deCOMPOSE

Solarpunk’s World of Eco-Communism

by Mike Duran on February 15, 2019

Munashichi, Future Economic View of Innocence, 2015

Literary subgenres morph at incredible speeds. The reasons why are embedded in a complex web of social, political, psychological, literary, technological, and pop-cultural forces. The genre of Fantasy is a good example of an ever-expanding universe of subgenres which intersect, coalesce, and transmutate into wildly different forms — from Fantasy, to High Fantasy, to Epic Fantasy, Grimdark to Noblebright Fantasy, to Alternate Universe Fantasy, to Sci-Fi Fantasy, to Urban Fantasy, to Paranormal Fantasy. The list is long and open-ended.

Perhaps it’s our penchant for cataloging and quantifying everything. So stories that were once simply labeled Romance are now sifted down to particular elemental components (Historical Romance, Contemporary Romance, Romantic Suspense, Erotic Romance, Romantic Comedy, Paranormal Romance, Gay Romance, Multicultural Romance, etc., etc.). Whatever the forces behind such atomization, one of the underlying components that drives the formation of many subgenres is worldview — how the reader/writer sees, or wants to see, the world.

In the case of Solarpunk, one of the latest genre iterations, an optimistic eco-centric humanism is the driving worldview behind the speculative world.

TV Tropes defines Solarpunk in this way:

Solarpunk is a genre of Speculative Fiction that focuses on craftsmanship, community, and technology powered by renewable energy, wrapped up in a coating of Art Nouveaublended with African and Asian aesthetics. It envisions a free and egalitarian world with a slight bend toward social anarchism. Standing as both a reaction to the nihilism of Cyber Punk and a solution to a lot of the problems we face in the world, Solar punk works look toward a brighter future (“solar”) while deliberately subverting the systems that keep that brighter future from happening (“punk”).

At the site Solarpunk Anarchist, this definition is considerably developed:

Solarpunk is a (mostly) aesthetic-cultural and (sometimes) ethical-political tendency which attempts to negate the dominant idea which grips popular consciousness: that the future must be grim, or at least grim for the mass of people and nonhuman forms of life on the planet. Looking at the millennia-old rift between human society and the natural world, it sets as its ethical foundation the necessity of mending this rift, transforming our relation to the planet by transcending those social structures which lead to systemic ecocide.
It draws a lot from the philosophy of social ecology, which also focused on mending this rift by restructuring society to function more like ecology: non-hierarchical, cooperative, diverse, and seeking balance.
Solarpunk’s vision is of an ecological society beyond war, domination, and artificial scarcity; where everything is powered by green energy and a culture of hierarchy and exclusion has been replaced by a culture founded on radical inclusiveness, unity-in-diversity, free cooperation, participatory democracy, and personal self-realisation.
This would be a world of decentralised eco-cities, 3D printing, vertical farms, solar glass windows, wild or inventive forms of dress and design, and a vibrant cosmopolitan aesthetic; where technology is no longer used to exploit the natural world, but to automate away needless human labour and to help restore the damage the Oil Age has already done. Solarpunk desires societies of polycultural ethnic diversity and gender liberation, where each person is able to actualise themselves in societal environment of free experimentation and communal caring; and driven by an overriding ethos of compassionate rationalism, where science and reason are not seen as antithetical to imagination and spirituality, but as concepts which bring out the best in each other.

While other describe Solarpunk simply as science fiction that is not “depressing,” the genre apparently leans into more than just an upbeat vibe. There is also an “ethical-political tendency” to “negate [a] dominant idea” and “transcend[] those social structures which lead to systemic ecocide.” Whereas eco-fiction (which includes the more recent climate fiction) tends to frame more dystopian, apocalyptic warnings to the genre message, Solarpunk chooses a more humanistic approach. Or as the TV Tropes definition puts it, “Solar punk works look toward a brighter future.”

In this sense, the genre is much more than simply “entertainment.” Rather, it is a visionary movement of a hopeful future. For example, the Solarpunk Anarchist page on Facebook recently linked to the article entitled Solarpunk wants to save the world.

Solarpunk is the first creative movement consciously and positively responding to the Anthropocene. When no place on Earth is free from humanity’s hedonism, Solarpunk proposes that humans can learn to live in harmony with the planet once again.
Solarpunk is a literary movement, a hashtag, a flag, and a statement of intent about the future we hope to create. It is an imagining wherein all humans live in balance with our finite environment, where local communities thrive, diversity is embraced, and the world is a beautiful green utopia.

In this sense, Solarpunk is a hopeful reaction against the grim narratives of dystopian tales. In the same way that Noblebright was a reaction against Grimdark, Solarpunk is a reaction against Cyberpunk, or more broadly, Dystopian fiction.

As I’ve suggested before, dystopian conceits aren’t always bad; in fact in some way, they may envision a biblical worldview. In my piece, Christian Worldview and Dystopia I wrote:

…our inclination to envision a dystopian future has roots in a very biblical worldview.
The Bible does not paint a rosy picture about the fate of mankind. Whether it’s Jesus warning about natural and cosmological catastrophes, plagues, and times of great deception, or the apostle John’s hellacious account of the end of the age, Scripture paints a picture of things getting worse before they get better. Apparently, all our peace accords, technological advances, and therapeutic skills still land us in Armageddon. Far from Shangri la, we end up in an arena, pitted against God, nature and, each other. No amount of firepower or psychobabble can stave of these approaching hoofbeats.
The genre of dystopian books and films reinforces a vital biblical theme — Man is broken. No amount of moral or technological “tweaks” can correct the malfunction that is Us.

If this is true, it presents problems for the Solarpunk genre… from a biblical perspective. While a “green utopia” would seem to be a noble biblical goal, it’s the machinations of how we get there that’s the problem.

In his essay, On the Political Dimensions of Solarpunk, Andrew Dana Hudson writes,

Whatever solarpunk is, it is deeply political. Politics is the practice of determining the arrangements through which we distribute resources and otherwise relate to each other. In other words, who makes the stuff, who gets the stuff, and how we are expected to treat both people and stuff.

Nearly every piece of solarpunk content I’ve seen or read suggests that the solarpunk future is a result of nuanced choices about such arrangements, not wild technological advancements. The very name “solarpunk” implies that scientific breakthroughs alone won’t fix our environmental, social and economic problems. After all, it posits a world of solar-energy abundance and then argues that we will still have need of punks. No magical tech fixes for us. We’ll have to do it the hard way: with politics.

If you smell a rat in Hudson’s conclusion, it’s because there is one. Apparently, the implementation of a Solarpunk society reads something like a Green New Deal, one in which “we distribute resources” and reconfigure thinking as to “how we are expected to treat both people and stuff. “

If this sounds dangerously close to a sort of “eco-communism,” you’d be correct.

In Solarpunk is Not Your Political Agenda, the author anticipates some making the connection between Solarpunk and communism. In an appeal to the Solarpunk community, the author cautions against using communist language and symbols to represent the genre, especially in its early stage, but rather to keep that political debate for “back stage.”

If solarpunk is about including everyone on the Earth in a positive, optimistic future where we work together to focus on saving the planet, then let’s focus on saving the planet right now in our visuals, and save the political debate for “back stage”
In the comments, we argued how this would be enabling capitalism’s continued corruption, but I argued how, given that communism is still technically illegal to practice in the US (for example), using symbols that represent it so blatantly on our art could turn huge portions of the population off before Solarpunk even has a chance to take off as a “for-everyone” future.
And that’s the beauty: Communism, Socialism, Capitalism, Anarchy and probably every type of -ism will still exist in a solar punk future. There’ll probably even be rebels that drive gas vehicles just out of protest. That’s the beauty of keeping the ideological “image” of Solarpunk wide-open. So people who want other ideologies in their solarpunk future will not feel excluded, looking at art like what’s below and thinking they’re not meant for Solarpunk because they’re not X, Y or Z.

While extending the possibility of peaceful coexistence between communists, socialists, capitalists, and anarchists may make for good fiction, it’s little more than a mirage. History has proven that some ideologies cannot coexist.

In this, Hudson’s conclusion hews much closer to the social and political ramifications of this green utopia:

A solarpunk culture would strive to dissolve every form of social hierarchy and domination – whether based on class, race, gender, sexuality, ability, or species – dispersing the power some individuals or groups wield over others and thus increasing the aggregate freedom of all; empowering the disempowered and including the excluded. It is rooted in the legacy of such liberatory movements as anti-authoritarian socialism, feminism, racial justice, queer and trans liberation, disability struggles, animal liberation, and digital freedom projects.

Dissolving “every form of social hierarchy and domination – whether based on class, race, gender, sexuality, ability, or species” is a lofty goal. But how does one enforce “the aggregate freedom of all”? Who decides what power needs “dispersed”? And how does a society enforce the abolition of money, racism, homophobia, capitalism, or private property without violence? But without such enforcement, a Solarpunk future is utopian fiction.

Unless, of course, something like a Solarpunk KGB was created. And maybe Solarpunk workcamps, Solarpunk sensitivity training, and Solarpunk re-education centers. Come to think of it, maybe I’ve discovered a new subgenre — the Solarpunk Resistance.

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The One Topic That’s “Off Limits” to YA Authors

by Mike Duran on January 9, 2019

A constant topic of debate among my Christian novelist friends has to do with market aim — Should they aim for the mainstream market or the Christian market? One reason that many Christian writers choose to publish in the Christian market is because of a perceived hostility toward religious themes in the general market. According to that sentiment, you can’t write about God or explicit Gospel content without running the risk of censure. Well, it turns out that’s not true. At least, not exactly.

A recent article in the NY Times confirms that “religion is the last taboo” in YA fiction. In Is Any Topic Off-Limits When You Write for Teenagers? Maybe Just One, YA author Donna Freitas writes,

Of course, it’s for all the right reasons that talk of religion in the mainstream Y.A. publishing world makes people nervous. We worry someone might be trying to convert or indoctrinate teenagers; we resist preachiness about certain moral perspectives. Religions and religious people have done and still do reprehensible things in our world, to women, to children, to some of the people I care most deeply about.

Calls for censorship of novels for children and young adults typically arise from religiously affiliated quarters; Harry Potter has been banned because of fears of witchcraft, and His Dark Materials has been banned because Philip Pullman is an outspoken atheist.
Talk of religion makes me twitchy for all those reasons, and because I am feminist, liberal, pro-L.G.B.T.Q. Religion can make me enraged, dismayed, disgusted.
And yet, it is a part of me. Maybe one of the best parts.

According to Freitas, “talk of religion in mainstream. Y.A.” is indeed something we should be concerned about. But why? Is it because religion has done unimagineable harm to humans or foistered precepts that have poisoned generations of innocent souls? Sort of. “We worry someone might be trying to convert or indoctrinate teenagers; we resist preachiness about certain moral perspectives.”

“Certain moral perspectives.” This is the phrase of import here.

Let’s assume for a moment that indoctrinating teenagers with “certain moral perspectives” is above the gatekeepers of mainstream YA. I mean, their aim is simply to entertain and tell a good story. It’s only religious folks who have such nefarious aims. So what kind of “indoctrination” of our young adults should we fear from religious authors? What “moral perspectives” might taint their sensibilities? Apparently it’s those “perspectives” that counter Freitas’. “Talk of religion makes me twitchy… because I am feminist, liberal, pro-L.G.B.T.Q. Religion can make me enraged, dismayed, disgusted.”

In other words, the “indoctrination” or “moral perspectives” that make mainstream YAers “twitchy” are those that are not shared by the “feminist, liberal, pro-L.G.B.T.Q” ally.

Interestingly, Freitas’ advice is not that we should ban religious content from YA lit, but that we should only ban certain content to ensure that it conforms to a specific “moral perspective.”

To ignore religion in Y.A. cedes the entire conversation about religion and spirituality, and all that it stands for, to exactly the kind of intolerant voices that Y.A. publishing has fought so hard against. Teenage readers search for themselves in books. The world of Y.A. is an activist one — an ideal sphere in which to interrupt the toxic religion-speak and attitudes that dominate our politics and culture at the moment, and to model the kind of spiritual longing so many young adults harbor, often secretly. Like me, they learn to be ashamed of it.

Central to the author’s argument here is an appropriate caricature of the particular religion she fears. What religion is that? Well, pretty much any religion that is counter to her “feminist, liberal, pro-L.G.B.T.Q.” one. Elsewhere in the article she describes this toxic religion as “conservative, antisex and intolerant.”

Make no mistake, the “religion” that the author is inferring is “off-limits” in YA fiction is traditional evangelicalism. You know, the kind that is “conservative, antisex and intolerant.” But is there any other kind?

I suppose it should hearten Christian authors to know that there are those in the YA community who will cede some religious topics for inclusion in the genre. What should concern us, however, is that that concession demands conformity. We may write about religion in YA lit, but only providing that it hews closely to progressive values. The “God” of YA fiction must be LGBTQ-affirming, inclusive of all religions, and theologically ambiguous. The only “moral perspective” an author is allowed to convey in YA are perspectives that don’t make others “twitchy.”

If only I could get God to comply with those demands.

Bottom line: Religion IS off-limits in YA fiction… unless it caricatures conservative believers as narrow-minded bigots and their morality as toxic, bigoted, hate.

Though I’m not a big fan of the Christian fiction market, it’s articles like Freitas that remind us why so many conservative evangelical writers do not cross over. Not only is there a vocal disdain in the industry against the type of religion many of these authors practice, but there is a contrary “moral perspective” that they are required to embrace.

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Is Evil “Hereditary”?

by Mike Duran on January 2, 2019

What follows contains major spoilers…

First-time writer/director Ari Aster has described his debut feature film, “Hereditary,” as a “family drama that dissolves into a nightmare.” Indeed, the “nightmare” it descends into is one of familial dysfunction, inherited trauma, grisly deaths, and ritual paganism.

But it’s the fated, inescapable draw of evil that most lingers in this tale of horror.

“Hereditary” is receiving a lot of favorable reviews, as well as being cited in many year-end “best-of” lists. The film’s arc begins with the passing of Ellen, the matriarch of the Graham family. As her daughter Annie’s family deals with their grief, they begin to unravel cryptic and increasingly terrifying secrets about their ancestry. The most sinister, we eventually learn, is not an inherited psychotic pathology (as the viewer is wont to believe), but a covenant with a pagan god named King Paimon. Annie’s son and daughter both become hosts for Paimon, per Ellen’s pact with his cult (and Annie’s reckless seances). The film is a slow descent into the family’s gruesome sacrifice for this possession, leading to the enshrinement of Paimon in his new residency. (For a fuller recap of the film’s weird, wild summation, read THIS.)

Interestingly enough (and perhaps this is part of my own discomfort with the film), King Paimon is not a fictional deity. Rather it has historical rootage. For example, the infamous occultist Aleister Crowley is alleged to have summoned the spirit. Paimon is described as a “desert spirit,” literally a “djinn” or genie. The Den of Geek expounded upon the mythology in The Real Story of King Paimon:

King Paimon is one of Lucifer’s most obedient devotees, rules 200 legions of angels, is connected to the tree of death and first appeared in an anonymously written grimoire from the mid-1600s called Lesser Key of Solomon.

Of course, “Hereditary” is not the first film to utilize real-world (?) entities or explore the intersection of contemporary culture with old world paganism. Such films have a perennial appeal (see: “The Ritual” and “Kill List“), with the original “Wicker Man” perched at the top of that totem. What “Hereditary” does rather effectively is to tether this external evil (a matriarchal pledge to a demon) with a sense of existential (even genetic!) destiny.

And that’s where, for me, the film veered into very dark, unbiblical terrain.

Some might argue that stories about demons, pagan cults, and ritual sacrifice are always dark, unbiblical terrain. Elsewhere, I have suggested that “horror is an eminently biblical genre and that …many horror tropes are indeed compatible with a biblical worldview. Employing the grotesque and horrific in our stories can be a powerful tool in expressing the true nature of reality and the afterlife, and awakening spiritual and moral sensibilities to the world around and beyond us.” So what disqualifies “Hereditary” from such redemptive themes, cautionary or otherwise, or spurring a possible “moral awakening” in its viewers? It is not in the gore or the demonic, but in the existential inevitability.

An article in The Schmooze tips us off to the worldview of the director, and this rather bleak spiritual dead end, noting a “lack of Christian imagery” in the film.

Several critics, including both Vox and Newsweek, have observed that some of the uniqueness of “Hereditary” derives from a lack of Christian imagery and its unusual approach to the Occult. Aster [the director] has an answer for that. “Maybe the lack of Christian iconography and stuff like that has something to do with the fact that I’m a Jewish guy,” he told Newsweek. And witchcraft? “Ultimately, I have no ties to the occult,” he said. “In any way. I’m just a Jewish guy. I’m just a neurotic Jewish guy.”

This lack of “Christian iconography” is not the norm in films about the occult. For example, the Christian faith of “The Wicker Man’s” protag is front and center. His spiritual impotence is the cautionary center of the film. Bibles, crucifixes, prayers, and holy water are fairly typical when one confronts cinematic devils and the devilish. However, apart from pagan sigils and ciphers, “Hereditary” has no traditional religious symbology.

Thus, no spiritual counter to King Paimon’s body slam.

While stories of despair and darkness can indeed be biblical, framing that despair and darkness in the context of Faith, Hope, and Love provides the necessary balance. Indeed, Evil may sometimes win. But the message of Scripture is that, at the least, there is a Way of escape.

Such a “way of escape” does not exist in “Hereditary.” In fact, the evil in Aster’s film is inescapable… even hereditary.

Pagan practices and cults are real. Demons exist. But the notion that our “heredity” predisposes us to evil or inevitable ends is a concept Scripture challenges. Our destinies are not written by the hands of our forefathers (or foremothers). Pacts with the devil may indeed be generationally tethered, but they are not binding. There’s One who transcends covenants with false gods and genies.

Sadly, such an option was not available for the souls in “Hereditary.”

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