What comes after growth?

What comes after growth? Reimagining our economies for people and planet

Self-proclaimed radical economist, Kate Raworth, has remarked that the only thing in nature that grows unchecked is cancer. This metaphor encapsulates her – and others – fundamental critiques of modern economic systems predicated on perpetual growth: first, that continuous economic expansion is ecologically unsustainable and ultimately impossible; and second, that growth alone is an inadequate and misleading measure of societal and economic wellbeing. Amidst rising social inequalities and accelerating environmental degradation, we must consider whether current capitalist economies can be reconciled with a sustainable future. If not, what viable alternatives exist? We can live without capitalism, but we cannot survive without a planet. This article examines how dominant economic systems, reinforced by, primarily, Western social and cultural worldviews that separate humans from non-human life, have enabled the exploitation of both people and nature. It then explores a diverse range of relational paradigms and alternative economic frameworks that reorientate priorities away from growth, profit, and wealth accumulation towards societal and planetary wellbeing.

The rise of capitalism and anthropocentrism

Capitalism, as a dominant economic system, emerged in Western Europe between the 16th and 18th centuries, evolving alongside colonial expansion, the enclosure of common lands, and the rise of market-driven production. The core structure of capitalism is the private ownership of the means of production and profit. Its foundational premise, that individuals acting in pursuit of self-interest can generate collective prosperity, was formalised by thinkers such as Adam Smith. Over time, capitalism has undergone significant transformations: from mercantile and industrial phases to contemporary global finance, platform, and surveillance capitalism, characterised by transnational supply chains, digital markets, data commodification, and increasingly abstract forms of value creation. While capitalism has generated unprecedented material wealth and technological advancement, it has also deepened social inequalities, commodified ecological systems, and externalised environmental costs, raising urgent questions about its long-term viability on a finite planet.

Western capitalism rests on an assumption that nature exists primarily as a repository of resources to be extracted, commodified, and exchanged for profit. Critiques of capitalism have suggested that this economic logic is rooted in a broader anthropocentric worldview, the belief that humans are inherently superior to other forms of life, and that the Earth exists primarily for human use. Scholars have argued, for example, that certain interpretations of Judeo-Christian dominion over nature reinforced ideological premises for unrestricted environmental exploitation. This perceived entitlement to dominate nature has been suggested to have laid the ideological groundwork for centuries of ecological extraction and degradation. The ongoing disconnect from nature has been reinforced through education systems, urbanisation, and pervasive language that frames the natural world as a “resource” or “commodity”. This separation extends to everyday life, distancing people from the origins of their food, clothing, and energy. Consider, for example, the 7500 litres of water required to produce a single pair of jeans, or the vast piles of discarded garments dumped in Chile’s Atacama Desert. Such disconnection perpetuates cycles of consumption that remain largely blind to ecological limits and consequences.

 Eco-centric alternatives to anthropocentric, capitalist models

We must create economic systems that align with both societal and planetary wellbeing, moving beyond the arbitrary dictates of continuous growth and Gross Domestic Product (GDP). Indeed, Simon Kuznets, the economist who developed GDP as a measure of national economic output, cautioned it should not be used as a proxy for societal wellbeing. Despite this warning, GDP growth has become the dominant metric of progress, driving political, economic, and social agendas towards an unattainable goal that does not inherently create better societies. Fortunately, a diverse array of knowledge systems and relational, ecological economic frameworks offer inspiration for developing more equitable, eco-centric economies.

Perhaps the first step towards moving beyond growth-centred economic systems is to reevaluate what we collectively value as a society. Contemporary notions of success have come to prioritise wealth accumulation, property ownership, luxury consumption, and material status symbols, such as private jets, designer clothing, and expensive cars. In prioritising these, we risk losing sight of what truly defines our humanity: our relationships, communities, emotional experiences, and our shared existence on a planet that is magnificent, awe-inspiring, and life-giving. To realign our values, we might look to Indigenous belief systems for inspiration. In many African cosmologies, for instance, the land – both animate and inanimate – is regarded as a communal trust, inhabited by ancestors and non-human spirits alongside living communities. Oral traditions and ritual practices reinforce an ethic of reciprocity that transcends resource extraction. The early Khoisan people of Southern Africa exemplified this worldview, utilising every part of an animal, meat for sustenance, pelts for clothing, sinew for bowstrings, and bladders for water storage, while harvesting plants sustainably to avoid future scarcity. While these knowledge systems and practices have often been marginalised or actively suppressed by colonial and postcolonial state interventions, there are examples of relational economies, globally, that demonstrate how principles of reciprocity and ecological stewardship can be institutionalised in ways that generate tangible benefits.

Around the globe, local communities are demonstrating that relational economies can outperform extractive models in both environmental and social metrics. In the Peruvian Andes, for example, Quechua communities have established a biocultural territory where communal governance supports agroecological production, artisan crafts, and eco-tourism. All revenues are reinvested in communal wellbeing, thus rejecting profit-maximisation in favour of social and ecological regeneration. In Mexico, community-managed forests, such as those around Ixtlán de Juárez, maintain richer biodiversity, lower wildfire incidence, and higher carbon stocks than state-run reserves, while generating local employment. Northern Australia’s Indigenous-led savanna burning programmes employ traditional fire regimes to reduce greenhouse gas emissions and restore cultural landscapes, concurrently creating carbon-finance opportunities. In Canada, First Nations partnerships in conservation impact bonds, exemplified by the Deshkan Ziibi initiative, integrate Free, Prior and Informed Consent (FPIC) with market mechanisms, ensuring that biodiversity outcomes are co-designed and that cultural sovereignty is upheld. Other locally adapted innovations, such as agroforestry guilds, water-harvesting Zaï pits in the Sahel, and participatory weather forecasting by pastoralists, embody a sophisticated, place-based science of ecological and economic resilience rooted in respect for nature. 

Alongside community-based relational economic practices, academic work on alternative eco-centric economic frameworks, notably degrowth and doughnut economics, has gained increasing traction in both scholarly and policy circles. The degrowth model advocates for a fundamental shift away from values centred on accumulation, competition, and consumerism, towards principles of sufficiency, social, and planetary wellbeing. It challenges the dominant notion that perpetual economic growth should be society’s ultimate objective and calls for the cessation of marketing strategies and planned obsolescence (the deliberate shortening of product lifespans) that drive unsustainable consumerism and fuel capitalist economies. Consider, for example, that the first incandescent lightbulb, installed in 1901, is still burning today, a testament to durability, while modern lightbulbs typically last only about 1000 hours, a design choice that exemplifies planned obsolescence.

Doughnut economics, developed by economist Kate Raworth, proposes a framework for sustainable and inclusive growth. It seeks to ensure that everyone’s basic needs are met without exceeding the planet’s ecological boundaries. An example of the application of the principles of doughnut economics in practice comes from Mozambique’s Mount Gorongosa. After years of civil war, local communities were encouraged to plant coffee as a source of income. Instead of clearing more land, indigenous trees were interplanted with coffee bushes. These trees protected the crops, enriched the soil through falling leaves, and restored biodiversity. As a result, coffee yields increased with minimal inputs, and native species like pygmy chameleons were given a second chance. This initiative shows how it is possible to uplift communities while also healing the environment.

Degrowth and doughnut economics have gained prominence as academic critiques of unfettered growth. Beyond these frameworks, is an even broader constellation of models offering practical designs for relational economies. For example, the solidarity economy embraces worker cooperatives, mutual aid networks, and social profitability, circulating wealth within communities rather than externalising profits to absentee investors. In Mondragón (Spain) and the Evergreen Cooperatives of Cleveland (USA), democratically owned enterprises have weathered economic downturns more resiliently than conventional companies, redistributing income and fostering social cohesion. Wellbeing economies, such as those in Bhutan, New Zealand, and Scotland, have reorientated policy towards measures of health, happiness, and environmental quality rather than Gross Domestic Product. Austria’s Gemeinwohl-Ökonomie (Economy for the Common Good) prioritises values of human dignity, ecological sustainability, and social justice, embedding ethical accountability into economic practice. The concepts of Ecological Swaraj in India and Buen Vivir in the Andes further illustrate constitutional and local embodiments of sufficiency, cultural autonomy, and ecosystem harmony. 

A pragmatic approach to embedding better values into existing capitalist systems

Ultimately, the question remains whether existing capitalist infrastructures can be harnessed to support economies that view nature (and people) not as a resource to be exploited, but as a co-inhabitant to be respected and honoured, or whether more radical economic reforms are necessary. While a wholescale dismantling of global capitalist infrastructure may be necessary, it is important to recognise that capitalism as an economic theory is not inherently the problem. Rather, the issue lies in how capitalism has been applied, co-opted, and distorted to serve the interests of a narrow elite. From this perspective, transformative strategies may involve dismantling capitalist power hierarchies and corporate regimes that have driven the planet towards overshoot, and repurposing markets and financial instruments to support societal and planetary wellbeing. 

Our economic challenge is, then, epistemological as much as institutional: to shift the axis of value from extraction and consumption towards relationality, resilience, and reciprocity. This requires replacing growth as the primary gauge of success with multidimensional indicators of ecological health, cultural vitality, and community wellbeing. The examples of Indigenous belief systems, relational economies, and eco-centric economic frameworks provide foundational principles to rethink our economic values and priorities, centring societal and planetary wellbeing as the primary goals.