Crisis, the Humanities, and Storytelling in the Age of Climate Change, AI, and Populist Authoritarianism

Crisis, the Humanities, and Storytelling in the Age of Climate Change, AI, and Populist Authoritarianism

In an era shaped by intensifying climate emergencies, revolutionary advances in artificial intelligence, and the resurgent force of populist authoritarianism, the humanities may appear—as some critics have charged—irrelevant or even indulgent. Yet precisely because these overlapping crises challenge our moral imagination, destabilize reliable institutions, and threaten to reconfigure our sense of collective purpose, we need the humanities more than ever.

Rather than a set of arcane, ivory-tower disciplines, the humanities constitute a vital framework for critical reflection, historical consciousness, and generative storytelling. Indeed, without the capacity to interpret and reinterpret our predicament—to question the grand narratives that populate legal arguments, public discourse, and popular culture—our efforts to address these crises risk becoming either paralyzed or easily co-opted. By reintroducing a spirit of open-ended inquiry and a willingness to “play” with meaning, the humanities can illuminate how both authoritarian and neoliberal forces deploy storytelling to justify their visions of the present and the future.

Kermode, Derrida, and the Power of Narrative

Central to this discussion is Frank Kermode’s notion of “the sense of an ending,” which he explores in his classic study of how human beings use narratives to make sense of time, history, and crisis. Kermode shows us that we reflexively seek coherence in chaotic events by imagining how the story might end—through apocalypse, triumph, or renewal. This sense of finality or resolution helps us believe that the chaos of the present is meaningful, part of a larger design. Authoritarians seize upon that impulse by peddling a return to a fantasy past. Neoliberal optimists invoke visions of incremental progress culminating in a redeeming future. In different ways, both cling to a promised ending that offers solace or certainty.

Yet such reassurance can be illusory or dangerous. Jacques Derrida, in Acts of Literature, underscores how every text—whether a poem, a political manifesto, or a legal doctrine—remains open-ended and subject to multiple, even conflicting, interpretations. Truth claims that present themselves as universal or absolute (“big-T Truth”) often serve as instruments of power. By contrast, Derrida’s deconstruction reframes these claims as provisional, context-dependent, and inevitably shaped by cultural and linguistic forces (“little-t truth”).

When we apply Derrida’s lens to contemporary political rhetoric, we uncover the narrative scaffolding behind putative absolutes. It becomes clearer why authoritarian populists, newly emboldened in the age of climate upheaval and AI breakthroughs, traffic in monolithic stories of national “greatness,” painting a mythical past as the hinge to a redemptive future. These stories thrive on rhetorical closure: the only “right” interpretation is the one that reaffirms the strongman’s worldview. Yet as Kermode suggests, closure in narrative is rarely the end of the story; the impetus to interpret continues, even when authoritarianism tries to shut it down.

“Originalism” and the Misuse of History

In my earlier post, “Originalism, Derrida, and the Urgent Need for an Applied Humanities in Our Courts and Beyond,” I argued that the legal doctrine of “originalism” epitomizes this interplay of power and narrative. Originalism claims to recover the “original meaning” of a constitutional text, thus positing a big-T Truth about how laws and rights should be interpreted. Yet as Derrida would insist, any text—particularly one authored centuries ago in a radically different social context—cannot yield a single fixed meaning. Those in power can use originalism to entrench their desired outcomes, silencing voices that question whether “the founders” might themselves have been subject to historical biases and limited perspectives.

This strategy plays out in court decisions that cherry-pick rhetorical frames from the past to justify present-day agendas. Those agendas often prop up repressive policies and dismantle hard-won civil rights. As with all dogmatic storytelling, it closes interpretation, forestalling the possibility of “little-t truths” that could come from more inclusive historical, cultural, or textual readings.

Authoritarianism, Neoliberalism, and Discourses of Power

Psychoanalytic and critical theory remind us how power circulates through “discourse.” Authoritarian power—sometimes called the “discourse of the master”—summarily dismisses or punishes rival viewpoints. Neoliberal institutions—resonating with the “discourse of the university”—may appear more tolerant but often marginalize dissident voices in more veiled ways, through credentialism, expert jargon, or structural gatekeeping.

Both discourses claim an authoritative truth. The authoritarian tactic is blunt force: a single, imposed interpretation, with violent or punitive consequences for dissenters. The neoliberal tactic is more refined but still constrictive: it grants freedom of speech in principle, yet fosters an environment where any critique that disrupts the status quo is swiftly categorized as impractical, irrational, or “merely academic.”

Derrida’s method of deconstruction helps us resist either form of closure by revealing the inherent play in meaning-making. So does Kermode’s insight: we crave coherent stories and endings, but that coherence is always in tension with the complexity of lived reality.

Climate Change and the Fracturing of Grand Narratives

Nowhere is this tension more visible than in the climate crisis. The standard narratives of progress—whether Marxist teleologies of eventual socialist utopia or neoliberal assurances of endless growth—collide with the stark possibility that our planet may not support human civilization much longer if catastrophic changes continue unabated.

Young people, in particular, must grapple with the looming specter of a world made uninhabitable by rising seas, extreme weather, resource depletion, and the potential unraveling of social order. This generation, often referred to as Gen Z, inherits a predicament in which the “ending” is no longer comfortably distant or theoretical. Some of the darkest scenarios, far from being science fiction, loom just decades away.

The humanities cannot solve climate change by themselves. But they can illuminate the socio-political narratives and moral frameworks that shape how we respond—or fail to respond—to ecological threats. They can train us to question simplistic claims about unlimited growth or “clean” techno-fixes. By placing climate data in conversation with ethical reflection and imaginative storytelling, the humanities encourage us to envision paths forward that are both scientifically grounded and socially just.

Serious Play and Radical Inquiry

In my post, “Thinking Other-Wise: A Genealogy of Radical Inquiry and the Ethics of Encounter,” I explored how new forms of thinking emerge when we step outside doctrinaire structures of knowledge. Such “thinking otherwise” frees us from being handcuffed to rigid frameworks. It recognizes that to address existential challenges like climate breakdown or authoritarian resurgence, we may need to shift our conceptual vocabulary.

Likewise, “Enabling Cyborg Repair: Serious Play with the Ironies of Postmodern Subjectivities (from 1995)” proposes “serious play” as a mode of grappling with both the promises and perils of technology. As artificial intelligence evolves—potentially reshaping labor, cognition, and even war—how we tell stories about AI will shape its trajectory. Will it serve authoritarian ends, concentrating power further and fueling demagoguery via sophisticated disinformation campaigns? Or will it enable us to reconfigure social systems in ways that promote equity and sustainability?

The Enigmatic Other and Moral Injury

Stories become even more crucial when we consider cultural trauma, moral injury, and the silenced “enigmatic other.” In “The Enigmatic Other, Laplanchian Seduction, Moral Injury, and the Diseased Cultural Unconscious,” I argued that ignoring our collective wounds—such as legacies of racism, patriarchy, or ecological harm—cripples our ability to heal. Unacknowledged wrongdoing festers, fueling resentment and reactionary politics. Meanwhile, the repressed truths of history return in disguised forms—conspiracy theories, scapegoating, and nostalgic fantasies that rationalize new modes of oppression.

An “applied humanities” approach involves facing these unprocessed histories head-on, interpreting them not as inert facts but as living signifiers requiring ethical engagement. This aligns with a pedagogy of justice and inclusion, which I elaborated in “My Teaching Philosophy and Approach to Justice, Equity, Antiracism (JEA), and LGBTQ Inclusion.” We must teach students—and the public at large—to see how moral injury can be repaired only if we stop hiding behind hollow narratives of infallible institutions or heroic pasts.

The Humanities as a Lifeline

Taken together, these reflections suggest that the humanities are not a luxury; they are a lifeline. Amid climate catastrophes, technocratic overreach, and populist strongmen, we need interpretive agility—an ability to question ready-made stories, to challenge unreflective appeals to tradition, and to reveal the multiple layers of meaning that shape our sense of what is possible.

Deconstruction, as Derrida conceived it, is not mere academic game-playing. It is a tool for uncovering how power distorts language, and how language both reflects and reshapes power. Kermode’s analysis of how narratives incline toward endings offers a complementary lesson: watch carefully how leaders, movements, and institutions script the future. Are they leaving room for contestation, dialogue, and the unforeseen? Or are they locking us into a single, suffocating path?

The future of democracy, social justice, and planetary life itself hinges on our capacity to hold the tension between multiple truths, to remain open to new interpretations that can spark creative and collective transformation. The “Think Other-Wise” humanities I advocate for are meant to enable exactly that: a renewal of our sense of communal responsibility and imaginative possibility.

Conclusion

If we can carry forward this ethos—one that acknowledges both the urgency of our crises and the liberatory potential of storytelling—then the “Think Other-Wise” humanities, the “applied humanities” I champion here, will more than prove their worth. Far from mere intellectual exercises, they will shape our capacity not only to weather the storms of authoritarianism, AI upheaval, and ecological collapse, but also to envisage how we might avert the worst of those storms in the first place. In doing so, we can reimagine our sense of an ending into a more just and expansive middle of the narrative—a living space of ongoing interpretation, empathy, and transformative hope, where we always truly reside.