So Much Stuff
How Humans Discovered Tools, Invented Meaning, and Made More of Everything
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So Much Stuff
How Humans Discovered Tools, Invented Meaning, and Made More of Everything
How humans became so dependent on things and how this need has grown dangerously out of control.
Over three million years ago, our ancient ancestors realized that rocks could be broken into sharp-edged objects for slicing meat, making the first knives. This discovery resulted in a good meal and eventually changed the fate of our species and our planet.
With So Much Stuff, archaeologist Chip Colwell sets out to investigate why humankind went from self-sufficient primates to nonstop shoppers, from needing nothing to needing everything. Along the way, he uncovers spectacular and strange points around the world—an Italian cave with the world’s first known painted art, a Hong Kong skyscraper where a priestess channels the gods, and a mountain of trash that rivals the Statue of Liberty. Through these examples, Colwell shows how humanity took three leaps that led to stuff becoming inseparable from our lives, inspiring a love affair with things that may lead to our downfall. Now, as landfills brim and oceans drown in trash, Colwell issues a timely call to reevaluate our relationship with the things that both created and threaten to undo our overstuffed planet.
Over three million years ago, our ancient ancestors realized that rocks could be broken into sharp-edged objects for slicing meat, making the first knives. This discovery resulted in a good meal and eventually changed the fate of our species and our planet.
With So Much Stuff, archaeologist Chip Colwell sets out to investigate why humankind went from self-sufficient primates to nonstop shoppers, from needing nothing to needing everything. Along the way, he uncovers spectacular and strange points around the world—an Italian cave with the world’s first known painted art, a Hong Kong skyscraper where a priestess channels the gods, and a mountain of trash that rivals the Statue of Liberty. Through these examples, Colwell shows how humanity took three leaps that led to stuff becoming inseparable from our lives, inspiring a love affair with things that may lead to our downfall. Now, as landfills brim and oceans drown in trash, Colwell issues a timely call to reevaluate our relationship with the things that both created and threaten to undo our overstuffed planet.
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Table of Contents
On the Origin of Things: An Introduction
Leap 1: Make Tools
1. First Things First
2. The Matter at Hand
3. Everything under the Sun
Leap 2: Make Meaning
4. A Thing of Beauty
5. Articles of Faith
6. Dress Coded
Leap 3: Make More
7. In the Thick of Things
8. A Material World
9. Too Much of a Good Thing
On the Future of Things: A Conclusion
Acknowledgments
Key Terms and Concepts
Notes
References
Image Credits
Index
Leap 1: Make Tools
1. First Things First
2. The Matter at Hand
3. Everything under the Sun
Leap 2: Make Meaning
4. A Thing of Beauty
5. Articles of Faith
6. Dress Coded
Leap 3: Make More
7. In the Thick of Things
8. A Material World
9. Too Much of a Good Thing
On the Future of Things: A Conclusion
Acknowledgments
Key Terms and Concepts
Notes
References
Image Credits
Index
Excerpt
Some years ago, I was visiting family in Seattle when my sister casually asked me a question. A question that, as an archaeologist who makes his career studying the things humans have made and left behind, I felt I should have been able to answer.
“Why do we have so much stuff?” she asked.
My mouth opened to reply, but no words came. I stared awkwardly at my sister.
“I mean, where does it all come from?” she added.
My mind froze because the answer at first seemed so obvious— but also so obviously complex.
I looked around my sister’s place. It was a nice American home. Framed pictures hung on the walls. Matching chairs encircled the dining table. Fat couches squatted next to a wood coffee table planted on a patterned rug slung across the floor. A guitar hung next to the fireplace, surrounded by bookshelves. A flat- screen TV hung on the wall. I could catch a glimpse of the kitchen, which I knew contained a stovetop oven, a sink and dishwasher, and cupboards overflowing with plates, silverware, Tupperware, and canned and fresh food. It was easy to guess all the stuff in the other spaces— the bedrooms, bathrooms, closets. Then I thought about the house itself, made of thousands of nails, bolts, screws, knobs, latches, along with all the metal, stone, wood, and plastics for the roof, walls, plumbing, electricity, and ventilation. Outside was patio furniture, tools for yardwork, the family cars, a boat, and a storage unit stuffed with more furniture, photo albums, and family heirlooms.
In that moment, as I sat there stumped, I was surrounded by perhaps 300,000 things— according to an especially enthusiastic estimate of the average American home.
I knew why my sister had so much stuff. Some things were inherited. A few things were gifted. Most of it had been purchased, made in distant factories in China, Cambodia, and India. The simple answer was that she had so much stuff because she is an American consumer with enough resources and space to keep packing more and more stuff into her life.
Even as I began to offer this reply, I knew that my sister’s question pointed to a deeper one about how humans have arrived at this moment. My sister’s place— and my place, and likely yours too, whether in Swansea or Shanghai or Seattle— are spectacularly strange phenomena. In our planet’s 4.5- billion- year history, no other organism has invented such a unique relationship with things. In some ways, our species Homo sapiens is only a single iteration on a long evolutionary trend. The seeds of toolmaking are deeply buried in humanity’s animal instincts. A dizzying array of creatures use the world’s raw materials to survive. Octopuses off Indonesia turn broken coconut shells into homes. Elephants use branches to swat flies. Tuskfish swimming along Australia’s Great Barrier Reef break apart clams using anvil stones. Crows, beavers, orangutans— the list goes on— all use tools.
And yet, while toolmaking is not unique to humans, humans have done something fantastically unique with the things they make. Humans make things to survive— houses and clothing— but we also make things because they give us pleasure, power, and pride. We make churches to worship God. We make art to express beauty. We make exuberantly expensive purses to display wealth. And we are constantly inventing ever more stuff. That is unique. After all, elephants make flyswatters. They don’t make nuclear missiles and whoopie cushions and Italian villas.
What my sister was really asking was this: How did humans come to make the things that make us human? How did Homo sapiens also become Homo stuffensis, a stuffed species, defined and made by our things?
“Why do we have so much stuff?” she asked.
My mouth opened to reply, but no words came. I stared awkwardly at my sister.
“I mean, where does it all come from?” she added.
My mind froze because the answer at first seemed so obvious— but also so obviously complex.
I looked around my sister’s place. It was a nice American home. Framed pictures hung on the walls. Matching chairs encircled the dining table. Fat couches squatted next to a wood coffee table planted on a patterned rug slung across the floor. A guitar hung next to the fireplace, surrounded by bookshelves. A flat- screen TV hung on the wall. I could catch a glimpse of the kitchen, which I knew contained a stovetop oven, a sink and dishwasher, and cupboards overflowing with plates, silverware, Tupperware, and canned and fresh food. It was easy to guess all the stuff in the other spaces— the bedrooms, bathrooms, closets. Then I thought about the house itself, made of thousands of nails, bolts, screws, knobs, latches, along with all the metal, stone, wood, and plastics for the roof, walls, plumbing, electricity, and ventilation. Outside was patio furniture, tools for yardwork, the family cars, a boat, and a storage unit stuffed with more furniture, photo albums, and family heirlooms.
In that moment, as I sat there stumped, I was surrounded by perhaps 300,000 things— according to an especially enthusiastic estimate of the average American home.
I knew why my sister had so much stuff. Some things were inherited. A few things were gifted. Most of it had been purchased, made in distant factories in China, Cambodia, and India. The simple answer was that she had so much stuff because she is an American consumer with enough resources and space to keep packing more and more stuff into her life.
Even as I began to offer this reply, I knew that my sister’s question pointed to a deeper one about how humans have arrived at this moment. My sister’s place— and my place, and likely yours too, whether in Swansea or Shanghai or Seattle— are spectacularly strange phenomena. In our planet’s 4.5- billion- year history, no other organism has invented such a unique relationship with things. In some ways, our species Homo sapiens is only a single iteration on a long evolutionary trend. The seeds of toolmaking are deeply buried in humanity’s animal instincts. A dizzying array of creatures use the world’s raw materials to survive. Octopuses off Indonesia turn broken coconut shells into homes. Elephants use branches to swat flies. Tuskfish swimming along Australia’s Great Barrier Reef break apart clams using anvil stones. Crows, beavers, orangutans— the list goes on— all use tools.
And yet, while toolmaking is not unique to humans, humans have done something fantastically unique with the things they make. Humans make things to survive— houses and clothing— but we also make things because they give us pleasure, power, and pride. We make churches to worship God. We make art to express beauty. We make exuberantly expensive purses to display wealth. And we are constantly inventing ever more stuff. That is unique. After all, elephants make flyswatters. They don’t make nuclear missiles and whoopie cushions and Italian villas.
What my sister was really asking was this: How did humans come to make the things that make us human? How did Homo sapiens also become Homo stuffensis, a stuffed species, defined and made by our things?