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Cross-posted from UKR-TAZ.

I’m happy to share the news that Terra Invicta: Ukrainian Wartime Reimaginings for a Habitable Earth, the first English-language book-length anthology of wartime Ukrainian environmental humanities writing (and art), is out now — and that it’s available as a fully open access downloadable file thanks to McGill-Queen’s University Press and the Olga M. Ciupka Memorial Fund.

Philosopher Slavoj Žižek writes about the book that “Terra Invicta deserves to become an instant classic, a volume that everyone who wants to grasp the contours of our global crisis should read.” Writer Andrey Kurkov adds that “The war in Ukraine affects the ecology of nature and the ecology of consciousness throughout the world. This book is the best way to understand Ukraine today and the impact of Russian aggression on your life, no matter what country you live in.” 

The book’s comprehensive introduction contextualizes the Russo-Ukrainian war within the historical processes — of politics, economics, culture, and ecology — that made it possible, and assesses it as the kind of environmental war that (sadly) presages wars likely to come as climate change intensifies. It then introduces the remainder of the book, with its 30+ authors and artists and rich array of topics, from place-based memory and trauma, ecocultural relations with amphibians, plants, trees, and fungi, and mappings of Indigenous (Tatar) musical landscapes and wartime soundscapes, to the role of art in war, ecological “war-rewilding,” decolonization of Europe’s last remaining empire (Russia), the possibilities of international solidarities across colonial contexts, and the tensions between extractive capitalism and democracy in the “full-scale Anthropocene.” To read the Introduction, see below.

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On November 20, Am Johal and I held a book launching conversation for The New Lives of Images: Digital Ecologies and Anthropocene Imaginaries in More-than-Human Worlds. The event took place at Simon Fraser University’s Harbour Centre in downtown Vancouver. A podcast from the event is being prepared for Below the Radar: A Knowledge Democracy Podcast.

Director until recently of Simon Fraser University’s Vancity Office of Community Engagement, Am Johal is also an author, whose books include Ecological Metapolitics: Badiou and the Anthropocene (2015) and the co-authored Global Warming and the Sweetness of Life: A Tar Sands Tale (2018) and O My Friends, There is No Friend: The Politics of Friendship at the End of Ecology (2024). He is currently Chair of the Vancouver International Film Festival, Vice Chair of Greenpeace Canada, and a board member with the BC Alliance for Arts and Culture.

In preparation for the public conversation, which veered off in many directions (with a lot of questions and comments from audience members), Am sent me some questions ahead, to which I’ve written out responses. I’m sharing those here, as I think they’re helpful in elucidating both what’s in the book and a few things that go beyond it.

Here, then, is our full “print conversation” (really, a Q & A). The actual public conversation that took place at Harbour Centre, with a lot of audience participation, will feature in the podcast, which should come out in February at Below the Radar.

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I’ve just returned from a nine-day trip to China, where I spoke at the “International Symposium on Ecological Images and Media” at Jimei University in Xiamen, and lectured at four different universities (Jimei University, Xiamen Technological University, Shanghai’s East China Normal University, and Shanghai University). My hosts, including Minjiang Scholar and professor Kunyu Wang, lead translator of my book Ecologies of the Moving Image, were gracious and delightful. 

I want to share two sets of thoughts here: one on academic relationships with Chinese universities, and the second on the politics of media.

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When the president of the world’s most powerful country posts a video of himself as a jet-flying, Dr. Strangelove-like “King Trump” defecating all over his protesting critics, it is a call not just for Americans, but for humanity also, to ask itself how we got to this place.

Recall that Trump today is the most powerful man on Earth, supported by the most powerful army and backed by the most powerful set of technological oligarchs ever assembled. And that yesterday’s protests, estimated at 5 to 7 million, were the second largest single-day demonstration in U.S. history. (Earth Day 1970 still holds the record for the first, while the George Floyd protests topped yesterday’s over multiple days.)

Interpreting the video is not so difficult. By imagining himself as King Trump flying over protesters and dumping poop on their heads, the president of the United States is presenting a juvenile-delinquent’s regressive-infantile fantasy of white-male rebellion against the social order that, in normal times, would be able to contain it. It’s a naughty little boy’s poop fantasy, one that suggests that a pooping toddler, Donnie, along with his enabler friends — Jimmy D, Stevie, Russie, Lonnie & the silicon poopers, et al — just don’t wanna grow up.

But they also want it both ways: they want the transgressive jouissance of the boy-rebel AND to inherit the kingdom of the patriarch. They want their poopy-colored chocolate cake and the poopy-farty joy of spreading it all over the nursery walls. They want to break the rules and to force others to follow their rules.

The questions this raises are questions for all of us: How did we allow a political-economic system to emerge that would enable such a person to become the most powerful person in the most powerful nation on Earth? And, equally importantly, what in his fantasy appeals to so many people who support his rule?

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The nearly 400-page, richly illustrated anthology Terra Invicta: Ukrainian Wartime Reimaginings for a Habitable Earth, which I conceived and edited as part of a Fulbright award held in Berlin (originally meant to be held in Ukraine, but displaced due to the war), is now available for pre-ordering. Please encourage your libraries and bookstores to order it.

The full-color book features the work of 30+ Ukrainian authors and artists that together articulate “what in the world is worth fighting for” — a world in which, in the face of history’s repetitions and the future’s uncertainties, we nevertheless persist, in Katya Buchatska’s words, in “plant[ing] a garden so that we have something to lose.”

Political philosopher Slavoj Žižek writes that “Terra Invicta does something urgently needed but nonetheless new: it makes it clear that there is no choice between ecological concerns and the struggle against military aggression. In Ukraine, they are two moments of the same struggle. Terra Invicta deserves to become an instant classic, a volume that everyone who wants to grasp the contours of our global crisis should read.”

A description, list of contents, and ordering information (including a 25% discount) can be found at Immanence’s sister blog, UKR-TAZ. Click here.

It’s what informs my analysis of images, imagination, and the digital in The New Lives of Images. Here is the three-minute version of it.

The universe is a living, dynamic, and responsive universe. It is made not of static objects, but of events — events which elicit other events. Its most basic unit is an event of “response” to “things given.”

Events elicit other events: they evoke or draw out responses. At its simplest, this elicitation is directly causal, as with a billiard ball in motion hitting another billiard ball and setting it into predictable motion. But as this relationality gets complex — and the universe we know is quite complex — the elicitation, and the responsiveness to it, take on higher-order forms. Things — which make up the events we perceive and experience — come to “stand for” other things, which they do in three basic ways: through their directly causal force (the billiard ball model), through their resemblance to the “other things” they come to stand for (the recognition model), and through their being interpretable within a system of meaning-making (the interpretation model).

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I’ve just gotten my hands on an advance print copy of The New Lives of Images, and it looks and feels wonderful to hold and handle. I’m quite happy with what Stanford University Press has done with the book — the artwork, the typography, and the entire editorial and publication process was and is commendable. And being part of the Sensing Media: Aesthetics, Philosophy, and Cultures of Media series is an honor.

One thing that’s missing from the book is a layered (two layers deep) table of contents — Stanford likes simplicity in that respect — so I thought I’d share that here. Note that the list of sub-headings does not exactly reflect the length of the respective chapters. The book’s first, theoretical “half” — a long essay on images and six “image regimes,” culminating in the digital — clocks in at a crisp 125 pages. The second, empirical half of the book, with its three lengthy and more-or-less-standalone investigations into the imaginal interface between contemporary humans and the earth (the Anthroposcene), humans and nonhuman animals (the Therioscene), and humans and our gods (the Theoscene), comes in at close to 200 pages. And there are nearly 60 pages of notes, and a 30-page index. Which makes it feel like a big book. I’m looking forward to the paperback, which should be out simultaneously with the cloth-bound and digital versions.

Chapter One can be read online. The book can be ordered here.

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The axis of oil

There are three main hypotheses explaining Donald Trump’s eagerness to please Vladimir Putin.

The first is “conspiratorial”: that Putin has something over Trump, related perhaps to the Steele dossier, Trump’s real estate shenanigans, the KGB’s long-term efforts to cultivate Trump as a “Russian asset,” or maybe even the Epstein files (Trump and Putin do, after all, connect within the ranks of the uber-rich masculinist jet set, where sexist pedophilia seems readily appeasable).

The second is psychoanalytical: that Trump is a pathological narcissist with a fragile father-damaged ego, and that he only looks up to other, more “successfully” imperial father figures. Putin is one of the few who fit his criteria.

The third is “realist,” which acknowledges that there are benefits, from Trump’s perspective, to a cozier relationship with Russia. Allying with Russia could, for instance, steer the latter away from China. More importantly, and more specifically these days, is that Russia is a fossil fuel superpower — and Trump’s authority is also reliant on a perpetuation of the global power of fossil fuels. Rehabilitating Putin will enable Trump to “make deals” around Russia’s only assets, which are its oil and gas deposits. When other prices are rising all around Trump, he could at least keep gas prices down by dealing directly with Putin.

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Should this blog move to Substack? Here are some reasons to do it:

  • Substack is where things are happening these days (see here, here, here, and here). Some of the most popular blogs and newsletters are increasingly found there, and traditional media increasingly focus and rely on them. Substack’s growth has been relatively unrelenting.
  • Substack provides multiple options for building one’s readership and support base that other venues (like the university-based WordPress one that this blog is built on) do not. Most of these include interlinking with other blogs, which creates a more coherent network of readership and conversation — exactly the kind of thing that attracted me to blogging in the first place (back in 2009), but which has faded everywhere except in Substack. It seems to be the only remaining place where the old, highly interactive “blogosphere” is not just surviving, but visibly thriving.
  • (A third reason might be that Substack is easily monetizable, but as long as I’m on a reasonable university salary, that’s not a consideration for me. My university keeps me busy enough. That said, if things were to go extremely well here, I could retire earlier and devote even more energy to writing. ;-))

And here are two good reasons not to do it:

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I’m organizing a two-day academic retreat focusing on “Generative AI, Techno-authoritarianism, and the Future of the Critical Humanities.” It will take place in late September, partly under the auspices of Simon Fraser University’s Joanne Brown Symposium series on violence and its alternatives. We’re stretching the mandate of that series in that we aren’t focusing directly on violence either caused or prevented by AI. But insofar as AI poses a threat either to humanity itself or to the humanities, and insofar as the humanities have served as a bulwark against violence (and that’s worth debating), the connection is deeply relevant.

(The event will not be a public or online one, but we will share our insights in some form very soon after. I’ll share more about it in this space.)

As its organizer, I’m trying not to commit to any position on AI just yet — of which there are several, including (from pro to anti) true believer, enthusiast (including cynical and self-serving pusher), cautious collaborator, skeptical critic, refusenik, and abolitionist. (For support for a few of these positions, see Wired‘s “The AI Backlash Keeps Growing Stronger,” The Boston Review‘s “The AI We Deserve” series, Freedom House’s report “The Repressive Power of Artificial Intelligence,” Kate Crawford’s Nature article “Generative AI’s environmental costs are soaring — and mostly secret,” and Laurent Dubreuil’s Humanities in the Time of AI.” We’ll be compiling a much longer list of recommended readings; suggestions welcome.)

But I’ve been engaging with AI, including in the writing of a monograph, which makes me a cautious (and critical) collaborator. Writing with AI has felt both exhilarating and deeply disconcerting. Practically at the beginning of my conversation about my book-in-progress with ChatGPT, it/they (I’ll use the agendered pronoun, which can take either a singular or plural form) were already giving me suggestions I might expect from an intelligent friend who’s very familiar with my work. As a tiny sample, for instance, they suggested:

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Joanna Macy, who passed away at age 96 a couple of days ago, was a profound inspiration to many in the environmental activist world. Among other things, she taught us that “environmentalism” was about dedication to the world around us and the relations that constitute it, that it begins from the deep experience of concern and trouble that we have with it, and that it transforms our feelings for that world.

As she said in a 2017 interview with Dahr Jamail, “I’m doing this work so that when things fall apart, we will not turn on each other.” Since then, the “Great Unraveling,” as she called it, has only sped up, with pandemics, intensifying wars, and populist political movements demonstrating how humans have begun to “turn on each other” all the more. So the task to which she dedicated her life — the “Great Turning” from an earth-consuming, terminal-capitalist growth society to a life-sustaining civilization, and the “work that reconnects” and makes us capable of action toward it — continues. My longtime colleague and fellow eco-Buddhist Stephanie Kaza called Macy’s approach a “wild love for the world.” Naomi Klein, in an endorsement to the book of that title, described it as a lifelong answer to the question “How do we live in solidarity on this warming planet?”

Macy’s message was that the best way forward is by facing things in their nakedness. As she says in that same 2017 interview (which I strongly recommend), “When people find that they can, and want to, feel and know and tell what is happening to our world, that is so much sweeter and [more] liberating than the opposite. When people get integrated and find how good it feels, then they really want that more than the narcotic of ignorance and delusion, as painful as it is.”

Buddhist philosophy and practice helped her in this, as it has for many. This is because Buddhism encourages sitting with the emotions we feel in order to see how they connect us to everything else, not just in the vague generality of “all things being one” but in the specificity of this, that, you, me, and every situation and intentional action. If this, then that. If not this, then not that.

If there’s a joyful message that Buddhism conveys, at least in its life-affirming Mahayana forms, it is that this moment and every moment provides an opportunity to pierce through delusion and act in ways that bring forth beauty and a sense of solidarity with all sentient beings. Here we are (whoever and whatever “we” may be), in this together, with the capacity to act from this recognition of our togetherness.

An earlier post on this blog, entitled “Ontology 101,” proposed to clear the way for a general understanding of the different kinds of things an ontology (or general conception of reality) should be able to distinguish. My book The New Lives of Images, which will be out in September, examines in great detail the kinds of things called “images,” which I consider to be one of the main types of “things” we need to understand in order to improve our dealings with the world today. The bigger picture within which images function remains to be filled in.

“Ontology 101” elicited a private response from a friend, philosopher David Brahinsky, who reminded me that American philosopher Justus Buchler had a lot to offer with his ontological writings and that this blog has never adequately covered Buchler. This despite my years of writing about Whitehead, Peirce, and various more recent “speculative realists” such as Graham Harman, Levi Bryant, and others. So I invited David to write a guest post introducing Buchler’s thought. I’ve been sitting on it for a while, but am now sharing it in the hope that it can contribute to my and others’ further thinking about things, relations between them, and reality. Specifically, how is Buchler’s language helpful for distinguishing between the kinds of things that exist and what they are capable of?

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