray tailored suit, and Jane
noticed for the first time that he was very young. Younger than twenty. Maybe no older
than seventeen. How had this boy...? And then she looked at him. He was very young, but
his eyes were like two dead things. He had the skin-creeping look of a professional
"You see," said Leo, "the human race still has a great deal of control
over our destiny. Things are by no means so chaotically hopeless as people like to
pretend. The government can't do anything, and our lives are very anarchic, but all that
means is that the work that the governments ought to do is shrugged onto vigilantes. There
are certain things, certain activities, that transparently require doing. What's more,
there are people who recognize the necessity to do them, and who can do them, and are even
willing to do those things. The only challenge in the situation is that these necessary
things are unbearably horrible and repugnant things to do."
"Leo," said the first chess player, in weary exasperation, "why on earth
are you dropping our pants to this woman?"
One of the women spoke up. "Oh, go ahead and tell her, Leo. I'm enjoying this. It
doesn't matter. We're free now. We're inside the big silence. We can talk."
"You are being a complete moral idiot," said the chess player.
"Look," Leo snapped at him, "if I wanted to stay in the Great Game, do
you think I'd have gone this far? Do you know anybody else who could get that damn cuff
off you? Then shut up and listen. It's the last time you'll ever have to hear me
"Have it your way," the chess player interrupted, with a calm and deadly
Jane sat, weak-kneed, on one of the cowhide hassocks. "Leo, what are you doing?
What have you gotten into?"
"It wasn't for us. It was never for ourselves. It was for the future."
The woman spoke up again. "The delightful part about the Great Game--I mean, the
genuinely clever and innovative part--is that we don't even know what we've done! It all
takes place through electronic blinds, and cells, and failsafes, and need-to-know, and
digital anonymity and encryption. One cell, for instance, will think up five potential
direct actions. Then another cell will choose just one candidate action from that list of
five, and break that action up into independent pieces. And then, yet other cells will
distribute that work into small independent actions, so fragmented as to be meaningless.
It's just the way engravers used to design money. When money was on engraved paper and
money sill meant something."
"Right," said the second chess player, nodding. "So that one year, some
theorist predicts how useful it would be to have Bengali cholera decimate some overcrowded
hellhole of a city. And eight months later, someone watches some little paper sailboats
melting in a reservoir."
Jane started. "Why would anyone do that?"
"The best of reasons," Leo said. "Survival. Survival of humanity, and of
millions of endangered species. A chance for humanity to work its way out of heavy weather
into real sunlight and blue skies again. We had a lot of chances to take steps to save our
world, and we blew them all, Jane. All of them. We were greedy and stupid and
shortsighted, and we threw all our chances away. Not you personally, not me personally,
not any of us personally, just our ancestors, of course. No one convenient to blame. But
you, and me, and the people here, we are all the children of heavy weather, and we have to
live under consequences, and we have to deal with them. And the only real way to deal with
them is ugly, just unbearably ugly."
"But why you, Leo?"
"Because we know! Because we can! For the sake of the survivors, I suppose."
He shrugged. "There's no global government. There's no formal, deliberate control
over the course of events, anywhere. Institutions have given up. Governments have given
up. Corporations have given up. But the people in the room, and the many others who are
like us and with us, we've never given up. We're the closest thing this planet has to an
actual working government."
Jane looked around the room. They were agreeing with him. It wasn't any joke. He was
telling a truth that they all knew and recognized.
Continued with Bruce Sterling's Millennium Message to Designers.
IT IS ALMOST
THE YEAR TWO THOUSAND
By Robert Frost
To start the world of old
We had one age of gold
Not labored out of mines,
And some say there are signs
The second such has come,
The true Millennium,
The final golden glow
To end it. And if so
(And science ought to know)
We well may raise our heads
From weeding garden beds
And annotating books
To watch this end deluxe.
Top of this page
Bruce Sterling's Millennium Message to Designers
(From speech at the 7-17-99 national conference of Industrial Designers Society of
America in Chicago, where the author spoke about "designing a design movement"
to combat the design problem known as "The Greenhouse Effect.")
Twentieth-century design is over now. Anything can look like anything now. You can put
a pixel of any color anywhere you like on a screen, you can put a precise dot of ink
anywhere on any paper, you can stuff any amount of functionality into chips. The limits
aren't to be found in the technology any more. The limits are behind your own eyes,
people. They are limits of habit, things you've accepted, things you've been told,
realities you're ignoring. Stop being afraid. Wake up. It's yours if you want it. It's
yours if you're bold enough.
Are you bold enough? I can't tell you that. That's beyond my ability to judge. You have
to tell me that.
I take designers with complete and utter seriousness. At the dawn of the twenty-first
century, the people who design the technical infrastructure of daily life are placed to
become the most powerful and influential social group in the world. Because you are the
people who are loose enough to understand the full scale of the potential, but together
enough to do something practical about it in real life.
You only "feel" tangential, because you're used to living under the
floorboards of art, commerce and engineering. But the twentieth century's house has burned
down, and the space beneath the floorboards is "huge." It's a tremendous, vast,
You have no real rivals. Politics are sterile. Banks are in a frenzy. Capitalists don't
know what to tell you to do. Venture capital is a mob scene. The military can't take
casualties. Religion is a joke. Scientists are losing government patronage and going
broke. The fine arts certainly aren't gonna stop you. Engineers are obsessed with
technical sweetness, they despise the end user and don't understand consumer trends. But
designers: you're right in a booming market, and you have the public eye. You're without
rivals; there's no one else on the public stage. This could be your profession's greatest,
most golden moment. Ever! Ever.
Or maybe not. You tell me. I've said enough now, and we're out of time. Thanks for your
* To view the unedited version of Mr. Sterling's
IDSA speech (Viridian Note #77), click on http://www.well.com/conf/mirrorshades
* Check out IDSA's Industrial Design Excellence
Award (IDEA99) winners on the Designfax home page.
* Send comments to firstname.lastname@example.org