vi
hyper-glaciation, collateral proto-determinism. Anyone can play. Does it matter
what it all means? Probably not if it gets my papers published.
Alan Sokal (1996) famously highlighted the problem in a paper submitted to a
leading sociological journal to see if they would ‘publish an article liberally salted
with nonsense if (a) it sounded good and (b) it fl attered the editors’ ideological preconceptions’. Sadly, the journal failed the test; they published it. But because they
did, the sociological lesson still resonates: not every unfamiliar coupling of familiar
words can be expected to last the course, let alone contribute to knowledge. The best
way to avoid this error is to become a little more attached to the precision of
language.
Science must somehow chart a course between these two positions. How should
we ensure that our linguistic efforts amount to more than academic birdsong? How
can we develop intellectual territory which contributes meaningfully to understanding? It seems to me that successful scientifi c terminology has to have three specifi c
characteristics. First, it must resonate with the cultural context into which it falls.
Second, it must have integrity, allowing its proponents to convey a coherent and
articulate vision. Finally, it must express humility, showing a preparedness to extend
its boundaries, change its focus and, occasionally, when no longer needed, to expire
gracefully in favour of new meanings, better understandings and clearer visions.
Industrial ecology must at least partly have satisfi ed these conditions. For otherwise,
there would be nothing after 25 years to take stock of, and, as this volume shows,
there clearly is.
Industrial ecology emerged at a time when detailed understandings of the ecological impacts of human activity were painfully thin. Business knew too little about
their supply chains. Citizens understood too little of their footprints. Climate scientists had barely begun the extraordinary collaborative endeavour to chart the impacts
and progress of anthropogenic climate change. Accounting systems, so rigorously
developed for profi t and loss, were woefully lacking in the raw material basis of the
modern economy. Industrial ecology, or something akin to it, was clearly missing,
not just in our vocabulary but in our understanding. Its emergence resonated with a
real need: to understand better the complex links between industrial systems, human
society and the biosphere. Industrial ecology was resonant.
Industrial ecology also puts forward a vision. From the outset the language conveyed both an idea and an ideal. The idea was that industrial systems are also, in and
of themselves, a part of the natural world and not apart from it. Human systems are
irrevocably entwined in natural systems. Separation is impossible. Two simple
questions form the basis of material fl ow analysis, one of industrial ecology’s most
important tools. Where does it come from? Where does it go to? These two questions are amongst the most powerful tools we have in our search to understand the
material connection between the economy and the earth; and this connection lies at
the heart of industrial ecology’s vision.
But Frosch and Gallopoulos’s seminal 1989 paper in Scientifi c American went
further than this. There was, in that early vision, an unashamedly normative component. Since industrial systems are inextricably connected to natural ecosystems,
should they not seek to be more like natural ecosystems? Our economies preside
Foreword
hyper-glaciation, collateral proto-determinism. Anyone can play. Does it matter
what it all means? Probably not if it gets my papers published.
Alan Sokal (1996) famously highlighted the problem in a paper submitted to a
leading sociological journal to see if they would ‘publish an article liberally salted
with nonsense if (a) it sounded good and (b) it fl attered the editors’ ideological preconceptions’. Sadly, the journal failed the test; they published it. But because they
did, the sociological lesson still resonates: not every unfamiliar coupling of familiar
words can be expected to last the course, let alone contribute to knowledge. The best
way to avoid this error is to become a little more attached to the precision of
language.
Science must somehow chart a course between these two positions. How should
we ensure that our linguistic efforts amount to more than academic birdsong? How
can we develop intellectual territory which contributes meaningfully to understanding? It seems to me that successful scientifi c terminology has to have three specifi c
characteristics. First, it must resonate with the cultural context into which it falls.
Second, it must have integrity, allowing its proponents to convey a coherent and
articulate vision. Finally, it must express humility, showing a preparedness to extend
its boundaries, change its focus and, occasionally, when no longer needed, to expire
gracefully in favour of new meanings, better understandings and clearer visions.
Industrial ecology must at least partly have satisfi ed these conditions. For otherwise,
there would be nothing after 25 years to take stock of, and, as this volume shows,
there clearly is.
Industrial ecology emerged at a time when detailed understandings of the ecological impacts of human activity were painfully thin. Business knew too little about
their supply chains. Citizens understood too little of their footprints. Climate scientists had barely begun the extraordinary collaborative endeavour to chart the impacts
and progress of anthropogenic climate change. Accounting systems, so rigorously
developed for profi t and loss, were woefully lacking in the raw material basis of the
modern economy. Industrial ecology, or something akin to it, was clearly missing,
not just in our vocabulary but in our understanding. Its emergence resonated with a
real need: to understand better the complex links between industrial systems, human
society and the biosphere. Industrial ecology was resonant.
Industrial ecology also puts forward a vision. From the outset the language conveyed both an idea and an ideal. The idea was that industrial systems are also, in and
of themselves, a part of the natural world and not apart from it. Human systems are
irrevocably entwined in natural systems. Separation is impossible. Two simple
questions form the basis of material fl ow analysis, one of industrial ecology’s most
important tools. Where does it come from? Where does it go to? These two questions are amongst the most powerful tools we have in our search to understand the
material connection between the economy and the earth; and this connection lies at
the heart of industrial ecology’s vision.
But Frosch and Gallopoulos’s seminal 1989 paper in Scientifi c American went
further than this. There was, in that early vision, an unashamedly normative component. Since industrial systems are inextricably connected to natural ecosystems,
should they not seek to be more like natural ecosystems? Our economies preside
Foreword