Sometimes the seeds of collapse are sown in the very soil of prosperity. Beneath the ancient city of Troy’s shining walls, the earth quietly cracked under the weight of its ambition.

When we think of environmental destruction today, images of oil rigs, coal plants or plastic islands come to mind. But long before industry, ancient societies were already pushing their ecosystems to the brink.

One striking example comes from early bronze age Troy – a story of economic brilliance shadowed by lasting ecological cost. It is not merely a tale of innovation and success, but a cautionary one about overreach, exhaustion and the hidden costs of unchecked growth.

Between 2500 and 2300BC, Troy emerged as a centre of power and experimentation in north-western Anatolia (the Asian part of what is now Turkey), centuries before Homer’s Iliad made it legendary. At its peak, the city is estimated to have had a population of 10,000.

Through years of excavation with the University of Tübingen’s Troy Project, I have come to understand how deliberate choices in production, planning and organisation gradually transformed a modest bronze age village into a vibrant community with early urban traits. Troy’s monumental stone buildings, orderly streets and distinct residential quarters reflected a society in transition.

At the heart of this transformation was the rise of mass production. Drawing on Mesopotamian models, the potter’s wheel revolutionised Troy’s ceramics, enabling faster, more uniform and large-scale output. Wheel-thrown pottery soon dominated, marked by deep grooves and simplified finishes that prioritised efficiency over artistry.

Examples of wheel-thrown plates, mass-produced in Troy between 2500 and 2000BC. Institute of Classical Archaeology at the University of Tübingen/Valentin Marquardt, CC BY-SA

As production ramped up, so too did the need for a more structured and specialised workforce. Craftsmanship shifted from homes into workshops and labour became increasingly specialised and segmented. Trade flourished, reaching far beyond the Troad (the broader landscape around Troy) and surpassing the settlement’s local reach.

To manage this growing complexity, people introduced standardised weights and administrative seals – tools of coordination and control in an increasingly commercialised world.

But progress, then as now, came at a cost. The very innovations that fuelled Troy’s ascent unleashed forces that proved increasingly difficult to contain.

Prosperity through extraction

Troy’s wealth was built on relentless extraction. Monumental buildings demanded tons of limestone from nearby quarries. Clay was dredged from once-fertile riverbanks to feed kilns and brick-making. Forests were stripped bare for timber and firewood – the lifeblood of a booming ceramic industry that burned day and night.

Agriculture, too, underwent radical intensification. Earlier generations had rotated crops and rested their fields. Troy’s farmers, by contrast, pursued maximum yields through continuous cultivation. Emmer and einkorn (ancient wheat varieties well-suited to poor soils but low in yield and protein) dominated. They were hardy and easy to store, but nutritionally depleting.

As farmland expanded onto steep, fragile slopes, erosion took hold. Hills once covered in forest became barren, as archaeobotanical evidence confirms.

Reconstruction of the local vegetation in the vicinity of Troy between 3300-3000BC (left) and 2500-2300BC (right). University of Tübingen

Livestock added further pressure. Herds of sheep and goats grazed intensively on upland pastures, tearing up vegetation and compacting the soil. The result was reduced water retention, collapsing topsoil and declining biodiversity. Gradually, the ecological equilibrium that had underpinned Troy’s prosperity began to unravel.

By around 2300BC, the system began to fracture. A massive fire ravaged the settlement – perhaps triggered by revolt or conflict. Monumental structures were abandoned, replaced by smaller dwellings and modest farmsteads. The centre of power faltered.

This collapse is likely to have been driven by a combination of factors: political tensions, external threats and social unrest. But the environmental strain is impossible to ignore. Soil exhaustion, deforestation and erosion would have led to water scarcity, resource scarcity and possibly even famine. Each factor eroded the foundations of Troy’s stability.

In the aftermath, adaptation took precedence over ambition. Farmers diversified their crops, moving away from high-yield monoculture towards more varied and resilient strategies. Risk was spread, soil partially recovered and communities began to stabilise.

Troy did not vanish – it adjusted and found a new balance for another millennia. But it did so in the shadow of a crisis it had helped create.

Lessons from a worn landscape

Troy’s story is more than archaeological curiosity – it is a mirror. Like many societies past and present, its economic ambitions outpaced ecological limits. The warning signs were there: falling yields, thinning forests, eroding hillsides. But the illusion of endless growth proved too tempting to resist.

The parallels with today are stark. Resource depletion, short-term gain and environmental neglect remain central features of our global economy. Technologies may have evolved – the mindset, however, has not. We consume, discard, expand and repeat.

As in the bronze age, the landscape surrounding Troy continues to be intensively cultivated. Today, it is dominated by large-scale production of maize, cotton and tomatoes. University of Tübingen

But Troy also offers a glimmer of hope: the possibility of adaptation after excess, resilience after rupture. It reminds us that sustainability is not a modern ideal – it is a timeless necessity.

Troy is proof that no society, however ingenious, is immune to the consequences of ecological overreach. The warning signs of imbalance are never absent – they are merely easy to ignore. Whether we choose to heed them is up to us.