On the Unbridled Joy of Wind Turbines
The dark satanic mills of yore are long gone. Bring on the monoliths of ecological neo-modernity
William Blake speculated whether Jerusalem may be builded here, among the dark satanic mills that plagued England’s otherwise green and pleasant land. Those dark satanic mills were symbols of everything wrong with man’s relentless rape of nature; icons of the industrial revolution that blighted the majesty of gods creation. Wind turbines, by contrast, symbolise the march of ecological progress. We need to turn away from that romantic parochialism, towards a vista of wind turbines that are silhouetted against a brighter future.
It always puzzles me when one of the chief objections to wind turbines is their aesthetics. I think they look, (believe me I tried to find a more erudite way of saying this) really cool. I mean, just look at them. They look like something out of a sci-fi film but in a good way. They are, in many ways, monoliths to an ecological neomodernity. The political contention that surrounds the aesthetics of windmills captures several wider conversations in one, ceaselessly spinning, machine. This short piece is going to explore those and explain exactly what I mean by a “monolith of ecological neomodernity”. Issues of grand narratives, our place within post-modernity, environmental politics, and the politics of aesthetics will all be unpacked here.
Michael Osman diagnosed the concrete building as the “monolith of modernity”. What he meant was that within concrete, we see the politics of early 20th century progressive managerialism literally reified. The preternatural aesthetics of concrete betray the modernist rejection of ‘natural’ form; the asymptotic refinement of building techniques that turn the process of construction into the telos rather than the finished building belies the relentless progressivism of modern capitalism. All within a context of a whiggish teleology of progress. The “monolith”, the physical manifestation of ideology that rises out of the ground and towers over us, has extensive aesthetic power. The “modern”, the maintenance of grand narratives and ideological certainty that led to the horrors of the 20th century that were Nazism, Stalinism, and even Liberal Capitalism.
Where are we now in post-modernity? All the certainties of old are gone. Post-structuralism is firmly embedded in the academy as an accepted intellectual framework, and the internet has facilitated the democratisation of truth and knowledge to the horror of mainstream political thought. But another grand narrative has emerged: a narrative of certain ecological catastrophe. What is to be done about the collapse of life on this planet as we know it, brought about by our own hubris that defined the modern era of industrialisation?
The conservative has remarkably little to say for someone who’s entire ideology centres around conserving. The conservative may even deny that it’s a problem worth worrying about: it’s either not happening or not our fault. Some conservatives may be more scientifically astute and acknowledge that global warming is happening, and that we are responsible. Still, they aren’t as motivated to prioritise it as an issue as those on the left.
The progressive movement contains a multiplicity of attitudes when it comes to environmentalism. The eco-fascist maintains a position of extreme authority by the state, which should obliterate anything that stands in the way of solving climate change, even if that’s human life. The liberal maintains that the ingenuity of capitalism alone will solve climate change, and advocate things like carbon taxes to disincentivise negative externalities. Somewhere in the middle is the mainstream environmentalist who wants the state to significantly invest in renewable energy, for the UK to act as a global role model to industrialising countries and help them make their way in the world without destroying it in the process.
Is this not a new modernity? Are all of these narratives (except the one that denies science) not a kind of whiggish teleology? A faith in certain annihilation or ecological saviour? The universe bends towards a different inevitable justice in each. But is this necessarily a bad thing? Should we not embrace the reality of the climate emergency and do all we can do avert it, whilst ensuring everyone can live a good life as far as possible? And, more importantly, make our countryside look like a vaporwave screensaver? A faith in science and progress is pure modernism, but it needs to be renewed.
This is why windmills are so cool. Rather than offshore wave-generating energy, or thermal energy, or any other renewable you can think of, windmills are visible beacons of hope. They’re obelisks that represent progress away from our self-induced apocalypse. They rise out of the ground, rotate like giant clockfaces marking the relentless march of time, and hail the dawn of a better future. They are monoliths to an ecological neomodernity.
When people oppose them, it echoes the parochialism of Blake. They’re sacrificing the prosperity of future generations for sentimentality rooted in religious nostalgia. There’s nothing blighting the landscape if your grandchildren will be struggling to breathe the air. There’s no point opposing something that ‘spoils the view’ if that view will be either underwater or scarred by annual wildfires in a generation or so. It doesn’t even spoil the view, it enhances it. These slender white obelisks that pierce the sky like bolts from heaven demonstrate that another future is possible. An eco-friendly Jerusalem can be builded here, among these joyous windmills.