Under the Amazon Sky: an Imaginary Panel of Philosophers, Writers and Scientists Grapple with Climate Change

Under the towering canopy of the Amazon rainforest, COP30 unfolded as a convergence of urgency and hope, science and art, policy and philosophy. While the bulk of discussions centered on net-zero targets, carbon markets, and renewable energy transitions, one panel offered something entirely different: a chance to explore the human, moral, and existential roots of the climate crisis.

Moderated by none other than Marcus Aurelius—whose timeless Meditations has guided seekers of wisdom for millennia—the panel brought together an eclectic mix of voices: Vaclav Smil (How the World Really Works), Michael Sandel (What Money Can’t Buy), Ernest Becker (The Denial of Death), and Kim Stanley Robinson (The Ministry for the Future). The question before them: Why is it so difficult to galvanize humanity into urgent action against climate change? And, more importantly, what can be done about it?

As the session began, attendees settled into their seats, eager to witness what promised to be a thought-provoking conversation. It did not disappoint.

The World Doesn’t Work That Way

Vaclav Smil, an energy systems analyst known for his methodical approach, wasted no time diving into the heart of the problem. “We’ve built modern civilization on a foundation of fossil fuels,” he began. “Energy underpins everything—our food systems, our industries, our transportation networks. Transitioning away from it is not as simple as switching one fuel for another.”

Smil’s critique was sharp. “The scale of this challenge is often misunderstood. To give you perspective, the energy density of oil far surpasses that of any renewable source. Replacing it requires rethinking our consumption, supply chains, and infrastructure. And this isn’t just a technical challenge—it’s a complete transformation of how we live.”

Marcus Aurelius, nodding thoughtfully, interjected: “So what you’re saying is that the problem is larger than any one generation can solve?”

“Yes,” Smil replied, “and that’s part of why we’re paralyzed. We want quick fixes, but this is a project that spans decades, maybe centuries.”

Can You Put a Price on the Earth?

Michael Sandel picked up where Smil left off, steering the conversation toward the moral dimensions of the crisis. “What makes this even more challenging,” he said, “is our overreliance on market solutions. Carbon markets, for example, assume that the problem can be reduced to a transaction. But can we really put a price on the atmosphere?”

Drawing from What Money Can’t Buy, Sandel argued that markets often crowd out moral considerations. “By turning everything into a financial calculus, we lose sight of the bigger question: Who is responsible? Who bears the cost of inaction? Markets can’t answer these questions. That requires a deeper moral reckoning.”

Smil, ever pragmatic, countered, “But isn’t it better to use market mechanisms, flawed as they are, to drive incremental change? Waiting for a moral awakening might take even longer.”

“That’s precisely the problem,” Sandel responded. “We’re treating this as an economic issue when it’s fundamentally a question of justice. The wealthiest nations are the biggest polluters, yet it’s the poorest who suffer the most. How can we call that progress?”

Fear, Denial, and the Shadow of Death

Ernest Becker, speaking next, took the discussion into the realm of psychology. “What we’re really dealing with here,” he began, “is the fear of mortality. Climate change isn’t just a technical or moral problem—it’s existential. It forces us to confront our fragility as a species.”

Drawing from his seminal work, The Denial of Death, Becker explained why so many people resist taking climate action. “When faced with a threat of this magnitude, denial is a natural response. We retreat into illusions—economic growth, technological fixes—because they shield us from the terrifying reality of our impermanence.”

Marcus Aurelius, whose Stoic philosophy is built on confronting uncomfortable truths, leaned forward. “And how do we overcome this denial?”

“By creating meaning,” Becker said. “People need to feel that their sacrifices matter—that their actions are part of something larger than themselves. If we can connect climate action to a sense of legacy, to intergenerational stewardship, we can start to break through the paralysis.”

Sandel chimed in, adding, “This is where ethics and psychology converge. If we frame climate action as an act of justice for future generations, it becomes a moral imperative, not just a policy debate.”

Fiction as Blueprint

Kim Stanley Robinson, whose novel The Ministry for the Future explores a speculative yet grounded response to climate change, brought a storyteller’s perspective to the conversation. “Denial is real, as Ernest says, but so is hope,” he began. “One of the reasons people feel paralyzed is because they can’t imagine a better future. That’s where fiction comes in.”

Robinson described how his novel envisions bold, sometimes controversial solutions, like geoengineering and carbon-backed currencies. “Fiction allows us to explore possibilities without committing to them immediately. It’s a way to test ideas and see what resonates.”

Smil, ever the realist, raised an eyebrow. “But isn’t there a danger in relying too much on imagination? We need actionable solutions, not just visions.”

Robinson nodded. “I agree, but actionable solutions need to be envisioned first. For example, in my book, central banks create a new currency tied to carbon sequestration. Is it perfect? No. But it’s an idea that gets people thinking about how we might align financial incentives with ecological restoration.”

Becker added, “And that’s where stories can help us confront our fears. By imagining a future where we succeed, we make the task seem less daunting.”

Clashing Perspectives: Progress or Patience?

The panelists didn’t always agree, and it was in these moments of tension that the discussion became most engaging. Smil’s insistence on incremental progress often clashed with Robinson’s call for bold experimentation.

“We don’t have time for half-measures,” Robinson said. “The crisis is here now. We need big ideas, even if they’re imperfect.”

“And yet,” Smil retorted, “big ideas without feasibility lead to failure. We can’t power eight billion people on optimism. Incremental change, sustained over decades, is the only realistic path forward.”

Sandel, observing the exchange, offered a middle ground. “Perhaps the solution lies in combining both approaches: bold visions tempered by practical implementation. And all of it must be grounded in fairness—ensuring that the burdens and benefits are shared equitably.”

Wisdom from the Philosopher

Throughout the discussion, Marcus Aurelius provided commentary that grounded the conversation in Stoic principles. “What stands in the way becomes the way,” he remarked at one point. “The very obstacles we face—fear, denial, complexity—are the opportunities through which we grow stronger.”

Later, reflecting on the tension between urgency and patience, he added, “The wise act decisively, but not recklessly. Let us remember that the future is shaped by the actions we take today. To delay is to decide—but so is to act without foresight.”

What Now?

As the panel concluded, the audience sat in reflective silence. The speakers had offered no easy answers, but neither had they succumbed to despair. Instead, they provided a nuanced understanding of the climate crisis, one that combined Smil’s systems thinking, Sandel’s moral clarity, Becker’s psychological insights, and Robinson’s visionary storytelling.

The message was clear: the climate crisis is not just a technical challenge but a deeply human one. It demands innovation and imagination, yes, but also courage, justice, and a willingness to confront uncomfortable truths.

As attendees filed out of the room, Marcus Aurelius’s closing words lingered in the air: “The task is great, but so too is the capacity of those who undertake it. Let us meet this challenge not with fear, but with resolve.”

Under the vast Amazonian sky, it was hard not to feel that, for a moment, the philosopher-emperor was right.