Staying open and engaged in complex times

Who among us is concerned about tomorrow, next week, next year—or ten years from now? So
much is happening in such a short time that it’s difficult to chart a life path. Where will new
technologies like AI or biotechnology take us? Will I ever be able to buy a house? What does climate
change mean for my future? Am I living too much in a bubble—do I still understand what people say
who are frustrated and feel unheard? What does it mean to live in such a turbulent time, to form
relationships, have children? How do I view geopolitical conflicts? Should I still eat meat? What
should our cities look like, and how do we relate to the provinces? Should borders be closed or more
open? Should I be afraid on the street because of how I look, or whom I love, even if it doesn’t
conform to the norm? And so on for a while. Big questions that simultaneously demand answers in
daily life.

Studium Generale wants to be a mirror to the university—but is also a mirror of the times.
Traditionally, autonomy and critical reflection are important values for SG, but in this time—where
everything seems connected and changes rapidly—we believe it’s important to explore what it
means to live in a complex field where everything appears to be interconnected. All these changes
especially show how dependent we are on our environment—think of the climate—and that the
actions and choices we make have consequences beyond ourselves. Should we, for example, buy
clothes without knowing how they are made?

Dealing with complex social and political issues daily, it is important for us to stay open and engaged
in our activities. To ensure this, we worked hard this year to integrate these elements further into
our organisation. We have rewritten our mission and vision statements, adding both intersectionality
and multidisciplinarity to the core of our ambitions. Reflecting on the interplay between ecology,
philosophy, science, and technology is important, but also how to live together with a great diversity
of people and lifestyles.

As a group, we are committed to not only staying open to each other but actively reaching out to the
diversity of people at TU Delft and in the city. For our work to reach the level of relevance we are
aiming for, we need to do this together, with you.

To do so, quite a few things have changed over the last year. We have introduced the Nook, a place in
the Library main hall to get together and share thoughts, discuss, and connect. Part of the Nook is
also the three new exhibition pillars, where everyone can engage with the ongoing program in
different ways, and where we bring together art and programs. We have also launched the
preparation for a festival, taking place in March, that centers on the topics of intersectionality and
multidisciplinary, both on a very small scale and a very large scale. The festival is called For Love of
the World—because precisely this time does not call for withdrawal but for loving engagement.
Finally, we have started on a new visual identity that expresses these changes to the world in an
exciting, new way. This goes hand in hand with the development of a new website, which is also
becoming a place to share thoughts and discuss.

Not only the holidays are a good time to reflect; reflection can also be integrated into your daily
activities. For us, it was planned, co-created, and organised, leading to the exciting results that we
can’t wait to share with you next year. It is now time to recharge with friends and family, so we’ll be
able to make up for the promises that we made to ourselves, each other, and to you.

Have a good break and see you next year.

Leon Heuts, head of Studium Generale TU Delft

Posthumanism: what if we put the needs of non-humans first?

According to posthumanism, animals, plants, and objects have rights. Humans are merely part of a greater network in which all things are essentially equal. This requires looking at the world in an entirely different way. Is this the solution to all major crises in the Anthropocene? In this series, through talks, discussions, and art, we’ll explore the consequences of adapting a posthuman worldview.

This theme is part of the series For Love of the World, in which we explore alternative stories and forgotten knowledge that can (re)connect us to our world.

9 Jan          Existential Tuesday: Do we really need hierarchies in society?                 The Nook
5 Feb          SG Café Filosofie | Posthumanisme: de mens in de bijrol                              Theater de Veste
12 Feb       Art exhibition                                                                                                                           The Nook
20 Feb       Existential Tuesday: Should we put the needs of nonhumans first?        The Nook
5 Mar         Existential Tuesday: If the internet is a giant brain,
what is Earth really thinking?                                                                                                               The Nook
19 Mar      Existential Tuesday: Is everything alive?                                                                 The Nook

Thoughts about a deceased plant

Recently, I had to discard a plant that I had carried with me through many moves over the years. The plant only had one or two leaves remaining. It unexpectedly became an emotional moment. I wasn’t sure whether I should end the plant’s life before tossing it in the trash. Would it slowly die there, deprived of sunlight? On the other hand, how do you kill a plant?

Did the plant have a good life?

Our relationship with our houseplants is more ambiguous than we often realize. They’re not pets, but for many people, they are more than just decorations. Many talk to their plants, and they are genuinely good listeners—better than cats or dogs, who either show disinterest (cats) or demand attention themselves (dogs). Yet, they are ‘just’ plants—although there are frequent attempts to attribute various sensitive or even cognitive properties to them (consider, for instance, the long-popular yet scientifically debatable book, “The Secret Lives of Plants”), we shouldn’t exaggerate.

However, I still have doubts. As Yuval Harari writes in “Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind,” the conventional belief is that humans domesticated grain. But there’s a strong argument to say that the reverse is just as true: grain forced humans to become sedentary. Does the same apply to houseplants? We think we’ve cultivated them to our liking, with beautiful flowers and large shiny leaves. But you could also argue that they manipulate us into taking care of them, even shedding a tear when we dispose of them.

Above all, we live with plants in a complex symbiosis. Every breath we take is made possible in part by plants. Plants (and trees) are the only beings that can directly convert sunlight into sugars, forming the basis of every food chain. Maybe we are more plant-like than we think, as philosopher Wouter Oudemans suggests in his book “Plantaardig.” Plants haven’t just made us sedentary, part of the cycle of growth and decay, but intelligence is more decentralized than we’ve long thought. Contemporary neuroscientists describe our brain as an “orchestra without a conductor.” While there’s growing evidence that the microbiome in our guts has a significant impact on our moods and behavior. Humans have no center—just as plants don’t. Plants can remind us that we are part of a larger ecosystem both inside and outside.

This is why plants are so suitable for acquainting us with what has disappeared from that ecosystem. Designer Letizia Artioli created an artwork for the Studium Generale program on climate grief that connects us with what has been lost through plant leaves. By touching the leaves and closing an electrical circuit with your fingers, you can hear field recordings of ecosystems that have disappeared in the last ten years through headphones. It’s moving to connect with what has died through a living entity, almost as if the plant is a kind of medium. And for that, we don’t have to attribute any special qualities to the plant. Just a bit of technology and an artistic perspective. Check it out in The Nook, in the library hall opposite the New Media Center.

Leon Heuts, head of Studium Generale TU Delft

Gilgamesh and Grief: Finding Meaning in the World’s Oldest Written Story

I was more shocked than delighted when the Vox Book Club voted to read The Epic of Gilgamesh. Why did students at a technical university choose this text – and by a landslide? Sure, I studied Gilgamesh as an undergraduate, but I did Creative Writing at British university, where professors wore tweed and pored over ancient manuscripts. And here were future engineers volunteering to read it, in their spare time?

The Epic of Gilgamesh is an epic poem from ancient Mesopotamia, a historical region of West Asia. Captured on stone tablets, it is the oldest known written story. The age and fragmented nature of the text make it impossible to date the story as a whole. But the “Old Babylonian” version, which is the oldest that survives, is estimated to be from the 18th century BC. It tells of the adventures of King Gilgamesh of Uruk and his companion Enkidu, the wild man.

Nervous about whether the book club would actually enjoy the text, I volunteered to give an introduction at their first meeting. A mini-lecture, if you will. After all, short as it may be, Gilgamesh is a lot more enjoyable when you know what the hell is going on. The students were also nervous. Was I going to talk for an hour? Was I joking when I said there was going to be a quiz? I kept to my twenty-minute time slot on the day, but this article is my revenge. Without further ado, here is my answer to the question: why read The Epic of Gilgamesh?

The World’s Oldest…?

One of the first challenges in discussing this text is how to classify it. Due to its action-packed nature, the scale of the journeys described, and the monster-hunting, it is tempting to think about it as an early fantasy novel. There certainly are similarities, but there are also some key differences.

The novel in its current form is a relatively new genre. Its popularisation coinciding with increased leisure time, literacy, and availability of commercial printed texts during the Enlightenment. Early hits were texts like Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe in 1719. In the table below, I’ve highlighted some of the things that distinguish an epic poem from a novel.

Epic poem Novel
Partially divine protagonist (hero). Fictional narrative of connected events, divided into chapters.
Great journeys and deeds, often related to the traditions of a people. Written in prose.
Encounters with gods. “Book-length”, from 50,000 to over 20,000 words depending on genre.
Stems from oral poetry. Deals with the human experience, typically without the scope of an epic.
Uses traditional verbal formulas to aid memorisation. Individualistic in nature compared to the epic.

 

Comparative Mythology and the Flood Tablet

Allow me to introduce Tablet XI: the infamous Flood Tablet. It is, of course, in the British Museum, because what culturally significant artifact hasn’t been plundered by the Brits?

Tablet XI, The Flood Tablet, 7th century BCE, The British Museum.

Tablet XI caused a sensation when it was first translated in the 19th century. Have a look at the table below. It lists key narrative points from the Epic of Gilgamesh, as captured on tablet XI. Let me know if it starts to sound familiar.

The Flood Narrative
1. God/gods decide that mankind has become a pest. 4. The man is ordered by god/gods to build an ark. 7. The hero sacrifices an animal.
2. God/gods decide to send a flood. 5. The ark is loaded with breeding pairs of all animals. 8. God/gods are pleased with the sacrifice.
3. A single, worthy man is chosen to survive. 6. The hero sends messenger birds to look for land. 9. God/gods reassess their actions and will not repeat.

 

The exact same narrative points are present in the Book of Genesis. The biblical hero, Noah, repeats these points step by step. Considering that the book of Genesis is dated around 3-5th century BCE, you can see why this discovery caused a stir. The Gilgamesh Flood Tablet predates Genesis by several centuries. In fact, there is evidence that the origin of this flood narrative lies much earlier than that.

So what does it mean? Yes, Mesopotamia had a lot of flooding. The resonance of a flood narrative and its associated symbolism of death and rebirth can be explained. But the strange entanglement of different flood narratives and their cultural significance are much more mysterious. In Gilgamesh, the gods are at times blood-thirsty, loving, cowardly, and generous. In Genesis, god may be wrathful and merciful at intervals, but he is always right. The Genesis narrative depicts essentially the same events, and yet the conclusion is a benevolent promise and a blessing for all posterity. Whereas the hero Gilgamesh, upon being told the story of the flood, is disappointed. The flood story is told to Gilgamesh precisely to extinguish his hope that he will be chosen and blessed with eternal life.

This is essential. The way we interpret these two texts, Gilgamesh and Genesis, couldn’t be more different. The contemporary Christian interpretation of the flood narrative is one of hope and protection. If you read Gilgamesh, the conclusion is much bleaker.

 

Why Do We Die?

The emotional core of the Gilgamesh narrative is grief. Midway through his adventures Gilgamesh loses his friend; his other self; the man who was literally created in opposition to him. Enkidu dies and leaves Gilgamesh bereft. What’s more, the king of Uruk begins to consider his own fate. The remainder of his story is a supernatural quest. Frightened by what has happened to Enkidu, Gilgamesh attempts – and ultimately fails – to secure immortality.

His struggles brought to mind another text I was reading around the same time. In his Confessions, Augustine of Hippo writes of the premature death of his closest friend. The language he uses is strikingly similar to that of Gilgamesh.

For I wondered that others, subject to death, did live, since he whom I loved, as if he should never die, was dead; and I wondered yet more that myself, who was to him a second self, could live, he being dead. Well said one of his friend, “Thou half of my soul”; for I felt that my soul and his soul were “one soul in two bodies”: and therefore was my life a horror to me, because I would not live halved. And therefore perchance I feared to die, lest he whom I had much loved should die wholly.

Augustine of Hippo, Confessions, AD 400.

As befitting the man who would later be declared a saint, Augustine ultimately chooses the Christian solution. He lets go of mortal things. Instead of holding on to grief, he decides to only love the immortal, i.e. god, through his creations. This takes the sting out of grief, because mortals are a mere sign of the eternal. But this option isn’t available to Gilgamesh. His gods are too human. They cannot be loved in this way. When he is finally thwarted in his goal to achieve eternal life, he has irrevocably lost his other half, and knows that his own mortal self must also be lost to death. What does Gilgamesh do then?

He builds walls. The only escape from death offered by the text is through great works, the likes of which will be told and retold through stories, for generations to come. If he was ever a real man, aspiring to such lasting fame, he has achieved his goal many times over, even after the fall of the walls of legend. Whether that fame provides consolation for grief over a loved one, or the inevitability of our own deaths, is for us all to decide.

 

Note: I read The Epic of Gilgamesh: An English Version with an Introduction by N. K. Sandars. This, however, was my undergraduate Penguin Classics purchase, so there may be better versions out there with more up-to-date scholarship!

Can anger be used for good?

Can anger be used for good? Typically, I begin a story like this with a brief update on recent climate disasters such as heatwaves, floods, or areas drying up. But I’ll skip that for now. We get it. And I’m not particularly inclined to dwell on it. Like many, I’m overwhelmed by various emotions when I hear yet another story about the climate catastrophe. Guilt over our own contribution, sorrow for what we see disappearing around us, fear for the future… But the most intense emotion of all is undoubtedly anger. Anger because the problem just isn’t being truly addressed, and even the less destructive target of a 2-degree Celsius warming before the end of the century, as per the Paris Agreement, won’t be achieved.

And that anger undoubtedly applies to many more people. But anger is a tricky emotion. Traditionally distrusted as destructive and dark, the emotion over which we have the least control. Hence, for governments, anger is the most threatening. In essence, the policy around protests and demonstrations is mostly anger management. The greatest fear for any government is the enraged citizen.

Anger is dark, irrational, and personal. But is anger always so dangerous? The first line of the most famous epic in Western civilization—the Greek military campaign against Troy—starts with the word anger. The anger of Achilles, to be precise, who, after the death of his beloved comrade Patroclus, sees red and jeopardizes the entire military mission due to feelings of revenge.

But at the same time, it is precisely anger that gave the Greeks the power to break free from submissiveness and indifferent narrow-mindedness. In ancient Greece, anger was always associated with that part of ourselves that longs for recognition, justice, and self-worth. It is a force that, once ignited, can compel individuals to stand up against oppression, fight for their rights, and strive for a better world. Anger, called thymos by the Greeks, can indeed have a clear public function. Political change never starts with argumentation alone—a concept that we sometimes find difficult to understand in our rational, liberal society.

Research in the field of psychology has shown that anger, when channeled constructively, can be a powerful catalyst for change. Various studies show that individuals who effectively harnessed their anger were more likely to address injustices and instigate positive social change. Much more than hope, to give an example. This intriguing finding challenges the conventional wisdom that anger is inherently negative.

Consider the stories of historical figures who harnessed their anger to bring about positive change. Mahatma Gandhi’s anger at the injustices of colonial rule in India ignited a nonviolent revolution, leading to India’s independence. Rosa Parks, tired of racial segregation, refused to give up her seat on a bus, sparking the Montgomery Bus Boycott and igniting the Civil Rights Movement. These individuals channeled their anger into actions that reshaped society.

But the question is how to turn a personal emotion into a public struggle for justice. Especially since demonstrations also evoke anger as a reaction—see the hatred that climate protests generate, and especially the highway blockades. It is then an art to not succumb to provocations and hatred despite your own anger—something that in today’s media society would immediately be taken as evidence of loss of control and danger.

In the words of Aristotle, ‘Anyone can become angry—that is easy. But to be angry with the right person, to the right degree, at the right time, for the right purpose, and in the right way—that is not easy.’ According to him, such an emotion must be tempered with reason, guided by what he calls virtues: justice and fairness.

The force of thymos can be harnessed for good. When we recognize the constructive potential of our anger and use it as a catalyst for positive change, we tap into the heroic spirit within us. Anger can lead us towards a brighter future, where injustice is confronted and transformed. But like any powerful force, anger has its limits. It must be wielded with care and wisdom, for it is in its balance that we find true strength and progress.

Leon Heuts, head of Studium Generale TU Delft

Intimacy & Technology: So connected, yet so lonely

Introducing Q2’s theme: Intimacy and Technology 

 

So connected, yet so alone 

Isn’t this one of the greatest paradoxes of modern society? What are we really connecting to with all our advanced technology if more than 50% of the population feels lonely or depressed? 

We’ve got ubiquitous gadgets, 24/7 streaming services, climate controlled interiors, and everything from dinner to fresh underwear delivered to our doorstep. If the covid pandemic lockdowns showed us anything, it’s that our technological advancement has brought us to the point where we can live in almost complete isolation from the world. Safely locked away in our little apartments, but connected through our digital interface. (And, more importantly, through a vast network of underpaid and overworked people in retail, transport, delivery, food services, etc. The “essential” jobs, remember?).  

Sometimes, it felt eerily similar to the massive hive in The Matrix movies that humanity lives in, fully sustained and imprisoned by machines :S  

Apologies for bringing this dark perspective to Delft, where technological progress is sacred. But if you look back far enough, which my training in anthropology sort of forces me to do, you tend to get a cynical perspective on technological advancement. From mastering fire eons ago, to building walls and screen doors, we’ve made life easier, and we’ve put ever more barriers between ourselves and the nasty bits of nature. Like (corona)viruses, the rain, mosquitoes, the cold, and predators. But these barriers also block so much of life. So much of ourselves, of society, and of the world ‘out there.’ 

But of course, technology isn’t all bad. Of course. And where there are barriers, there are also bridges. The increasing connectivity of the world can bring us closer to people and events around the globe. The diverse infrastructure of services and devices can support and enable life for those who would be limited without them. And all this new technology introduces new forms of intimacy. 

But the question is, closer to what? To the world, to each other, to ourselves? Or to the world of machines? That’s what we want to explore in this quarter’s theme on intimacy and technology. Join us and share your thoughts. And bring a little (smartphone camera flash-)light to balance the darkness of this Matrix fan’s perspective. 

Klaas P van der Tempel, program maker SG 


Check out SG’s related events this quarter on the theme: Intimacy and Technology

This quarter at SG, we’re taking a deeper look at the connections we have with and through technology. Technology is becoming ever more intimately involved in our lives and has enormous potential to bring us closer together. But can technology truly offer an intimate experience?

This theme is part of the series For Love of the World, in which we explore alternative stories and forgotten knowledge that can (re)connect us to our world.

7 Nov – 21 Dec                Art Exhibition & survey                                                                                                            The Nook/Theater de Veste
14 Nov                                  Existential Tuesday: How Do You Know You’re Not a Robot?                                                  The Nook
14 Nov                                  Art & Tech Cafe: Can Technology Bring Us Closer Together?                                                   Theater de Veste
15 Nov                                  VOX Book Club: The Epic of Gilgamesh, book distribution                                                        The Nook
28 Nov                                  Existential Tuesday: Could you love a machine, and could it ever love you back?         The Nook
28 Nov                                  VOX Movie Night: Ghost in the Shell (1995)                                                                                       TBA
14 Dec                                  VOX Book Club: The Epic of Gilgamesh, book discussion                                                            The Nook

 

Caught between climate denialism and doomism, is there a way out?

Caught between climate denialism and doomism, is there a way out?

Written by Sara Vermeulen, originally published on September 29, 2022, images created by craiyon.com 

Should I stop watering the garden in dry summers? Can I take the car to go to the supermarket when it rains? But also, much more pressing: should we consider relocating to avoid flood risk? Should we save up for buying a rainwater harvesting tank or invest in growing more drought resilience crops? Do my actions actually make a difference or are we just doomed to go extinct anyway and should we not bother anymore?

Climate change is making people increasingly doubt everyday actions and contributes to growing moral disruption. Although the character of this moral disruption is quite different in the Global North than in the Global South, the main focus here is to address and explain uncertainty and moral disruption in relation to climate adaptation more broadly.

Moral disruption

Moral disruption is a relatively new concept within Philosophy of Technology and is usually discussed in relation to developments in fields such as AI, biotechnology or high-tech materials. It has only recently been discussed in relation to climate change and has so far been underexposed. But clearly, we can speak of moral disruption as a result of energy technologies in the fossil fuel industry. After all it has become clear that we need alternatives to petrol, coal, and gas. More and more people suffer from flight shame. At the same time, energy transition has only just begun and the infrastructure of renewable energy sources is not yet fully developed. People expect security and reliability, even when they travel by electric car to the south of France for their summer holiday.

I believe the notion of moral disruption deserves more attention in the context of climate change, because this type of disruption can help us understand changing values and to find new action perspectives and clues for revised and renewed responsibility arrangements. To do so, I will first show how moral doubt can lead to denialism and doomism, two patterns of behavior that usually lead to inaction, which is the opposite of what is needed to tackle the climate crisis.

Photo by Stormseeker on Unsplash

Climate change denial

Climate change denial is the dismissal, or unjustified doubt that contradicts the scientific consensus on global warming. This includes the extent to which climate change is caused by humans, the effects of rising temperatures on nature and human society, or the potential for human adaptation to global warming. People who deny, ignore, or have unreasonable doubts about the scientific consensus on anthropogenic global warming often self-identify as ‘climate change skeptics’, which some experts have pointed out is an inaccurate description[1]. Denial of climate change can also be implicit when people or societal groups acknowledge the science but fail to accept it or turn their acceptance into action. Several social science studies have classified these beliefs as denialism, pseudoscience, or propaganda.

Climate change denial is the dismissal, or unjustified doubt that contradicts the scientific consensus on global warming.

Climate doomism

Fueled by the climate denial machine, denialism has been rather dominant and rigid over the last few decades[2]. However, as the impacts of the climate crisis have become harder to ignore, the doomists seem to be taking over the floor. In 2018, Jacquelyn Gill, a climate scientist at the University of Maine, noted fewer people telling her climate change isn’t happening and more those, that are now termed doomers, who believe that nothing can be done. Climate doomism is the false belief that we have passed the point where we can do anything about global warming and that humanity is doomed to become extinct. Although incorrect, the debate is gaining traction online.

Climate doomism is the false belief that we have passed the point where we can do anything about global warming and that humanity is doomed to become extinct.

In some ways, it has been argued, doomism is more harmful than denialism. Micheal Mann, one of the world’s most influential climate scientist working at Pennsylvania State University, said in an interview with The Guardian that: ‘as a threat and a tactic, doomsaying has surpassed denial. Inactivists understand that if people believe there is nothing they can do, they will become disengaged. By giving up, they unknowingly serve the interests of fossil fuel companies’. While Mann et al. (2017) suggested that too negative depictions of climate change can be discouraging for taking climate action, Christensen (2017) explained how climate doom and gloom narratives can be effective if messages also incorporate examples of individuals taking action.[3]

Now, back to moral disruption. The term was originally coined by Robert Baker in 2013 when he wrote that: ‘moral disruption is a process in which technological innovations undermine established moral norms without clearly leading to a new set of norms’ [4]. Nickel et al. point out that moral disruption is known for two phenomena of special relevance: moral uncertainty and moral inquiry [5]. They further describe that moral uncertainty is usually seen as unpleasant, harmful, and weakening of moral agency, and therefore it is said to contain the seeds of disruption. Uncertainty usually begins at the individual level, but it can also spread to a group, such as practitioners, when they are unsure on what values to apply or how to apply them.

Image by newsroom.unsw.edu.au via Shutterstock

Furthermore, uncertainty undercuts common sense justifications for action, such as the everyday ways in which individuals and groups benefit from and contribute to existing social and material arrangements. When it comes to moral inquiry, the social community as a whole engages in contradictory and occasionally antagonistic discourse, displaying a collective uncertainty regarding moral values, principles, and judgments. It is exactly this antagonistic discourse and collective uncertainty regarding moral values that lies at the heart of moral disruption in climate change action.

Taebi et al. state that the climate crisis is disrupting life as we know it and potentially leading to complex cases of normative uncertainties [6]. They describe four types of normative uncertainty, namely evolutionary uncertainty, theoretical uncertainty, conceptual uncertainty and epistemic uncertainty. Thinking back about doomism, I want to suggest that there is a fifth type of uncertainty, namely is existential uncertainty. When it comes to climate change, I think existential uncertainty overshadows the four types of uncertainty mentioned earlier. Existential uncertainty can make us doubt whether it even makes a difference what we do if there is a good chance that it all doesn’t matter much anymore. Doomism, in that sense, is a manifestation of existential uncertainty.

Higher degrees of certainty is not what is going to get us out of inertia. The ability to act in the face of uncertainty, on the other hand, will.

To conclude, I would like to argue that higher degrees of certainty is not what is going to get us out of inertia. The ability to act in the face of uncertainty, on the other hand, will. Despite changing values, a lack of theoretical knowledge, shifting conceptions, and epistemic ambiguity, it is always possible to act in accordance with one’s best knowledge. To that end, we need to focus on strengthening technomoral virtues, such as courage, flexibility and relational understanding in the context of climate action [7]. But we can only do so if we become aware that climate change comes with moral disruption and we are willing to explore how we want to respond to that.

References

  1. Björnberg, K.E.; Karlsson, M.; Gilek, M.; Hansson, S.O. Climate and environmental science denial: A review of the scientific literature published in 1990–2015. J. Clean. Prod. 2017167, 229–241, doi:10.1016/j.jclepro.2017.08.066.
  2. Dunlap, R.E. Climate Change Skepticism and Denial: An Introduction. Am. Behav. Sci. 201357, 691–698, doi:10.1177/0002764213477097.
  3. Ettinger, J.; Walton, P.; Painter, J.; DiBlasi, T. Climate of hope or doom and gloom? Testing the climate change hope vs. fear communications debate through online videos. Clim. Change 2021164, 1–19, doi:10.1007/s10584-021-02975-8.
  4. Nickel, P.J. Disruptive Innovation and Moral Uncertainty. Nanoethics 202014, 259–269, doi:10.1007/s11569-020-00375-3.
  5. Nickel, P.J.; Kudina, O.; van de Poel, I. Moral Uncertainty in Technomoral Change: Bridging the Explanatory Gap. Perspect. Sci. 202230, 260–283, doi:10.1162/posc_a_00414.
  6. Taebi, B.; Kwakkel, J.H.; Kermisch, C. Governing climate risks in the face of normative uncertainties. Wiley Interdiscip. Rev. Clim. Chang. 202011, 1–11, doi:10.1002/wcc.666.
  7. Vallor, S. Technology and the Virtues: A Philosophical Guide to a Future worth Wanting; Oxford University Press, 2016; ISBN 9788490225370.
Sit like a lady

What If Women had the Power?

This fall at SG, we’re going to find out what the world would look like if women had the power. We’re going to erase the dominant patriarchal perspective for a moment and substitute it with an alternate reality. What would it look like if the tables were turned: would women set the standards, could men be vulnerable? Would we let go of the old ways and celebrate gender fluidity?

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