1493: Uncovering the New World Columbus Created

Prepare to have your understanding of history, and indeed the modern world, fundamentally reshaped. In '1493: Uncovering the New World Columbus Created,' Charles Mann and Chenjin invite you on a breathtaking intellectual journey that transcends the familiar narratives of exploration and conquest. Forget the isolated tales of European powers; this book reveals the astonishing, interconnected reality forged in the wake of Columbus's voyages – a reality that continues to shape our lives today. You will gain a profound appreciation for the vast, often invisible, forces that have molded our planet and its peoples. We'll delve into the unexpected ecological transformations, from the humble earthworm's impact on Jamestown to the global dominance of the potato and the rubber tree. You'll witness how seemingly small exchanges – plants, animals, and even diseases – ignited massive societal and economic shifts, creating what the authors term the 'Agro-Industrial Complex' and sparking 'Shiploads of Money' across continents. More than just a chronicle of biological exchange, '1493' unearths the human stories woven into this global tapestry. You'll encounter the resilience and agency of those often relegated to footnotes, like Juan Garrido, an African who carved a life in New Spain, and the 'fugitives' who built new societies in the 'Forest of Fugitives.' You'll explore how traditions and even the very concept of 'home,' as seen in the Philippines, have been profoundly transformed by this relentless global exchange. The tone is one of intellectual curiosity and revelatory discovery. Mann's meticulous research, combined with Chenjin's insights, brings to life a complex, interconnected world with vivid detail and a sense of wonder. You'll feel the thrill of uncovering hidden connections, the intellectual satisfaction of seeing the familiar in a new light, and a deeper understanding of the 'crazy soup' of cultures, economies, and ecologies that defines our modern era. This is not just history; it's the story of how we became who we are.

We stand at the ghostly ruins of La Isabela, Christopher Columbus's first permanent settlement in the Americas, a place now largely forgotten, much like the man himself is increasingly perceived. Charles Mann, through meticulous research, guides us not just through the physical remnants of this failed colony, but through the seismic shifts it unknowingly initiated. The author explains that while Columbus was a flawed figure—a cruel, deluded man who stumbled upon the New World—his arrival marked the true dawn of a new era, inaugurating a global exchange of unprecedented scale. This wasn't just an economic transformation, but a biological one: the reknitting of Pangaea's ancient seams. As European vessels, carrying not just people but a veritable Noah's ark of plants, animals, and microbes, traversed the oceans, the world's ecosystems collided and mixed, creating the diverse global diet we know today – tomatoes in Italy, chili peppers in Thailand, coffee in Africa. This Columbian Exchange, however, was also a biological catastrophe, decimating indigenous populations through novel diseases against which they had no immunity, a stark reminder of the devastating human cost. Yet, the narrative expands beyond the initial encounter, moving to Manila and the subsequent establishment of the galleon trade, a testament to Spain's relentless pursuit of China. This monumental undertaking, driven by the insatiable demand for silver from the Americas, forged the first truly global economic system, binding continents in a complex web of exchange. The author reveals that this era, which he terms the Homogenocene, was not merely about trade routes and riches, but a profound ecological and demographic upheaval. The influx of American silver fueled European wars and inflation, while American crops like maize and sweet potatoes reshaped Asian agriculture, destabilizing dynasties. The chapter culminates in the stark contrast between the decaying grandeur of the Columbus Lighthouse in Santo Domingo, a monument to a controversial figure, and a humble statue in Manila honoring Legazpi and Urdaneta, pioneers of the Pacific silver trade. Both monuments, in their own way, represent the unintended consequences of ambition and the birth of a globally interconnected world, a world grappling with the immense, often paradoxical, legacies of these early exchanges.

Charles Mann, in 'The Tobacco Coast,' unveils the profound ecological and societal transformations wrought by the nascent English settlement at Jamestown, a story far removed from romanticized notions of colonial arrival. He reveals how seemingly minor introductions, like the earthworm inadvertently carried in ballast or plant roots, initiated a planetary ecological upheaval, marking the dawn of the Homogenocene in North America. John Rolfe's pivotal role, not just in marrying Pocahontas but in cultivating Nicotiana tabacum, transformed Virginia into the 'Tobacco Coast,' a commercial engine fueled by an addictive global craze that reshaped landscapes and economies. The author meticulously details the stark contrast between the European and indigenous land management practices: the Powhatan people cultivated diverse, intermingled crops in cleared woodlands managed by fire, a stark departure from the European model of vast, single-crop fields cleared and tilled with draft animals, a difference that fueled misunderstandings and conflict. Mann highlights the initial struggles of Jamestown, beset by disease, starvation, and conflict with the Powhatan empire under leaders like Powhatan and later Opechancanough, underscoring that the colony's survival, and its eventual success, hinged less on military might and more on the complex web of the Columbian Exchange and the introduction of new species, including the devastating Plasmodium parasites that accompanied European arrival. The narrative navigates the economic desperation driving the Virginia Company, a joint-stock enterprise pooling resources to fund colonization, which despite immense losses, relentlessly pursued profit through tobacco, inadvertently laying the groundwork for both representative democracy and chattel slavery. The author paints a vivid picture of Tsenacomoco, not as a pristine wilderness, but as a managed landscape shaped by beaver dams and indigenous fire practices, a 'working landscape' transformed by European ambitions, leading to the exhaustion of soil, displacement of native peoples, and the relentless expansion of monoculture farming. The story culminates in the understanding that while John Rolfe's tobacco revolutionized global trade and ingrained new institutions, the true, lasting impact was the profound and often destructive ecological integration, a testament to how unintended consequences can reshape continents and cultures.

Charles Mann, in his illuminating work '1493: Uncovering the New World Columbus Created,' delves into the unseen, yet profoundly impactful, forces that reshaped the Americas and the world. The chapter, 'Evil Air,' begins with a curious detail found in newly discovered letters of Cristbal Coln: his men fell gravely ill with what he called 'iiones' upon arriving at La Isabela, a sickness that historians and translators have largely interpreted as malaria. This seemingly minor point unlocks a cascade of understanding about the Columbian Exchange, revealing how the introduction of Old World diseases to the New World was not a sudden epidemic, but a slow, insidious endemic presence that fundamentally altered landscapes and societies. Mann illustrates how malaria, unlike diseases like smallpox that swept through and faded, became a persistent, debilitating force, rendering previously populous regions inhospitable and forcing devastating demographic shifts. The author masterfully navigates the scientific intricacies of malaria transmission, from the Plasmodium parasite to the Anopheles mosquito, drawing parallels between the historical accounts of suffering, such as Samuel Jeake's meticulous diary entries, and the biological mechanisms of the disease. He posits that the very survival advantage of certain African populations against malaria, due to inherited immunities like Duffy negativity, ironically became a grim catalyst for their enslavement, as they were biologically better equipped to withstand the 'evil air' that decimated European colonists. This biological predisposition, coupled with economic incentives and the search for labor, forged the brutal institution of chattel slavery, a stark consequence of ecological introductions shaping economic and political destinies. Mann further explores how the prevalence of malaria and yellow fever in tropical and subtropical regions led to the establishment of 'extractive states,' where colonial powers focused on resource extraction rather than sustainable development, leaving a lasting legacy of economic disparity. The narrative then shifts to the American Revolution and the Civil War, demonstrating how malaria, experienced differently by seasoned colonists and unseasoned newcomers, played a critical role in military outcomes, perhaps even influencing the timing of the Emancipation Proclamation and certainly contributing to the eventual victory of the American colonies. Ultimately, 'Evil Air' reveals that the history of disease is inextricably linked to human history, shaping not only populations and economies but also the very course of empires and nations, a stark reminder of the interconnectedness of our world.

Charles and Chenjin’s chapter, "Shiploads of Money," unveils a fascinating paradox in Chinese history, beginning with the breathtaking maritime expeditions of Admiral Zheng He in the early 15th century. These were not mere voyages; they were colossal displays of power, with ships longer than any wooden vessel ever built, dwarfing even the later Spanish Armada. Yet, this astonishing feat of engineering and ambition, funded by the Yongle Emperor, was abruptly halted. The authors explain that this cessation wasn't a sign of inherent Chinese insularity or lack of curiosity, as some historians have posited, but rather a complex interplay of political infighting and economic realities. The subsequent suppression of records and retreat from the seas, however, set China on a different course, one that would eventually draw it into a global economic network it had initially shunned. This pivot was dramatically driven by severe monetary woes; China’s inability to control its own coinage, particularly the scarcity of copper for bronze coins and the rampant inflation of paper currency, led to a desperate need for silver. The Ming dynasty’s attempts to control and then ban private trade backfired, leading to widespread smuggling and the rise of figures like the wokou, who blurred the lines between merchant and pirate. This internal chaos, coupled with a dysfunctional currency system that fluctuated wildly with each new emperor, created an environment where silver, primarily from the Americas, became the de facto currency. The chapter then vividly details the discovery and exploitation of the Potosí silver mines in the Andes, a place of unimaginable wealth and brutal human cost, where mercury poisoning and brutal labor conditions were rampant. This influx of silver, however, didn't primarily benefit Europe; instead, a disproportionate amount flowed to Asia, particularly to Chinese ports like Yuegang. The demand for silver, driven by China's tax system and its lack of domestic mines, created a voracious appetite that fueled the galleon trade across the Pacific. This global network, established through the forced exchange of Chinese goods like silk and porcelain for American silver, ultimately propped up the Ming economy but also contributed to its eventual collapse. The narrative culminates in the turbulent relationship between Chinese merchants and Spanish authorities in Manila, highlighting how the pursuit of silver and commodities created complex, often violent, interdependencies. The authors reveal that trade, far from being a simple economic exchange, was deeply intertwined with statecraft, power, and the often-brutal enforcement of national ambitions, demonstrating that the "treasure of the world" came at a profound human and economic cost, reshaping global dynamics in ways that continue to echo.

Charles Mann, in "Lovesick Grass, Foreign Tubers, and Jade Rice," unveils a world transformed not just by silver and conquest, but by the quiet, persistent march of new plants and habits across the Pacific. We witness the astonishing speed with which tobacco, initially a novelty, became 'lovesick grass' and 'goldenthread smoke' in China, embraced by soldiers for its protective aura against malaria and by the fashionable elite for its ostentatious display, even leading to poetic odes and elaborate rituals of consumption, much like the contemporaneous snuff craze in England, where dandy Beau Brummell famously curated a snuffbox for every day of the year. This addiction, however, was more than a cultural quirk; it was a symptom of a deeper ecological and demographic shift, as China, a land with a vast population and limited arable land, found itself profoundly altered by the Columbian Exchange. The author explains that the introduction of American crops like the sweet potato, maize, and peanuts, often smuggled and initially treated as novelties, became a critical boon, especially during periods of famine and ecological stress, such as the hard cold rains of the Little Ice Age that devastated rice paddies. Chen Zhenlong's clandestine introduction of sweet potato vines, initially hidden amongst ropes, exemplifies the clandestine nature of this exchange, yet these 'foreign tubers' would eventually become a staple for the poor, a testament to their resilience and adaptability. This agricultural revolution, coupled with the Qing dynasty's efficient, albeit sometimes brutal, policies—including the forced coastal evacuation that disrupted trade and inadvertently empowered pirates like Zheng Chenggong—and later, a reversal of population control measures, fueled an unprecedented demographic surge. Mann reveals a critical insight: China's embrace of these new crops, particularly maize and sweet potatoes, allowed for cultivation in marginal lands previously unsuitable for rice and wheat, nearly tripling the nation's cultivated area between 1700 and 1850, a transformation that historians like Hong Liangji presciently warned could lead to ecological catastrophe and social dysfunction, a concept echoing Thomas Malthus's theories but with a distinctly Chinese ecological focus. The chapter details how the pursuit of profit from crops like tobacco, which demanded more labor and fertilizer than grain, led farmers to abandon rice cultivation, depleting the soil and exacerbating environmental degradation, turning fertile land into barren hillsides, a cycle of deforestation and erosion that tragically mirrored the earlier ecological struggles in the Loess Plateau, where the 'Dazhai' model of forced terracing only worsened soil erosion and flood devastation. The narrative culminates in the stark realization that while these new crops offered a lifeline, their widespread cultivation, especially in marginal lands, ultimately contributed to environmental strain and social upheaval, demonstrating how seemingly small exchanges can trigger cascading, long-term consequences for entire societies and landscapes, a stark reminder that the underpinnings of empires can be reshaped by the humble growth of a plant.

Charles Mann, in his exploration of the 'Agro-Industrial Complex,' unveils the profound, often unseen, impact of the potato, a humble tuber from the Andes, on global history and modern agriculture. Initially, we witness the potato's astonishing journey from a mere curiosity to a staple food, its resilience and productivity allowing it to sustain burgeoning populations and, as historian William H. McNeill argues, fuel European imperial expansion. This rise coincided with the end of widespread famine in northern Europe, a stark contrast to the Malthusian trap that had long constrained populations. The narrative then delves into the intricate Andean cultivation techniques, including the use of guano, a potent fertilizer derived from seabird droppings, which, though beneficial, would later become entangled with devastating potato blights, most notably the late blight that ravaged Ireland in the 1840s, a catastrophe born from the very global exchange that introduced the potato. This period also saw the rise of industrial agriculture, a system built on improved crops, intensive fertilizers like guano, and factory-made pesticides, a direct lineage from the Columbian Exchange and the potato's unique characteristics. The chapter highlights the unintended consequences of this transformation: the creation of monocultures, the vulnerability to pests like the Colorado potato beetle, and the subsequent arms race with chemical solutions, a cycle that continues to define modern farming. The very soil, once a source of life, became a canvas for chemical warfare, a stark illustration of how the pursuit of ever-higher yields has reshaped our planet and our relationship with food, leaving us with a legacy of both unprecedented abundance and profound ecological challenges.

The narrative unfolds, revealing the profound and often paradoxical impact of the rubber tree, *Hevea brasiliensis*, a plant that journeyed from the Amazon to dominate Southeast Asian ecosystems and reshape global industry. Charles Mann's exploration begins in a silent, monocultural forest in China, a stark testament to rubber's ecological footprint, where every other species has been eradicated to make way for these forty-five-year-old trees, a silent, green carpet that lifts villages from destitution but silences the natural world. This transformation, Mann explains, echoes the potato's role in Europe's escape from Malthusian pressures, but rubber's influence on the Industrial Revolution is arguably more pervasive, intertwining the lives of countless individuals—slaves, engineers, merchants, scientists, and politicians—in a complex web of creation and exploitation. The story then pivots to 16th-century Seville, where Spanish ambassadors encountered the astonishing elasticity of Mesoamerican rubber balls, a material so alien to European understanding that it baffled observers like Andrea Navagero and Gonzalo Fernández de Oviedo y Valdés, who struggled to describe its 'bouncing' and 'springing' qualities. This encounter marks the introduction of an elastomer, a novel form of matter, to a world unprepared for its potential. The chapter traces rubber’s journey from indigenous Amazonian practices of latex collection and processing through boiling and smoking, to its eventual adoption in Europe and America, where its initial promise of impermeable boots and clothing dissolved into a sticky, smelly mess in fluctuating temperatures. Charles Goodyear’s obsessive, often desperate, pursuit of a stable form of rubber, leading to his accidental discovery of vulcanization through sulfur, becomes a central drama of innovation born from hardship, a tale of penury, imprisonment, and relentless experimentation, ultimately transforming rubber into a cornerstone of modern industry. Thomas Hancock’s parallel discovery and patenting of vulcanization highlight the often-complex nature of invention and intellectual property. The narrative expands to encompass the arduous, often brutal, construction of the Madeira-Mamoré Railway in the Amazon, a project that exemplified the immense logistical challenges and human cost of extracting rubber, where malaria, starvation, and exploitation were rampant, as seen through the eyes of Neville Burgoyne Craig. The sheer economic power of rubber fueled a boomtown era in cities like Belém and Manaus, creating immense wealth for a few but often at the expense of indigenous populations and laborers subjected to brutal conditions, as exemplified by the horrors of Julio César Arana's Putumayo operations. The chapter then delves into Henry Alexander Wickham's controversial act of 'biopiracy' – smuggling seventy thousand rubber seeds from Brazil to England, an act that, while reviled in Brazil, ultimately allowed Britain to establish vast rubber plantations in Asia, decimating Brazil's dominance and dramatically altering global supply chains. This strategic shift, driven by colonial ambition and industrial demand, transformed landscapes across Southeast Asia, turning regions like Xishuangbanna in China and northern Laos into vast monocultures, often displacing local populations and ecosystems. The narrative culminates with a stark ecological warning: the widespread planting of genetically uniform rubber clones, descendants of Wickham’s pilfered seeds, creates a terrifying vulnerability to diseases like South American leaf blight (*Microcyclus ulei*), threatening a global economic calamity that could cripple industries from transportation to healthcare. The interconnectedness of the modern world, symbolized by new highways linking Southeast Asia, means that a single pathogen could now traverse continents, potentially wiping out the world’s rubber supply and completing a cycle of exchange that began with the Columbian Exchange, reminding us that the very materials that built our industrial civilization carry inherent risks.

The narrative unfolds through the life of Juan Garrido, a man of West African origin who arrived in the Americas not as a conqueror, but as a slave, only to carve out a remarkable existence as a soldier, farmer, and builder in the nascent Spanish Mexico City. His journey, from his self-given moniker 'Johnny Goodlooking' to his pivotal role in cultivating wheat, illustrates a profound human element within the vast, often brutal, Columbian Exchange. Charles Mann reveals how this exchange was not merely about the movement of plants and animals, but a convulsive reshuffling of humanity itself, akin to dice flung across a gaming table. Garrido's story, however, is one of resilience and agency, a testament to an individual refusing to be defined by the chains of his past, ultimately contributing to the very fabric of the new world. The chapter then pivots to the insatiable human appetite for sweetness, tracing the history of sugar from its ancient origins to its role in fueling the plantation system, a system that would come to rely on the forced migration of millions of Africans. The stark contrast between the ecological transformation of Madeira, which adapted its sugar economy, and the disease-ridden, exploitative model of São Tomé and Príncipe, sets a grim stage for understanding the systemic nature of the new world's nascent economy. We witness how the pursuit of profit, unmoored from ethical considerations, led to the horrific development of plantation slavery, a dark engine that powered the burgeoning colonial enterprise. This grim reality is further complicated by the emergence of a complex, multi-ethnic society in Mexico City, a place teeming with people from Africa, Asia, Europe, and the Americas. The chapter explores the intricate family trees and social strata that emerged, a tapestry woven from conquest, coercion, and surprising accommodation, highlighting how the very concept of race was fluid and contested, a far cry from the rigid categories that would later define societies. Ultimately, the story of Mexico City, a 'shook-up city,' serves as a microcosm of this new world, a place of dazzling cultural fusion and stark social stratification, a precursor to the globalized urban centers of today, grappling with environmental challenges and the enduring legacy of its complex origins.

Charles and chenjin's chapter, 'Forest of Fugitives,' unveils a hidden history of resilience and self-creation, moving beyond the simplistic narrative of European conquest to reveal the profound agency of Africans and Indigenous peoples in the Americas. We are introduced to the clandestine world of quilombos, fugitive communities born from the ashes of slavery, like Calabar near Salvador da Bahia, a city that swelled to twenty thousand inhabitants, a testament to the enduring human spirit's quest for freedom. These settlements, often formed through alliances between escaped slaves and Indigenous peoples, became bastions of liberty, protected by formidable natural defenses and ingenious human ingenuity. The author explains that the common perception of Africans as mere pawns in the transatlantic slave trade is a profound misrepresentation; in reality, Africans themselves controlled the supply of slaves, engaging in complex negotiations with European buyers, driven by economic systems where labor, rather than land, was the primary form of property and status. This dynamic fueled the growth of the trade, yet it also laid the groundwork for resistance, as seen in the legendary Palmares, a maroon state that thrived for decades, centered around the Serra da Barriga, and commanded by figures like Aqualtune and her son Ganga Zumba, demonstrating that the desire for freedom was not a passive hope but an active, organized force. The narrative then shifts to the Isthmus of Panama, where Vasco Núñez de Balboa's quest for gold inadvertently revealed the presence of escaped African slaves, potentially the first to see the Pacific from the American side, highlighting how the pursuit of wealth often intersected with the creation of free domains. The chapter emphasizes that these struggles were not confined to isolated incidents; they were a pervasive force across the hemisphere, from the successful wars waged by the Bush Negroes in Suriname to the creation of an independent Haiti, a revolution that sent shockwaves across slave-holding societies. In Florida, maroon-Indian alliances secured liberty, and in Mexico, Gaspar Yanga's revolt led to the establishment of San Lorenzo de los Negros, the Americas first sunset town. Even in the United States, communities like those in the Great Dismal Swamp carved out existence, while the Seminole War saw a powerful Afro-Indian alliance challenge U.S. forces. The story of Dona Rosario and her family in the Amazon, working to reclaim and cultivate the land, illustrates the ongoing legacy of these maroon communities, who, through clever adaptation and deep connection to the land, continue to forge their own destiny, transforming what outsiders see as an impenetrable forest into a vibrant, managed garden, a living testament to centuries of struggle for self-determination. The core tension lies in the clash between the brutal realities of slavery and the indomitable will to freedom, a struggle that forged new societies and redefined liberty itself, often in the shadows, away from European eyes.

The author, Charles C. Mann, invites us on a journey to the Philippines, revealing how the very concept of 'home' and 'tradition' has been profoundly reshaped by global exchange. He begins in the Philippines, where a beloved folk song, 'Bahay Kubo,' extols the virtues of a traditional garden filled with plants that, surprisingly, are all introduced species from Africa, the Americas, and East Asia. This 'fractured cerebration,' as Mann terms it, highlights how deeply ingrained these 'foreign' elements have become, symbolizing a cosmopolitan present disguised as an ancient past. This paradox extends to the stunning rice terraces of Ifugao, long believed to be millennia old, but which archaeological evidence suggests were largely a creation of the Spanish colonial era, built by refugees fleeing the demands of empire. The very trees that built these terraces, Philippine mahogany, or lauan, spurred by demand from the United States and Japan, ironically paved the way for invasive earthworms that now threaten their existence, a direct consequence, Mann notes, of his own grandfather's desire for a new breakfast table. This narrative tension between the allure of global commerce and the preservation of local heritage becomes starkly evident in Bulalacao, a remote town on Mindoro island. Here, amidst the lingering presence of a communist insurgency and the ecological scars left by logging, a local official envisions a future flooded with international investors eager to develop resorts and golf courses, promising a globalized prosperity. Yet, even here, the author finds a poignant counterpoint in a family tending a garden of maize and squash – plants born of the Columbian Exchange, but cultivated with an intimate, personal connection that makes them feel like home, a testament to how people adapt and make the global their own. Mann thus illustrates that the 'great exchange' that once brought invasive species and ecological damage also brought the very elements that now define Filipino gardens and, in a complex, often contradictory way, the very terraces that are seen as a symbol of enduring tradition. The chapter concludes by pondering the distribution of globalization's costs and benefits: gains are diffuse and global, while pain is intense and local, leaving communities like Bulalacao to grapple with the desire for modern goods and services against the backdrop of environmental degradation and cultural fragmentation, a constant negotiation between unity and division, between embracing the world and holding onto what remains uniquely theirs.

Charles Mann and Chenjin's "1493" leaves us with a profound and complex understanding of the world that emerged after Columbus's voyages, an era they aptly label the Homogenocene. The core takeaway is that globalization, far from being solely an economic or political construct, is fundamentally a biological phenomenon. The Columbian Exchange, a vast, often unintentional, reshuffling of species, diseases, and peoples, irrevocably altered ecosystems, diets, and demographics across continents. We learn that the pursuit of wealth, particularly silver, fueled an interconnected global economy, but at immense human cost, exemplified by the brutal exploitation in the Potosí mines. The book masterfully illustrates how seemingly small biological introductions—an earthworm, a new tobacco species, or the humble potato—could trigger cascading, transformative effects on landscapes, economies, and societies, from China's demographic surge to Europe's population boom. Emotionally, "1493" evokes a sense of awe at the sheer scale of these interconnected changes, coupled with a deep somberness regarding the devastating consequences for indigenous populations and the perpetuation of brutal systems like slavery, often driven by economic imperatives and exacerbated by disease ecology. The narrative highlights the complex interplay between human actions and planetary systems, revealing how environmental shifts were often a direct consequence of human-induced demographic collapses or agricultural practices. Practically, the book urges a nuanced perspective: to recognize that progress and suffering are often inextricably linked, that unintended consequences are a hallmark of global interaction, and that the forces of economic demand, cultural adaptation, and ecological vulnerability continue to shape our world. It underscores the enduring agency of marginalized peoples, from the maroon communities forging freedom to individuals like Juan Garrido, demonstrating that even within oppressive systems, resilience and self-determination are potent forces. Ultimately, "1493" serves as a powerful reminder of our interconnectedness, the long shadow of history, and the critical need to understand the biological, economic, and social forces that have shaped, and continue to shape, our shared planet.