Teaching at Twilight: The Meaning of Education in the Age of Collapse

By Ahmed Afzaal and John B. Cobb, Jr.

This book delivers an unsettling but urgent message to all educators . . .
Today, humanity finds itself on the cusp of a long period of inexorable decline and disruption, the likes of which no previous generation has experienced. Large-scale behavioral changes are imperative, not necessarily to "save the planet" but to reduce unnecessary pain and suffering. Yet, the vast majority of educators are still functioning in the "normal" mode, teaching the same subjects and skills, year after year, even as the nature of the challenges our students will face is undergoing dramatic changes. This mismatch is causing a moral and spiritual crisis that is threatening to make our lives and our work meaningless.
Teaching at Twilight invites all educators to take an unflinching look at the rapidly deteriorating state of the earth's life-support system, become aware of its implications for human civilization, and rethink their responsibility in light of that awareness. The book attempts to answer, from an educator's viewpoint, the practical but challenging question that Roy Scranton posed a few years ago: "We Are Doomed. Now What?"

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cascade Books
• Release date: Sep 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9781666793758

Ahmed Afzaal

Ahmed Afzaal is associate professor of religion at Concordia College in Moorhead, Minnesota.

Book preview

Preface

I wrote this book primarily for my fellow educators, particularly academics like myself who teach at the college level—regardless of their discipline or specialty and irrespective of their experience or rank in the hierarchy. While writing it, I assumed that my typical reader was a faculty member at a US liberal arts college, but I did so only for convenience. As far as my core message is concerned, it is of urgent relevance to anyone associated with education—anywhere in the world, in any capacity, and at any level. Much of what I have to say about the responsibility of college faculty is also applicable to schoolteachers as well as to academics who teach at the graduate or professional level.

There is an unstated assumption that books dealing with the ecological crisis are only useful to those educators who teach courses on environmental sustainability. That may have been a reasonable assumption at some point in the past, but not anymore. Today, it is imperative for all educators to learn about the deteriorating state of the planet and the challenges of living through the coming years and decades. Without this awareness, we won’t be able to fulfill the responsibility of our vocation.

In addition to professional educators, Teaching at Twilight should be of interest to parents who view themselves as the main educators for their children, as well as to religious leaders who are directly involved in educating their faith communities.

I should clarify that Teaching at Twilight is not about sustainability. In some ways, it is about the opposite of sustainability, about what happens when we fail to achieve a sustainable state within the grace period that nature gave us for this purpose. Nor is this book about saving the planet; instead, it is about how to move forward after we’ve realized that humanity may already have caused more damage than nature can fix on human time-scales. For decades, scientists have been warning us that bad things will happen unless we change course. This book doesn’t reissue that warning; instead, it is about what educators can do now, given that we did not change course and that bad things have already started to happen. As such, this is not the book that I wished to write, but it is definitely one that needed to be written.

One of the problematic features of modern civilization that have brought us to where we are today is its cult of speed. Faster is always better, we are told. Everyone is in a hurry to finish what they are doing so they can move on to something else. You probably have a lot on your plate already, and so you may prefer to read this book in the least amount of time. But Teaching at Twilight is a countercultural book and is best read in a countercultural way—i.e., slowly and thoughtfully. I suggest you read it like you are having dinner with an old friend. Turn off your phone. Find a quiet place. Be present. Engage.

I have placed a number of reflection breaks at key locations throughout the text. The prompts invite you to take a short break and reflect on what you’re learning, or simply notice how your body and mind might be reacting to the information. Sometimes I suggest that you process what you have learned by journaling. You may be tempted to skip the reflection work, but I would encourage you to pause and follow the prompts so you can get the most out of your reading.

This book has a companion website (https://teachingattwilight.com)where you can find additional resources, sign up for my newsletter, and join the discussion forum.

I would like to express my gratitude to the individuals who read different versions of this text, in whole or in part, and provided helpful feedback: Rebecca Batalden, Tim Hiller, Beth Quick, David Creech, Lauren Van Ham, Robert Jensen, Lisa Gordon, Marcus Ford, Wendy Freeman, Jane Adler, Kris Burke, David Baum, Peter Matthews Wright, Jeremy Jimenez, Michael Dwyer, and Cali Anicha. I am also grateful for the intellectual stimulation provided by friends and colleagues, including former students, who participated in Bibliophilia, my Zoom-based book club, and to Katie Carr, who helped with the reflection breaks. Thank you!

Ahmed Afzaal

October

22

,

2022

Introduction

Last fall, I was browsing in the New Arrivals section of the college library when the title of a book on higher education caught my attention: The Great Upheaval . My first thought was that this would have been the perfect name for my own book, the one you are reading now; too bad it was already taken! Wondering if the book addressed the same subject as mine, I started reading the preface, which said: The United States is hurtling from a national, analog, industrial economy to a global, digital, knowledge economy. This answered my question—the authors were clearly using the word upheaval in a much more benign sense than how I would’ve used it. The particular change they were referring to was of little consequence compared to what was keeping me awake at night—i.e., the ongoing and unstoppable unraveling of our global civilization due to ecological breakdowns, and the remote yet real possibility of human extinction later this century. But if the arrival of a global, digital, and knowledge economy represented the great upheaval for higher education, then what possible phrase could I use to capture the staggering enormity of my own topic? In the end, instead of choosing a more dramatic title, I settled for a mellow one, Teaching at Twilight . After all, the subject of my book had enough gravity of its own; it didn’t need a shocking title.

Reflection Break: Take a few minutes to reflect on what you just read. Pay attention to any physical sensations, emotions, or thoughts that are arising. What might these reactions be telling you about yourself? Record your reflections in a notebook.

I will explain the significance of twilight below, but let me first repeat the disturbing claim I just made. Because of the advanced state of ecological breakdowns, civilization in its present form has already started its final descent; in fact, the situation is so dire that the possibility of human extinction in the near future cannot be completely ruled out.

I am aware that some of my readers will view the above claim as dubious or even preposterous, but I also know that many other readers will feel affirmed and validated. If you fall in the former group, you are probably feeling incredulous or at least skeptical, which is a perfectly normal reaction. Please try to hold your final judgment until you’ve had a chance to engage with the full argument, keeping in mind that words like doomism, alarmism, and catastrophism are simply pejorative labels that, in and of themselves, neither prove nor disprove anything.

While many people associate the possibility of civilizational unraveling or human extinction with runaway climate change, this book does not focus exclusively on that particular threat. Instead, it attempts to identify the fundamental dysfunction that underlies all of our global challenges, including the climate crisis.

Four Parts and a Theme

Teaching at Twilight is organized into four parts: In part I, A Time Like No Other, I introduce three concepts central to my thesis—the Predicament, Business-as-Usual, and the Collapse, (chapters 1–5), before discussing how an individual’s awareness of the state of the world tends to evolve over time (chapter 6).

In part II, A Crisis of Meaning, I explore what makes teaching a worthwhile activity and what sort of obstacles are preventing us from serving the best interests of our students (chapters 7–9). I then describe how humanity’s current situation has created a crisis of meaning for educators (chapter 10). Finally, I share my understanding of the larger crisis of modernity that underlies the most recent intensification of the human Predicament (chapters 11–12).

In part III, A Learning Journey, I begin by identifying the main factors that interfere with our ability to fully grasp the bigger picture, as well as what we can do to become more open and receptive to challenging information (chapters 13–15). I then explore the complex processes, both natural and socio-cultural, that have brought about humanity’s current situation (chapters 16–21).

In part IV, A Way Forward, I explain why we are called to play a leadership role in preparing our students and fellow citizens for the difficult times ahead, as well as the sort of steps we can take to fulfill this responsibility (chapters 22–24).

The common thread running throughout the book is the meaning of education in the age of collapse. I contend that the ongoing breakdown of human civilization is an inexorable process that we ignore at our own peril. In addition to generating a variety of economic shocks and social convulsions, the unraveling of civilization is also giving rise to a number of moral and spiritual challenges. One of these challenges is the particular crisis of meaning that you and I are experiencing simply by virtue of being educators. Judging solely from our overt behavior, it might appear as if most of us were completely oblivious to the crisis. Yet, I believe that we do have at least a vague inkling that something vital is missing from our lives. The crisis is already taking a heavy toll on us, even as we struggle to grasp its nature and implications.

Typically, the crisis in question manifests as a feeling of discontent in relation to our professional lives. It’s a persistent but ill-defined sense of unease that many of us are misinterpreting as the garden-variety lack of job satisfaction. The discontent is real, widespread, and growing, so much so that it has created a nationwide shortage of schoolteachers.¹ In a survey conducted in January 2022, 90 percent of schoolteachers said that burnout was a serious problem and 55 percent said they would leave teaching sooner than they had originally planned.² Colleges and universities are finding it hard to fill administrative and staff positions, at least partly because higher education is no longer viewed as an attractive workplace.³ Academics, including scientists, are leaving their teaching positions, apparently in droves.⁴ The phenomenon is significant enough that it has created a market for books and coaching services aimed at helping academics transition out of higher education. There are even support groups on Facebook and first-person testimony videos on YouTube. A new genre of writing has emerged, called Quit Lit, that consists of former academics explaining why they left their careers.

Reflection Break: Do you remember why you chose to become an educator? What experiences motivated you to pursue this profession? When is your work most meaningful? When is it least meaningful? Record your reflections in a notebook.

This growing discontent among educators is usually attributed to certain obvious causes, such as: We are perpetually overworked and under-compensated; public funding is going down while anti-intellectualism is rising; tenure and academic freedom are under attack; the pandemic has caused serious harm to the morale; arts and humanities are increasingly seen as unnecessary luxuries; decline in enrollments is seriously hurting small liberal arts institutions; the demographic cliff is coming for our jobs; there is a constant threat of cancel culture from both sides of the political spectrum; the stress caused by publish or perish requirements is becoming unbearable. For BIPOCs, there is the additional burden of everyday microaggressions and institutionalized racism.⁵ We are sick and tired of dealing with callous administrators, uncooperative colleagues, and uninterested students.

The Soul’s Discontent

I don’t doubt that all of the above are contributing factors, but I also think that there is a deeper issue whose significance has been grossly underestimated. Ultimately, our discontent is of moral and spiritual origin. The crisis we’re facing is less about our circumstances or the behavior of other people, and more about an unrecognized hunger in our own souls.

Consider this: People who work in the educational domain are unlikely to become millionaires; in fact, a significant proportion continues to struggle financially. If getting rich was our top priority, we would probably have chosen a more lucrative profession. Instead, it had to be some sort of idealism that led individuals like you and me to become teachers and scholars. Perhaps we were captivated by an idea, or we fell in love with a subject, or we enjoyed solving puzzles or telling stories, or we wanted to fill a particular gap in human knowledge. Whatever the reason, we were drawn to this profession because it felt meaningful. Bad working conditions didn’t really matter to us, so long as we knew that our daily grind was making a difference.

If this rings true, then perhaps our present state of discontent is like a fire alarm going off. The message I hear is that our professional lives are becoming meaningless and we better do something about it right away. What was once a vocation has started to degenerate into a mere job, an activity that helps pay the bills but doesn’t quite nourish our souls. We are overwhelmed, but not necessarily because we’ve been working too hard or because our contribution is not being appreciated—even though these are real issues. Rather, we are feeling burned out because the work we do is failing to meet our need for meaning. If that’s the case, then switching careers may or may not provide the relief we are looking for. On the other hand, there is a lot we can do as educators that may help remedy our affliction.

So, why is it that such noble pursuits as teaching, mentoring, and the search for truth are not providing us the fulfillment we crave? In my view, the crisis has to do with a certain misalignment between the purpose of education and the goals of education in a time of planetary breakdown and civilizational unraveling. Regardless of whether or not we have consciously apprehended this misalignment, more and more of us are feeling its adverse effects deep within ourselves. For those who invest their heart and soul into their work, the professional is inseparable from the personal. Teaching at Twilight is my attempt to diagnose the discontent in the educator’s soul and to suggest a way forward.

The Ambivalence of Twilight

As a metaphor, the word twilight usually refers to a final period of deterioration—the downturn that precedes the end. The phrase in the age of collapse, as used in the subtitle, clarifies the intended meaning of the word: human civilization, as we know it, has entered its terminal phase. We are, in other words, living through an era for which twilight, in the sense of an irreversible decline, can serve as an apt metaphor.

In its literal sense, twilight signifies the illumination of the atmosphere while the sun is below the horizon, a phenomenon that happens twice in a twenty-four-hour period—between dawn and sunrise (morning twilight) and between sunset and dusk (evening twilight). Twilight can therefore signify both a beginning and an ending. Even the evening twilight need not be associated with the end; in the Jewish and Islamic reckoning, for example, the day begins at sunset rather than at sunrise. Metaphorically, twilight is best understood as the ambiguous interval between two unmistakably different objects of experience—daytime and nighttime. As such, the word can also suggest an undefined, intermediate, or in-between state, or a period of rapid transformation from one state to another.

This ambiguity in the concept of twilight adds another layer of meaning to the title of this book. It implies that even though civilization in its present form is coming to an end, no one can say for sure whether or not this ending will be followed by a new beginning. The twilight we are experiencing at this moment may signify the final phase of the human project itself, but it can also turn out to be a monumental transformation of some sort; in the latter case, the current unraveling may represent the death that must precede the rebirth.⁶ While both of these meanings are plausible when considered one by one, they evoke a feeling of radical uncertainty when we try to hold them together. And if we imagine both meanings as simultaneously true, then the uncertainty becomes a paradox—with its own generative potential.

So the symbol of twilight is ambivalent, at the very least, which is not unrelated to the fact that I have left the issue of the distant future largely unaddressed in this book. While I know that civilization in its present form won’t last very long, I take an agnostic view regarding what, if anything, will arise on the other side. Instead, I focus on the question that I believe we should all be thinking about: Given that humanity is living through the twilight of civilization, what is our responsibility as educators?

A Friendly Intervention

Teaching at Twilight is not meant solely, or even primarily, as an original contribution to the academic literature of any particular discipline, nor is it aimed at enlarging the stock of human knowledge for posterity’s benefit. My goal is practical, rather than theoretical; it is not so much to create new knowledge as it is to draw the readers’ attention towards bodies of peer-reviewed scholarship whose practical significance appears to have been largely ignored by educators. The book is therefore an attempt to encourage you to take that knowledge seriously, to engage with what it might mean for your own responsibility vis-à-vis your students, the larger society, and the web of life, and to allow that awareness to influence how you choose to live, teach, and lead. While the standard academic treatise attempts to remain descriptive only, this book is unapologetically prescriptive as well.

In some ways, the book you’re holding in your hands can be seen as an intervention. Typically, an intervention involves a group of friends or family members confronting a person who is in denial about a problematic behavior, such as addiction. By writing this book, I am trying to accomplish something similar with respect to my own professional community, for I am not convinced that we are fulfilling what I believe to be our most critical responsibility at the present historical moment. This is not to say that no one is doing anything useful. My point, rather, is that our current efforts, admirable as they may be, are too small and too scattered; insofar as these efforts assume the continuation of the status quo, they are not even aimed in the right direction.

My motivation for writing this book comes from my own longing to experience a stronger sense of meaning in my professional life. Over the last ten years, my understanding of what students need to learn has evolved in a way that is increasingly at odds with the goals and values dominating the educational system. I have been looking for answers, insights, and kindred souls throughout this past decade. I did come across lots of answers and insights, but I only found a few academic peers who understood the full severity of the crisis and were also willing to do something about it. For the most part, I kept running into a wall of unconvincing optimism reinforced by the satisfaction of mostly symbolic gestures.

I wrote this book because of the utter inadequacy of anything I can do in an individual capacity. The only approach that allows me to meet my need for meaning is therefore my participation in a collective effort whose goals match my own values. The pursuit of meaning is an individual project, but it cannot be accomplished outside a community. My hope from this book is that it will allow me to connect with like-minded academics and educators who have reached conclusions similar to my own, either by reading this book or through their own journey of awareness. In fact, the very process of writing this book has brought me into contact with several individuals who have been thinking along similar lines. There is work to be done, but it cannot be accomplished by isolated individuals acting on their own.

While I was working on this book, two organizations began to emerge from within higher education that share some of my concerns—Faculty for a Future (F4F) in the United Kingdom and the Planetary Limits Academic Network (PLAN) in the United States. Both are in their infancy at the moment, and it remains to be seen how they will proceed and what they will achieve.

Navigating Emotions

Teaching at Twilight deals with information that can pose certain emotional challenges to the readers, particularly to those who are just beginning to learn about the state of the world and the direction in which it is headed. These challenges fall into two main categories.

First, it can be hard for any of us to remain fully engaged when encountering ideas that do not comfortably fit within our prior knowledge or that are countercultural in some fundamental way. When you encounter such ideas, whether in this book or somewhere else, you may experience inner resistance and even the pull of denial. It is possible to make this challenge a little easier by practicing mindfulness—i.e., by maintaining a curious but non-judgmental awareness of one’s own inner world as it changes from moment to moment.

Second, some facts and trends discussed in the book can be distressing to contemplate. Be prepared to recognize, accept, and process a variety of uncomfortable feelings—such as fear, anxiety, despair, anger, and grief—as you think about this information. The following suggestions may be helpful in this regard: (1) When learning about any potentially disturbing subject, it is a good idea to do so in small and easily manageable chunks, while avoiding social isolation and practicing appropriate forms of self-care. (2) Mindful walking in a natural environment can have a restorative effect, and so can embodied practices such as yoga and tai chi. Any form of art or craft that requires your full attention can also produce a similar benefit. (3) While it is perfectly normal to have difficult or painful feelings while reading certain parts of this book, the emotional experience may occasionally become too intense or overwhelming. It is therefore a good idea to have at your disposal a number of healthy coping strategies, especially ones that have worked for you in the past. (4) As a general reminder, it is important to prioritize one’s own mental and emotional health over other considerations. Do not hesitate to seek professional care if and when necessary.

Matters of Style

Well before I had typed a single word, I knew that I didn’t want to use the formal style of expository prose that is the hallmark of most scholarly works. That’s partly because I wanted to reach academics of all stripes regardless of their discipline, and partly because I wished to express myself as directly and as clearly, and with as little obfuscation, as I possibly could. The message of this book is too important and too urgent to be communicated in anything but the most transparent manner. In fact, the subject matter is of existential significance, in both senses of the word.

Even though this book does not represent the goals of any organization, some parts of the text do have an emphatic and imperative quality usually associated with manifestos. I see this quality as diametrically opposed to the politician’s habit of never saying anything definitive as well as the scholar’s tendency to heavily qualify every other proposition. The downside of making bold or radical pronouncements, however, is that they can be easily misconstrued as uninformed generalizations, especially if the reader is expecting the cautious and clinical style characteristic of academic writing. But experience has taught me that it is a mistake to water down one’s passion just to make the writing sound non-controversial; one may gain more readers by doing so, but the readers will gain much less from their reading. Instead of deliberately understating my case, as scholarly etiquette requires, I have therefore allowed my feelings to dictate the tone and texture of my writing. Given the state of the world, this should be considered a feature, not a bug. If you are trying to wake someone up because the house is on fire, it is perfectly appropriate to set aside the conventions of politeness, patience, and privacy—and that’s almost literally the context in which I am writing these words.

I discuss in the book several topics that are very well-known in some, but not all, disciplines. As a result, it has been difficult for me to imagine what my typical reader already knows. The difficulty arises from the fact that my intended audience is simultaneously too narrow and too broad. It is too narrow because I am mostly interested in reaching college faculty; too broad because this group represents the entire range of academic specializations—all the way from anthropology to zoology. This creates a dilemma. On the one hand, I don’t want to sound condescending by explaining to you what you may already know better than I do. On the other hand, I don’t want to confuse you by overestimating your familiarity with topics that are central to my thesis. Finding the right balance between these two horns hasn’t been easy. On the whole, I have tried to err in the direction of providing more explanation rather than less.

Regarding my writing style, you may have noticed the frequent use of the second-person singular pronoun. This is a violation of academic convention—scholars