Sometimes the seeds of collapse are sown in the very soil of prosperity. Beneath the gleaming walls of the ancient city of Troy, in Asia Minor (present-day Türkiye), the earth cracked silently under the weight of his ambition. When we think of environmental destruction these days, images of oil rigs, coal-fired power plants, or islands of plastic come to mind. But, long before industry, ancient societies were already pushing their ecosystems to the limit.
At the beginning of the Bronze Age (2500-2300 BC), Troy provides us with a striking example: a story of brilliant economic success overshadowed by a lasting ecological cost. This is not just a story of innovation and success, but a warning against overbidding, burnout and the hidden costs of uncontrolled growth.
Between 2500 and 2300 BCE, Troy became a center of power and experimentation in the northwest of present-day Anatolia (the Asian part of Turkey), several centuries before theIliad of Homer makes it legendary. At its peak, the city would have had an estimated population of 10,000 inhabitants.
Through years of excavations carried out as part of the Troy Project at the University of Tübingen (Baden-Württemberg, Germany), we have understood how deliberate choices in production, planning and organization gradually transformed a modest Bronze Age village into a vibrant community with the first features of a city. Troy’s monumental stone buildings, orderly streets, and distinct residential neighborhoods reflected a society in transition.
At the heart of this transformation was the rise of mass production. Inspired by Mesopotamian models, the potter’s wheel revolutionized Trojan ceramics, allowing faster, more uniform and larger-scale production. Pottery turned on a potter’s wheel quickly dominated production. They were characterized by deep grooves and simplified finishes that prioritized efficiency over artistry.
As production increased, so did the need for a more structured and specialized workforce. Crafts moved from homes to workshops and work became increasingly specialized and segmented. Trade flourished, extending far beyond the Troad (the region of Troy) and beyond the local reach of the colony.
To manage this growing complexity, the Trojans introduced standardized weight measurements and administrative seals, tools of coordination and control in a world that was increasingly turning to commerce. But progress, then as now, had a cost. The very innovations that fueled Troy’s rise unleashed forces that proved increasingly difficult to contain.
Prosperity through exploitation
Troy’s wealth was based on incessant exploitation. The monumental buildings required tons of limestone from nearby quarries. Clay was extracted from the once fertile riverbanks to fuel kilns and brick making. Forests were cleared to provide lumber and firewood, vital elements of a booming ceramic industry, which operated day and night.
Agriculture also saw radical intensification. Previous generations practiced crop rotation and left their fields fallow. Troy’s farmers, on the other hand, sought to achieve maximum yields through continuous cultivation. Emmer and einkorn (or “einkorn”), ancient varieties of wheat well adapted to poor soils but low in yield and low in protein, dominated. They were tough and easy to store, but low in nutrients.
As farmland expanded onto steep, fragile slopes, erosion took hold. Hills once covered in forests have become barren, as archaeobotanical evidence confirms.
Livestock added additional pressure. Flocks of sheep and goats grazed extensively on upland pastures, tearing out vegetation and compacting the soil. This resulted in reduced water retention, collapse of topsoil and decline in biodiversity. Little by little, the ecological balance, which had supported the prosperity of Troy, began to disintegrate.
Around 2300 BCE, the system began to fracture. A massive fire ravaged the colony, perhaps sparked by a revolt or conflict. The monumental buildings were abandoned, replaced by smaller dwellings and modest farms. The center of power has collapsed.
Like many societies past and present, Troy’s economic ambitions exceeded the ecological limits of its environment.
This collapse was likely caused by a combination of factors: political tensions, external threats and social unrest. But it is impossible to ignore environmental pressure. Soil exhaustion, deforestation and erosion have certainly led to water scarcity, resource scarcity and, perhaps even, famine. Each of these factors eroded the foundations of the city’s stability.
Subsequently, adaptation took precedence over ambition. Farmers have diversified their crops, abandoning high-yielding monocultures in favor of more varied and resilient strategies. Risks were spread, soils partially regenerated, and communities began to stabilize. Troy did not disappear: it adapted and found a new balance for another millennium. But she did so in the shadow of a crisis she helped create.
Lessons from a worn landscape
The history of Troy is more than an archaeological curiosity, it is a mirror. Like many societies past and present, its economic ambitions have exceeded the ecological limits of its environment. The warning signs were there: falling yields, impoverishment of forests, erosion of hills. But the illusion of infinite growth proved too tempting to resist.
The parallels with today are striking. Resource depletion, short-term gains and environmental neglect remain central features of our global economy. Technologies may have evolved, but mentalities have not. We consume, we throw away, we develop and we start again.
But Troy also offers a glimmer of hope: the possibility of adaptation after excess, of resilience after rupture. It reminds us that sustainability is not a modern ideal, but a timeless necessity. Troy is proof that no society, no matter how ingenious, is immune from the consequences of ecological overshoot. The warning signs of imbalance are visible, but it’s easy to look away. It is up to us to decide whether we want to take them into account.
