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Imagine an alien observer, sent undercover to Earth every half-century, to account for the status of human life on the planet. What would she convey to her extraterrestrial colleagues about 2024?
Before taking her trip, she would peruse her previous reports, noting a few things. In 1974, the world’s leading democratic power, the United States, was in geopolitical retreat and domestic disarray, while the authoritarian Soviet Union appeared increasingly powerful. The most populated state in the world, a Mao Zedong-led China, possessed an economy barely above subsistence level, while the second most populous nation, India, was scarcely better. The global economy suffered from both inflation and slow growth, marked by a chaotic international monetary and financial system. Wars or the threat of wars, both civil and interstate, were ever present in every part of the globe. Nuclear Armageddon hung like a sword of Damocles over the planet.
1974’s report, however, was absolutely Pollyannaish compared to 1924’s. One horrific world war had concluded while laying the seeds for another even more murderous. Imperialism shaped the international order, as a significant percentage of the world’s population was ruled or exploited by European capitals thousands of miles away. A steep economic depression had just ended but was only a precursor to a far deeper, more devastating financial collapse a few years later. Racism, misogyny, and intolerance were the norm. This, however, was paradise compared to the previous chronicle. 1874’s report pointed out that global life expectancy was only 30 and that few living people had not, at some point in their life, been visited by personal and communal violence, deadly disease, misrule and misgovernance, and the threat of famine and disaster. Each preceding half-century report was, in fact, more dire than the last.
The soup line in New York City, circa 1929. Bettman Archives/via Getty Images
Seen from this historical perspective, the alien could send a positively glowing report back home. In 2024, famine and illiteracy have been dramatically reduced, and life expectancy has more than doubled over the past century. Unimaginable volumes of wealth are generated; staggering amounts of information are available to ordinary people, instantaneously; and transformative new labor and lifesaving technologies are created every day. Genocide is rare; tolerance, not prejudice, is increasingly a shared norm; formal colonialism has been thrown on the dustbin of history; and economic recessions are unlikely to turn into crippling depressions.
Most importantly, the incentives for states to fully mobilize their societies to pursue total wars of conquest—perhaps the most pervasive and frightening aspect of world politics in her past chronicles—have all but disappeared. Indeed, states are now expected to protect and provide benefits to their citizens, instead of simply using them as military fodder to vanquish foes and seize land. Ideas and innovation, not territory, are the sources of power in this new world.
In short, the world has made unimaginable progress in taming the steep challenges of scarcity that had plagued humanity for millennia and had been one of the core drivers of total wars for plunder, empire, and conquest. But the success in creating a more prosperous, informed, and secure world for humanity has, unexpectedly, generated a whole new set of planetary challenges that, if not resolved, threatens disaster, if not human extinction.
The remarkable progress in generating unimaginable levels of wealth, information, and security has created the new, more vexing, and arguably more dangerous problems of plenty—unexpected and potentially catastrophic challenges that were created, ironically, by humanity’s impressive efforts to tame scarcity.
Drone to Yacht, an exclusive delivery service, drops a bag of food to boats near Ibiza on Aug. 24, 2021. Jaime Reina/AFP via Getty Images
Five revolutionary shifts were key in creating our present era of plenty. First, an unexpected and voluntary demographic compression unfolded in the developed world, with birth rates falling precipitously while life expectancy markedly expanded; as median ages increased and population growth slowed, the need to conquer additional territory abated. Second, an economic-technological revolution emerged that massively improved agricultural yields and the availability of food, dramatically boosted industrial productivity, and transformed finance capitalism, while improving transportation, housing, and health, and making accessible, affordable fuel bountiful. Third, an information revolution took place, whereby increased literacy and technological change significantly expanded the amount of access to knowledge about the world. Fourth, leaders of the developed world created domestic and international governing institutions and practices, which, among other benefits, generated far greater domestic stability and socio-economic well-being, eliminated great depressions, and provided increased personal as well as collective security, creating a political order that prized order, sovereignty, and, in time, human rights. Finally, ground-breaking new military capabilities, especially thermonuclear weapons, prohibitively increased the costs and risks of great-power wars of conquest.
These revolutions combined to reduce the shadow of famine, disease, and misery that had long fallen upon the human experience, massively increasing total wealth and information while weakening core drivers of territorial expansion, immeasurably improving the quality of life in the developed world. Populations stabilized and aged; food, resources, and markets became more abundant; and disintermediated flows of information exploded.
So what exactly are the problems of plenty? The current world order produces great material output, generated by increasing global exchange, but distributing it fairly among and between populations is contentious. This enormous prosperity generated by the burgeoning trade and industrial prowess has spawned grave risks of climate, ecological, migratory, and public-health catastrophes. The emergence of new technologies, developed largely in the private sector, has solved innumerable problems, while also creating frightening new ones. Surprisingly, an unlimited amount of data and information, no longer intermediated by legacy institutions, generates different though equally fraught dangers as scarce information controlled by religious institutions or the state.
As Jonathan S. Blake and Nils Gilman point out in their forthcoming book, Children of a Modest Star, the list of threats to human welfare, life, and the planet itself generated by plenty is daunting: “climate change, pandemic diseases, stratospheric ozone depletion, atmospheric aerosol loading, space junk, growing antibiotic resistance, biodiversity loss, anthropogenic genetic disruptions, declining soil health, upended nitrogen and phosphorus cycles, freshwater depletion, ocean acidification, oceanic plastics—and maybe even emerging technologies with terraforming potential, like bioengineering and artificial intelligence.”
A key feature of the age of plenty is the extraordinary ability to move massive quantities of ideas, money, goods, and especially people around the world quickly, irrespective of borders and territory. But this revolution in transmission does not simply enable good citizens and products to move around the world: unwanted agents—from pathogens to terrorists to bad ideas—can also move far more quickly and effortlessly, often with devastating consequences. Expectations have also been dramatically raised while left unmet. While the age of abundance has promoted tolerance and radical individuality, it has also undermined social cohesion and weakened the sense of common purpose needed to confront these challenges. Governing norms and institutions developed to successfully tame scarcity have been exposed as ill-suited to confront contemporary challenges, generating a crisis of political legitimacy and stoking polarization.
Families arrive to board a train at Kramatorsk central station as they flee Kramatorsk, in the Donbas region of Ukraine on April 4, 2022.Fadel Senna/AFP via Getty Images
In an era of plenty where empire, plunder, and conquest make little sense, how should we understand the current turmoil in world politics, marked by atrocities in the Middle East, Russia’s brutal invasion of Ukraine, and the deepening tensions between the world’s two most powerful states, China and the United States? Why are the leading powers seemingly focused on issues that resonated in the world of scarcity, particularly great-power rivalry and war, while offering inadequate responses to the pressing issues generated by a world of plenty? There are many reasons, but three stand out.
First, Russia’s 2022 invasion of Ukraine is the exception that proves the rule, revealing the dangers of strategic decisions based on outdated assumptions about conquest. From a narrow national-interest perspective, a desire to control the Donbas made some sense in 1900, when its abundant coal, wheat, defense in depth, and pliant population added to Russia’s power in a world shaped by scarcity and where empire and conquest were the norm. Today, in an age when food and fuel are historically cheap and abundant, land less valuable, conquered territories much more difficult to subdue, alternative grand strategies far more promising, and the world both aghast by and willing to punish Russia for its violations of the norms of sovereignty and human rights, even a successful conquest of Ukraine was unlikely to make Russia much more powerful in the long run. There are many important differences between America’s disastrous post-9/11 wars in the greater Middle East and Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. Both, however, reflect poor grand-strategic decisions based on profound misreadings of the nature of power and the incentives of the contemporary international system, misunderstanding the increased difficulty and decreased payoff for using force to conquer territories or subdue uncooperative populations in the age of plenty.
Second, it is important to recognize that there are many causes of war and conflict beyond plunder and imperial conquest. In particular, we must distinguish between the imperial conquest of the past—or an expansive, often unlimited impulse to add territory and colonies—and irredentism, or the finite desire of a state to reclaim territory it believes it has unfairly lost. The most dangerous places in the world—Kashmir, the Korean Peninsula, the Middle East, and the Taiwan Strait—are often where states are willing to fight, at great cost, to regain territory they believe is naturally and historically their own. While they may seem similar, imperial conquest and irredentism are driven by significantly different factors and forces, are shaped by different cost-benefit calculations, and demand different grand-strategic responses.
Whether China’s ambitions to take Taiwan is an example of irredentism or the desire for global domination is a critical question. Regardless of China’s ultimate goal, however, the changing circumstances wrought by the age of plenty make the return of an imperial, ever-expanding Eurasian empire similar to Napoleonic France, Nazi Germany, imperial Japan, or Stalin’s Soviet Union very unlikely. Unlike states and empires during the age of scarcity, China has no reason to fear being conquered, nor, even if it wanted to, could it easily invade, occupy, and take over neighbors like India, Japan, and Southeast Asian states, especially if a future successful takeover of Taiwan generated widespread military balancing and nuclear proliferation in the region. In the age of plenty, China might soon discover that the cost-benefit ratio of conquest has been completely inverted over the past century. Even if Beijing wished to pursue imperial conquest, it is hard to imagine how it could succeed, and, if it tried, it would risk its own defeat and collapse.
Finally, it often takes some time—sometimes decades—for people, institutions, and states to understand when their environment and circumstances have changed and to update their assumptions, conceptual lenses, and policy practices accordingly. Millenia of conquest, empire, and violent revolutions—and governing institutions built to deal with those crises—have left deep scars and unchallenged assumptions, and states, leaders, and populations have been slow to recognize the profound changes in demographics, technology, economics, and socio-cultural realities that have done much to tame scarcity while abetting the problems of plenty.
This myopia can come at a steep cost. Today’s leaders may share the characteristics of their tragic predecessors on the eve of World War I. Faced with a rapidly changing world and global phenomena they do not understand, they fall back on their long-held, unspoken, and often unexamined beliefs about how the world should work, as opposed to trying to better understand how the world does work. As terrifying as the problems of scarcity and the geopolitical behaviors they unleash can be, at least they are familiar. Leading powers and their leaders and institutions understand how to play the great-power political game that dominated the past. The problems of plenty, and the solutions required, are unfamiliar, disorienting, and vexing. Yet a melting planet, mass migrations, another even more lethal pandemic, destabilizing new technologies, and the cancers of inequality, deep polarization, and sociocultural fragmentation and alienation threaten the United States and the planet far more than the kind of expanding industrial, mobilized Eurasian hegemon that plagued the first half of the 20th century.
An IBM computer center that processes agricultural data to produce projected figures for farming, in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, circa 1973.Alan Band/ Getty Images Archive
How would our alien friend end her report? She would point out that the institutions, practices, theories, and policies that successfully tamed scarcity—and that dominated current debates—were woefully ill-suited to meet the problems of plenty. The costs of failing to update core, often unspoken assumptions about how the world works and what matters would be highlighted, and that by preparing for the last war, Earth might tragically and unnecessarily get it. Her report would chide the thinkers and statesmen of 2024 for obsessing over the return of great-power competition and regurgitating the works of geopolitical thinkers like Mahan and Mackinder in order to control oceans and land that, if the problems of plenty are not confronted, may be dying and uninhabitable before long.
Visiting the planet every half-century has made her, unlike her Earth friends, an optimist. Humankind never goes the easy way around, and given the stakes, they could easily mess up—by starting World War III or being unprepared for a more lethal pandemic than COVID-19, unrestrained artificial intelligence, or the deadly consequences of the climate crisis. She reminds herself, and wishes the citizens of the planet could remember, that few living in 1974, 1924, or 1874 could have imagined the extraordinary progress earthlings have made since. Which, perhaps against her better judgment, gives her hope that she will get to visit in 2074 and be impressed once again.
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