Among Dante’s illustrious renderings of the seven deadly sins in his epic poem “The Divine Comedy” (1309-1321), “Acedia” ― or sloth ― seems to have particular resonance today. Drowning in the hellish waters of the river Styx, Dante’s slothful sinners were people with whom the poet himself felt some affinity, and for whom he harbored great pity and sympathy. 

Sometimes translated to “depression,” or “lack of passion for God,” the word “Acedia” ― as Dante’s English translator Dorothy L. Sayers points out ― also implies “tolerance,” or a laissez-faire attitude; “It is the sin which believes in nothing, cares for nothing, seeks to know nothing, interferes with nothing, enjoys nothing, loves nothing, hates nothing, finds purpose in nothing, lives for nothing, and only remains alive because there is nothing it would die for.” Quite often, Sayers goes on, this sin appears under the guise of industriousness and activity: “We think that if we are busily rushing about and doing things, we cannot be suffering from Sloth.” While occupied with insignificant tasks, distractions, we neglect what needs to be done.

In a rather different context, the Harvard professor of environmental engineering Peter Rogers has argued that amid serious concerns about climate change and numerous calls for immediate action, the global community is neglecting an even more momentous challenge, namely the need to develop sustainable food- and water-production systems to meet the demands of a hastily expanding population. By 2050, Rogers estimates, the current global production of food needs to be doubled in order to feed all the world’s people.

Raising concerns over the potentially catastrophic consequences of overpopulation is of course not a new phenomenon. Already in 1798, the political economist Thomas Malthus argued in the book “An Essay on the Principle of Population” that without some kind of intervention, the population would increase faster than the production of food, eventually leading to disaster. In the 20th century, the Stanford professor of biology Paul Ehrlich and his wife Anne Erlich wrote the bestseller “The Population Bomb” (1968) in which they outlined an ominous scenario of mass starvations following overpopulation ― a sentiment which likewise found manifestation in popular culture through books like Brian Aldiss’ “Earthworks” (1965), Harry Harrison’s “Make Room! Make Room!” (1966), as well as the film “Soylent Green” (1973).

That these latter visions of doom may also have expressed a particular Cold War anxiety characteristic of the ’60s and ’70s does not change the fact that the concerns regarding overpopulation are still very much with us today ― as illustrated recently when the well-known English broadcaster Sir David Attenborough controversially commented that it was “irresponsible” to have large families in a world of dwindling resources and food shortages. As the biologist Steve Jones points out: “Humans are 10,000 times more common than we should be, according to the rules of the animal kingdom, and we have agriculture to thank for that. Without farming, the world population would probably have reached half a million by now.”

The fact that the world’s population has swelled to over 7 billion people over a relatively short span of time ― in an entirely “unnatural” way, according to Jones ― goes some way to explain why the theme of overpopulation continually stirs the imagination. Most recently, for example, in Neill Blomkamp’s dystopian sci-fi film “Elysium” (2013), which envisions the future earth as a gigantic, overcrowded and run-down shantytown inhabited by people reduced to extreme poverty, while a small percentage of the population, the rich and privileged, has moved to an ethereal space station named Elysium, where they live ― like Dante’s blessed pagans ― in affluence, comfort and safety. The film, somewhat predictably, ends with the demise of this social arrangement, as well as the promise of a new beginning. As the system of Elysium is rebooted, spaceships are sent off to cure an ailing population ― and, it is indicated, to make the earth livable again.

The film thus ― at least on this issue ― seems to be in agreement with the argument that Erle Ellis, professor of geography and environmental systems at the University of Maryland, has outlined in an article recently published in the New York Times. According to Ellis, the scenario of overpopulation is basically a dangerous myth that fails to take into account technological developments, which historically have always ensured the proper balance between population growth and sustainable ecosystems: “There is really no such thing as a human carrying capacity,” Ellis argues, “Our planet’s human-carrying capacity emerges from the capabilities of our social systems and our technologies more than from any environmental limits.”

A person likely to disagree with this view is the best-selling author Dan Brown who in his most recent novel ― “Inferno” (2013) ― pursues a line attributed to Dante: “The darkest places in hell are reserved for those who maintain their neutrality in times of moral crisis.” If the road to paradise goes through hell, as it did for Dante, we find ourselves at present somewhere in the darkest recesses of the kingdom of sinners, according to Brown.

The danger of overpopulation has been ignored. This is the concrete message of Brown’s new novel; as usual, the main character is Harvard art historian and symbologist Robert Langdon, who this time round is confronted with the potential release and spread of a deadly virus created by a brilliant scientist named Zobrist. Zobrist believes that the global population is spiraling out of control, and that it is only a matter of time before the world as we know it will collapse. Only by drastically reducing the population ― by means of a global virus ― can the world survive. Through a breathless accumulation of mysteries, clues, codes, puzzles, enigmas, double-crossings and wild interpretations, the reader follows Langdon along the streets and tunnels of Florence, and later Venice and Istanbul, in an attempt to prevent the plan to be carried out.

The somewhat ambiguous ending of Brown’s novel is perhaps a reflection of the author’s own passionate, albeit unresolved, stance on this issue. In numerous interviews, Brown has openly declared solidarity with the opinions of Zobrist, the brilliant but mad scientist in “Inferno” ― that the world is indeed overpopulated, and that action is required ― although also stressing that Zobrist’s methods are extreme. Something needs to be done, but what? Brown does not hold the answers, he claims. “If I did,” he says in an interview, “I wouldn’t be writing novels. I’d be trying to help out for real.” Many are no doubt relieved that Brown has chosen to stick with novel writing. With the novel “Inferno,” Brown lays down an author’s statement of intent ― something needs to be done ― although one that ultimately remains undecided, perhaps even neutral (one is never quite sure who is actually saving the world in the novel). As if Brown ― similar to Dante, perhaps all writers ― surreptitiously acknowledges affinity with the slothful sinners of the fifth circle of hell; the ones observing, describing, while neglecting to act. 

By Eli Park Sorensen

Eli Park Sorensen is an assistant professor in the College of Liberal Studies at Seoul National University. He specializes in comparative literature, postcolonial thought and cultural studies. ― Ed.