It didn’t matter that no one wanted to end up smelling like the Stinkards. The Blessing was there, and few could resist taking just an occasional dose for a sore back or a headache, and before long they were using it like table salt. People began by loathing the Stinkards and passionately resisting their encroachments, but ended up becoming Stinkards themselves. After a few hundred years the Stinkard expansion came to an end—because there were no new lands to expand into. The entire planet was Stinkard.
Farsighted leaders realized that population was soon going to be an urgent problem, but a century passed without significant action being taken. The human population, having no reason to do anything else, continued to grow. Famine became a familiar feature of life in certain parts of the world, and in some quarters the problem came to be understood not as one of curbing growth but as one of increasing food production. Another century passed, and the human population continued to expand.
In informed circles, people began to practice and advocate various population-control strategies, ranging from birth control in one form or another to school programs designed to reduce teenage pregnancies, but none of these initiatives had any measurable effect. As more and more people became aware of the crisis, sociologists and economists began to probe more deeply for its causes. They noted, for example, that in many parts of the world, having children was a means of financial success; lacking other economic opportunities, especially for women, people brought children into the world to serve as unpaid workers and guarantors of old-age security.
One biohistorian by the name of Spry tried to draw people’s attention to the fact that, before the appearance of Blessing, the human population of the planet had been virtually stable, but his listeners had a hard time seeing the connection between the two things.
Dr. Spry tried to explain. “If you introduce Blessing into the diet of any species,” he said, “the result will be the same: The birth rate will increase. Without any offsetting increase in the death rate, the species’ overall population will inevitably increase as well.”
The professor’s listeners really had no notion of what he was getting at, since Blessing had been a constant feature of the human diet for a thousand years, and they couldn’t begin to imagine how it felt to live without it. He had to explain very patiently that, without a constant intake of Blessing, everyone would experience a whole host of minor aches and pains, and experiencing these minor aches and pains, they would be slightly less frisky, slightly less playful, slightly less affectionate, slightly less outgoing—and slightly less inclined to mate. As a result, the birth rate would go down, and the population would soon become stable once again.
“Are you saying that the solution to our population problem is to live in pain?” people asked him incredulously.
“That’s a complete exaggeration of my point,” the professor said. “Before Blessing came along, people didn’t think of themselves as ‘living in pain.’ They were not living in pain. They were just living.”
Others said, “This is really all beside the point. Dr. Spry has already pointed out that Blessing isn’t an aphrodisiac and doesn’t in itself increase fertility. The fact that we use Blessing doesn’t compel us to mate more often. We can mate as little or as much as we want. What’s more, we can also use any number of contraceptive methods to avoid pregnancy. So it’s hard to see what Blessing has to do with the matter at all.”
“It has this to do with it,” Dr. Spry replied. “If you make Blessing available to any species, the members of that species will mate more often, and their birth rate will rise. It’s not a question of what you or I will do—whether you or I will elect to use contraceptives, for example. It’s a question of what the species as a whole will do. And I can demonstrate this experimentally: The birth rate of any species with free access to Blessing will increase. It doesn’t matter whether it’s mice or cats or lizards or chickens—or humans. This isn’t a matter of what individuals do, this is a matter of what whole populations do.”
But the professor’s audiences always indignantly rejected this observation. “We’re not mice!” they would yell. “We’re not cats or lizards or chickens!”
Increasingly regarded as a crank and an extremist, Dr. Spry eventually lost his teaching post and with it his credibility as an authority on any subject, and was heard from no more.
The population crisis mounted. Environmental biologists estimated that the human population had already exceeded the carrying capacity of the planet and was headed for a catastrophic collapse. Even former scoffers and optimists began to see that something had to change. Finally the heads of state of the major world powers convened a global conference to study and discuss the issues. It was an impressive event, unprecedented in human history. Thousands of thinkers from dozens of disciplines came together to put the problem under scrutiny.
The concept of control soon emerged as the overriding theme of the conference. Population control, of course, was the subject itself. But achieving control of population implied control on all sorts of levels and in all sorts of ways. New economic controls would encourage couples to control family size. In backward lands, where women were little more than breeding machines, new social controls would release their creativity to enhance family prosperity. Birth-control devices, birth-control substances, and birth-control strategies needed wider dissemination. Naturally, on the level of the individual, personal control needed to be improved. Educational controls were hotly debated, with some arguing that controls were needed to keep children ignorant about sex while others argued that controls were needed to make children aware of sex.
Control, control, control—it was a word heard ten thousand times, a million times.
Unlike the word Blessing
At the Stinkards’ great global conference on population, Blessing wasn’t a major topic—or even a minor topic.
In fact, Blessing wasn’t even mentioned once.
People who hear this parable naturally want to know how to interpret it. They can see that the Stinkards were fundamentally irrational when they refused to acknowledge the connection between Blessing and their population explosion. The connection seems obvious. The Stinkards’ population explosion began exactly with the introduction of Blessing, and the introduction of Blessing would clearly produce the result observed. Logic and history combine to indict Blessing as the cause of the Stinkard population explosion. Logic and history combine to suggest that removing this cause would end the explosion and restore population stability.
But what in our own culture corresponds to Blessing?
I’ll answer an easier question first and tell you that my role here today corresponds exactly to the role of the unfortunate Dr. Spry. I will name to you the cause of our population explosion—with far more evidence and plausibility than Dr. Spry was able to muster in the case of Blessing—and then we’ll see. I’m used to people becoming enraged with me on this issue. They become enraged because, like Dr. Spry, I’m indicting what is perceived to be the very foremost blessing of our culture—a blessing far more essential to our way of life than any mere pain reliever.
Growth and the ABCs of ecology
Among life-forms found on the surface of our planet, all food energy originates in the green plants and nowhere else. The energy that originates in green plants is passed on to creatures who feed on the plants, and is passed on again to predators who feed on plant eaters, and is passed on again to predators who feed on those predators, and is passed on again to scavengers who return to the soil nutrients that green plants need to keep the cycle going. All this can be said to be the A of the ABCs of ecology.
The various feeding and feeder populations of the community maintain a dynamic balance, by feeding and being fed upon. Imbalances within the community—caused, for example, by disease or natural disasters—tend to be damped down and eradicated as the various populations of the community go about their usual business of feeding and being fed upon, generation after generation. Viewed in systems terms,
the dynamic of population growth and decline in the biological community is a negative feedback system. If you’ve got too many deer in the forest, they’re going to gobble up their food base—and this reduction in their food base will cause their population to decline. And as their population declines, their food base replenishes itself—and since this replenishment makes more food available to the deer, the deer population grows. In turn, the growth of the deer population depletes the availability of food, which in turn causes a decline in the deer population. Within the community, food populations and feeder populations control each other. As food populations increase, feeder populations increase. As feeder populations increase, food populations decrease. As food populations decrease, feeder populations decrease. As feeder populations decrease, food populations increase. And so on. This is the B of the ABCs of ecology.
For systems thinkers, the natural community provides a perfect model of negative feedback. A simpler model is the thermostat that controls your furnace. Conditions at the thermostat convey the information “Too cold,” and the thermostat turns the furnace on. After a while, conditions at the thermostat convey the information “Too hot,” and the thermostat turns the furnace off. Negative feedback. Great stuff.
The A of the ABCs of ecology is food. The community of life is nothing else. It’s flying food, running food, swimming food, crawling food, and of course just sitting-there-and-growing food. The B of the ABCs of ecology is this, that the ebb and flow of all populations is a function of food availability. An increase in food availability for a species means growth. A reduction in food availability means decline. Always. Because it’s so important let me say that another way: invariably. An increase in food availability for a species means growth. A reduction means decline. Every time, ever and always. Semper et ubique. Without exception. Never otherwise.
More food, growth. Less food, decline. Count on it.
There is no species that dwindles in the midst of abundance, no species that thrives on nothing.
This is the B of the ABCs of ecology.
Defeating the system’s controls
With the A and the B of ecology in hand, we’re ready to go back and look again at the origin of our population explosion. For a hundred and ninety thousand years our species grew at an infinitesimal rate from a few thousand to ten million. Then about ten thousand years ago we began to grow rapidly. This was not a miraculous event or an accidental event or even a mysterious event.
We began to grow more rapidly because we’d found a way to defeat the negative feedback controls of the community. We’d become food producers—agriculturalists. In other words, we’d found a way to increase food availability at will
This ability to make food available at will is the blessing on which our civilization is founded. It’s also the blessing that the pain reliever in my parable stands for. The ability to produce food at will is an undoubted blessing, but its very blessedness can make it dangerous—and dangerously addictive—just like the analgesic in my fable.
“At will” is the operative expression here. Because we could now produce food at will, our population was no longer subject to control by food availability on a random basis. Anytime we wanted more food, we could grow it. After a hundred and ninety thousand years of being limited by what was available, we began to control what was available—and invariably we began to increase what was available. You don’t become a farmer in order to reduce food availability, you become a farmer to increase food availability. And so do the folks next door. And so do the folks farming throughout your region. You are all involved in increasing food availability for your species.
And here comes the B in the ABCs of ecology: An increase in food availability for a species means growth for that species. In other words, ecology predicts that the blessing of agriculture will bring us growth—and history confirms ecology’s prediction. As soon as we began to increase the availability of our own food, our population began to grow—not glacially, as before, when we were subject to the community’s negative feedback controls—but rapidly.
Population expansion among agriculturalists was followed by territorial expansion among agriculturalists. Territorial expansion made more land available for food production—and no one goes into farming to reduce food production. More land, more food production, more population growth.
With more people, we need more food. With more food available, we soon have more people—as predicted by the laws of ecology. With more people, we need more food. With more food, we soon have more people. With more people, we need more food. With more food, we soon have more people.
Positive feedback, this is called, in systems terminology. Another example: When conditions at the thermostat convey the information “Too hot,” the thermostat turns the furnace ON instead of OFF. That’s positive feedback. Negative feedback checks an increasing effect. Positive feedback reinforces an increasing effect.
Positive feedback is what we see at work in this agricultural revolution of ours. Increased population stimulates increased food production, which increases the population. More food, more people. More people, more food. More food, more people. More people, more food. More food, more people. Positive feedback. Bad stuff. Dangerous stuff.
The experiment run 10,000 times
What is observed in the human population is that intensification of production to feed an increased population invariably leads to a still greater increase in population. I’ve seen this called a paradox, but in fact it’s only what the laws of ecology predict. Listen to it again: “Intensification of production to feed an increased population invariably leads to a still greater increase in population.”
Think of it as an experiment that has been performed annually in our culture for the last ten thousand years: Let’s see what happens if we increase food production this year. Hey, whaddya know, our population increased too! Let’s see what happens next year if we increase food production.
Hey, whaddya know, our population increased again! Do you suppose there’s a connection?
Nah, why would there be?
Well, what shall we do this year? Increase production or decrease it? Well, we gotta increase it, don’t we, because we’ve got more mouths to feed!
Okay, let’s increase food production again this year and see what happens. Wow, look at that! Population up again.
Well, let’s increase production again and see what happens. Who knows, maybe this time the population will go down.
Nope, up again. Amazing.
These thumbnail conversations describe the results of five annual experiments performed in ancient times. Imagine nine thousand nine hundred ninety-five more of them, bringing us up to the present year, 1996, when we have to ask ourselves, well, what are we going to do this year? Decrease food production?
No way, don’t be ridiculous.
Well, whaddya say, let’s just keep it the same as last year just for once. You know, see what happens?
Are you kidding? Civilization would crash and burn.
Why? If we produced enough food for five and a half billion people last year, why should civilization crash and burn if we produce enough for five and a half billion people this year?
Because enough for five and a half billion wasn’t enough. Millions are starving.
Yeah, but everyone knows that this isn’t because food is lacking. The food is there, it’s just not getting to the people who are starving.
Look, didn’t we have this conversation in 1990?
Sure we had it in 1990.
We had it in 1990 and in 1921 during the Russian famine and in 1846 during the Irish famine and in 1783 during the Japanese famine and in 1591 during the Italian famine and in 1315 during the European famine. God, I can remember having this conversation in the sixth century B.C. during the Roman famines.
Well, that’s the point I’m making. How many times have we run this experiment?
About ten thousand times. Ten thousand times we’ve decided to increase food production, an
d ten thousand times the population has gotten bigger. Doesn’t prove anything, of course. This time could be different. This time the population might go down.
Well, okay, let’s try it one more time. We’ll increase food production again this year and see what happens….
Hey, whaddya know. The population went up again this time. Quite a coincidence, huh?
Three demonstrations
Let me spend a few minutes now outlining a series of demonstrations that will clarify the issues I’ve raised here.
This is demonstration number one. Into a nice roomy cage we introduce two young, healthy mice. The cage has a built-in feeder that enables us to make food available to the mice in any quantity we like. After installing the two mice, we shove in two kilos of food. This is obviously much more than two mice need, but that will do no harm and you’ll soon see the point of it. Next day, we take out the feeder, discard the uneaten food, and replace it with another two kilos. We do this every day. Soon the two mice become four, the four become eight, the eight become sixteen, the sixteen become thirty-two. This population growth confirms the fact that these mice have plenty of food. We continue to put in two kilos of food every day and, as time goes on, more and more of it is eaten; this isn’t a surprise, because there are more and more mice eating it. Eventually there comes a day when all of it is eaten. No matter. We continue to put two kilos of food in the cage every day, and every day the two kilos of food are eaten. Now guess what happens to that population, which has been growing so busily from day one of the demonstration. It stops growing. It levels off. Again, this is no surprise at all. As we continue to supply two kilos of food a day, we count the mice daily for a year and see that the population fluctuates between two hundred eighty and three hundred twenty, with an average of three hundred. Two kilos of food every day will maintain about three hundred mice. That’s demonstration one.