Hello and welcome to rewilding philosophy, your newsletter about ekophilosophical health for our times or in other words: life advice, but with values.
The visible form of my activism and my attempts to “change the world” manifest through this weekly newsletter and articles in academic journals. While these are not the only ways I hope I contribute, they certainly consume a significant portion of my energy and time.
Often, I wonder if my writing, in particular, and writing in general, has any effect on changing the world. Does converting thoughts into words and sharing them with others create tangible change, or is it merely an exercise in self-expression? Writing surely has the power to inspire, provoke, and inform, but does it lead to actions that transform the world, or does it remain confined to mental contemplation? Words can ignite movements and shift paradigms, yet they can also be ignored, misunderstood, or forgotten.
"You don’t write because you want to say something, you write because you have something to say." F. Scott Fitzgerald.
I don’t want to offer a treatise of the power of the written word.
This post is not even specifically about writing.
Instead, it is about how we think about the impact of our actions.
We all desire our work to have an impact. To make a difference.
What is impact?
When we ask ourselves what we mean by "impact," we often find it difficult to define. Is it enough to influence just one person’s perspective on a topic, or does true impact necessitate a large-scale shift? If it does require a large scale, does it matter whether we influence 12,000 scattered individuals around the globe or a focused group of 24 students in a classroom?
Impact doesn’t necessarily mean scaling, its dimensions can also spread into depth and quality. Engaging deeply with a small group, such as the 24 students, can lead to deep, lasting change, while reaching a large number of people might create more superficial shifts. The impact that we have on those people can then be multifaceted: emotional, intellectual, social, or even political.
There is also a difference if our impact is in any way sustainable: Is our influence a flash in the pan, quickly fading, or does it foster enduring change that others continue to build upon? Sustainable impact often requires continuous engagement and follow-up. Even reading the best book in the world likely won’t have a longterm effect if certain ideas and passages are not reread and somehow kept in mind. That’s probably why the bible and spiritual texts get reread over and over again.
When we strive for impact, we can also ask ourselves about the ethical dimension of our impact. Are we imposing our views or facilitating a space where others feel empowered to explore and develop their own understanding? This is why I add the life advice disclaimer (LINK). I don’t want to impose my views and instead want readers to sharpen their own understanding. For me, true impact respects the autonomy and agency of others, helping them reach their potential rather than merely echoing my own perspectives - which, in its nature makes me the opposite of an influencer. Though Joan Didion would disagree that this is even possible.
“In many ways writing is the act of saying I, of imposing oneself upon other people, of saying listen to me, see it my way, change your mind. It’s an aggressive, even a hostile act. You can disguise its aggressiveness all you want with veils of subordinate clauses and qualifiers and tentative subjunctives, with ellipses and evasions — with the whole manner of intimating rather than claiming, of alluding rather than stating — but there’s no getting around the fact that setting words on paper is the tactic of a secret bully, an invasion, an imposition of the writer’s sensibility on the reader’s most private space.” Joan Didion
Without thoroughly contemplating the type of impact we aim to achieve, the concept remains nebulous—something we can’t define, but definitely something we want.
Impact upside down
Whether we know the type of impact we want to have or not, we often go about it—like I did in the first paragraph—with the hope or assumption that our actions will impact the world.
I am writing this article with the hope that you read it and that it somehow impacts your thinking, eventually influencing your ways of being and acting in the world. It’s a long shot. Considering the vast amount of information you consume daily, the path from my words to your transformed state of being is indeed … long. Moreover, if my idea of impact is driven by numbers—a common trap given that this is the dominant feedback I receive—it’s easy to become discouraged.
Thinking about how my actions impact the world is an exhausting and unhelpful approach to life.
Instead, I can turn it around.
Instead of thinking from action to impact, I can think from impact to action.
Let me explain what I mean by that.
We can envision the world we want to see manifesting and becoming real. This could be a specific outcome, like stopping animal cruelty, or a broader vision, such as a society where compassion and empathy guide our interactions. It could involve reimagining our economic systems to prioritize sustainability and equitable resource distribution, or fostering educational environments that cultivate critical thinking and complexity.
And when we think about those possible futures, we can ask ourselves what we need to get there.
By asking what we need, we define our actions. Instead of continuously wondering whether our actions have sufficient impact, we realize that we wouldn’t see those changes if those actions were not taken.
Take my writing, for example. As I described above, it’s unlikely that I can measure the impact of my writing on changing the world. That would just feel depressing. But when I think about the changes I want to see—people living ekoPhilosophical lives where their ways of knowing, being, and acting are aligned with the more-than-human—I believe that we wouldn’t get there without the written word and without people like me who constantly reflect and write about these things.
People strive for change inspired by something that moved them. To reach people, we need to put ideas into the discourse. For example, those who advocate for a vegan diet at work likely started their journey by reading an article, watching a documentary, or talking to someone who informed them about it. It had to reach their mind somehow.
Thinking about my writing like that, changes how I perceive the importance of my work.
In short: I don’t know if my work has impact, but I will never see the change I want if I don’t do the work
I may not always be able to quantify the impact of my work, but I understand that the changes I wish to see will not materialize without proactive efforts. I find this approach to framing our actions far more empowering. Instead of fretting over immediate validation or measurable outcomes, I can trust in the process and the necessity of my actions to foster the world I envision. Shifting my mindset from action-to-impact to impact-to-action is what lets me get up every morning to write these words.
Your questions remind me of Jeffrey Kripal’s ‘How to Think Impossibly’.
He describes a ‘flip’ occurring among some academics in the humanities and sciences. In simplistic terms it’s a flip in worldview from one where consciousness is an epiphenomenon of the brain to one where consciousness is primary.
If consciousness is recognised as primary then it’s probably impossible for our thoughts to only impact ourselves. Using writing as a means to clarify and focus our thoughts then might be one way to maximise the impact of our thoughts - “impact to action”.
So for me, writing has impact because, as you say, I’ve “turned impact upside down”, and also because I’ve ‘flipped’. 🙂
https://www.amazon.com/How-Think-Impossibly-Belief-Everything/dp/0226833682/
As a writer, I love your writing, am nourished by it, and integrate it by osmosis. However, I find your perspective here on writing to be rather self-limiting b/c self-centered (which Didion clearly was, of course). From my own perspective - and I have over a 1000 followers on Academia.edu (top 3%) - I have never seen the ideas I express in my writing as coming from me. They've always seemed to come through me, in recent years particularly from Gaia. It's from opening myself up to outer influence and larger agency that my thoughts and words take shape. This saves me the worry of "impact," as you say, since to me the more fruitful focus is on synchronicity. I began my writing career as a Transcendentalist, so Emerson expressed this process as channeling the Oversoul, which Mark Skelding has more recently re-branded in a non-anthropocentric way as Gaia's psychosphere. I offer this not by way of persuasion, as every writer is unique and whatever you are doing is working from my assessment of your brilliant writing. Rather, just raising the spectre of "self" as a symptom of the objectifying influence of the dominant scientific-materialist worldview, which I think you would agree is what has given rise to our existential crisis. Cheers!