As human beings, we seem to want everything faster. Or at least, that’s how society and industry are structured—faster cars, fast fashion, fast food (who even peels their own potatoes anymore?), and so on. We call it progress, or prosperity. And we convince ourselves it’s a good thing—mainly because many of the consequences are left out of the equation.
In my latest book, The Economy of Space Time, (1) I explore this idea in depth—Max Power, Max Mass, Max Money, Max Stuff, and so on. But here’s just one example from the book that shows how this speed obsession affects our energy and material cycles.
Let’s take transport—specifically, car travel. Over the past 100 years, cars have been getting faster and faster. But what does that really mean?
The faster we want to get from A to B, the higher the impact—not just from the act of driving itself. For example, if the maximum speed were 80 km/h instead of 120 km/h (a more provincial road pace), roads could be narrower, emergency lanes wouldn’t be needed (which alone saves at least a third in materials), and cloverleaf interchanges wouldn’t be necessary. Cars could also be lighter. Energy use would drop significantly—even with electric vehicles. Driving faster has an enormous impact, beyond just the fuel or electricity used.
Everything is linked to volume and, more importantly, time. If less material is needed for infrastructure, then less time is required to regenerate those materials.
But let us focus on just the energy use in driving, as illustrated in an example from Kris De Decker of Low-Tech Magazine: (2) (the data are a bit outdated, but the comparison holds)
“At 80 km/h, an electric car driving 1,000 km uses 187 kWh (12.5 hours × 15 kW). At 160 km/h, the same trip requires 750 kWh (6.25 hours × 120 kW).”
That’s four times more energy—for just twice the speed. And we intend to generate that energy with solar panels, since we want renewable energy. Now imagine this: You have a 1.5 m² solar panel producing 187 kWh per year. That would be enough for that 1,000 km trip at 80 km/h. But the same trip at 160 km/h would require four years of solar energy production from the same panel.
We don’t have that kind of time. The panel doesn’t magically produce more. If we borrowed that extra energy from the grid, we’d have to “pay it back” by producing and not driving for three years. Or we’d need four times more panels on our roof, which means four times the investment—and more work to pay it off. (And that “money” is just stored energy too.)
This shows a clear relationship between time, energy volume, and speed. And keep in mind—I haven’t even factored in the environmental impact of producing the solar panels themselves. In reality, after accounting for a real physical cycle evaluation (in spacetime, see book), a solar panel only nets a few kWh/m² of true renewable energy. Nor have I included as mentioned the extra infrastructure needed for high-speed travel.
So driving faster results in exponentially faster depletion and overload—both individually and collectively. And this is just within the logic of car travel. There’s an even more obvious comparison: car versus bicycle.
I often bike to the train station (8 km), which takes me 20–25 minutes depending on wind. That’s door to station entrance. By car, I’d need 15–20 minutes (depending on traffic). Seems faster—except for fuel use (fossil sunlight) and parking. Free parking adds a 10-minute walk. Paid parking is closer, but adds cost, which means more work (energy) to pay for it. (and Time is money… right?)
So, I’m not really faster by car. I just spend more energy (money) on fuel and parking (resource volume)—meaning I need to work longer (more energy), and leave the house earlier (time). That longer working time also leads to more consumption (energy and materials), more raw materials (depletion), and more CO₂ emissions.
Working less = fewer emissions. Less income, yes—but also less spending, and more free time. I call this the necessity of slower living. These are quick mental exercises, but the point is clear: there’s a direct relationship between the speed of our activities and the time and energy they require—and their impact.
To visualize this, you could express it as:
(V × E) / t = I,
where V is volume, E is energy input, t is usage time, and I is impact. If volume or energy doubles, time must double too in order to keep impact constant over time*. It’s a simple illustration of how loops (like material or energy cycles) are affected. And remember—we haven’t even asked if the system can (and will) regenerate in that timeframe.
This “formula” isn’t rigorous—it matters whether you’re talking about a product, a function, or a whole system—but it illustrates the link well enough.
Bottom line: You can choose speed—of travel, of clothing turnover, of construction—but you’ll feel it in the long-term consequences. Larger volume = more recovery time = bigger impact. Climate change is only one such consequence.
And it also shows that monetary values distort reality—because they don’t include speed, volume, or regeneration time in the equation. Even the energy transition itself requires exponentially more energy if we maintain or accelerate our current pace of life. That’s not just living off the past—it’s depleting the future.
Most of that cost will be paid by future generations. We’ve already used so much energy and material that their harvests for years to come will theoretically mostly go toward compensating for our overconsumption.
So:
To preserve time—for our children at the very least—volume and speed must go down.
Slower living… is essential.
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* which can be translated in land and sun, spacetime, see the book.
1 book The SpaceTime economy, (embodied) Land – the capital for post fossil living https://www.ribuilt.eu/product/the-space-time-economy/
2 low tech magazine: Dedecker http://www.lowtechmagazine.be/2008/10/snelheid.html
3 on life time of buildings
a https://www.ronaldrovers.com/how-long-do-buildings-last-75-year-or-500/
b https://www.ronaldrovers.com/everything-that-doesnt-last-at-least-50-years-is-system-degradation/
