Life without hope

 

"We all sit here stranded, though we're all doing our best to deny it." --Bob Dylan

This is a difficult post to write. Despite everything, I have always been a congenital optimist, even though I have prided myself on my ability to look unblinkingly into the vortex and still find a reason to hope. My habitual metaphor has been my ardent hope for some viral, self-replicating "butterfly effect" that would trigger the "spontaneous remission of the Cancer of the Earth." But there comes a time...and for me, that time has come. Let me begin with a quote from a writer I follow on Medium named Richard Crim, who is very proficient in climate science:

The last time CO2 levels like this were seen on Earth, was three million years ago, according to the most detailed reconstruction of the Earth’s climate by researchers at the Potsdam Institute for Climate Impact Research (PIK) and published in Science Advances.

At that time, there were no ice sheets covering either Greenland or West Antarctica, and much of the East Antarctic ice sheet was gone. Beech forests were growing in Antarctica and temperatures were up to 7 degrees Fahrenheit (4.℃) warmer globally, at least double that at the poles, with sea levels some 20 meters (65 feet) higher than today.

This quote says it all. By raising CO2 levels to their current level, closing in on 450 ppm, we have initiated a host of irreversible, interlocking feedback loops that will dramatically accelerate the heating of the Earth, regardless of what we do to stop carbon emissions. But unlike the last time (3 million years ago), this heating will not be gradual, and hence will not enable the biota to adapt over hundreds of thousands--or millions--of years. Crim has coined the apt term "bomb time" to describe our current predicament.

Think of it this way: human time scales, compared to geological time scales, are infinitesimal--like the blink of an eye. Yet in the last 70 years--my lifetime--the CO2 level in our atmosphere has risen from roughly 300 ppm--slightly higher than the average high of 280 ppm over the previous 800,000 years (as measured in the bubbles of antarctic ice cores)--to the current, utterly unprecedented level of 420 ppm and rising steadily. When you graph my lifetime onto a geological time scale, it is the merest blip.  Yet within this blip of time, the atmospheric CO2 level has shot up, almost vertically, as seen on this graph:

In short, the fossil fuel age of the last 150-200 years looks, on a geological time scale, like a brief spike in energy release that could be compared to a volcano or a meteor impact--or a bomb. This means that this explosion of energy released into the atmosphere from the global proliferation of fossil fuels will play out inexorably in the next few decades, as the convergent feedback effects of loss of albedo from melting ice at both poles and all mountain ranges, methane release from melting permafrost, carbon release from wildfires and logging, ocean heating and acidification (and carbon release the calcium carbonate that builds dying coral reefs and shellfish), sea level rise, loss of (carbon-sequestering) vegetation due to prolonged drought, violent storms and floods, wildfires and so on. All of these destructive trends are strongly predicted to accelerate in the coming years, until the global climate reaches a new homeostasis, a new, higher set point, that is well beyond the tolerance of most of today's biota--at least large multicellular organisms like ourselves, or the food we eat. (Bacteria and fungi will do fine, no doubt, since they reproduce and evolve far faster than we do, and can already withstand temperature extremes far beyond our own tolerance.)

When you put all these (fully validated) climate data together, the conclusion is inescapable: we are fucked, and any effort to reduce climate emissions, convert to electicity, stop eating meat, or launch vastly expensive (and energy-intensive) geoengineering schemes--will be like arranging deck chairs on the Titanic. Or to cite another, perhaps more apt cliche, our goose is cooked, regardless of what we do.

So how do we live without hope? That is the question for this generation--which may well be the very last generation of humans--ever. I don't pretend to have a satisfactory answer to this conundrum, but these thoughts may help somewhat.

First, remember that the present is all there is. The future is just a mental formation, enabled by the unique gift of human language, which enables us to imagine such a thing. It does not actually exist, however, except in our minds. 

I learned this lesson from a hummingbird I saw hovering and feeding on a hanging fuchsia on the shady side of our house, during the utterly unprecedented heat wave of last summer, when the temperature here in the (normally cool and pleasant) Willamette Valley rose to an ungodly 114 degrees.  The hummingbird, like me, was suffering from the heat--and like me, he is doomed.  But he needed to eat, to sip the lifegiving nectar of that fuchsia, and the sight of him sipping from the flowers despite the torrid heat gave me a transport of grace, a moment of pure joy, that has stayed in my memory ever since. Having no concept of "the future," the hummingbird was enthusiastically embracing the present moment--the delicious, life-sustaining nectar--despite the appalling temperature. So should we all embrace such moments of grace as they arise: the laughter of children, the eyes of our beloved, a delightful symphony or string quartet,  the rising sun over a misty lake... they are truly all that matter, impermanent though they may be.

So here are a few humble suggestions for coping with a world without hope, with no future at all.

1. Breathe, Observe, and Let Go. Cultivate a spiritual practice every day. It does not matter which brand you choose, or what you "believe;" they all have useful  practices for facing and enduring the traumas and vicissitudes of life. The main benefit of all such practices is that they help you accept that that is, to let go of wishing things were other than they are (such longing is the source of all human vices and all human suffering). If you are a "believer," try "Thy Will be done" as a good mantra; if you are not, try the old Walter Cronkite sign-off, "That's the way it is." Whatever works best for you. 
2. Be well, Do Good Work, Keep in Touch. Take care of everyone and everything, and abandon no one and nothing.  Starting with yourself, take good care of your body, feelings, and mental state; then turn to your livelihood and daily tasks, and attend to them mindfully; finally (and most importantly) be there for those closest to you--spouse, family, friends--expanding your circle of care to include everyone you encounter, and ultimately, all living beings, including even your enemies. My own favorite mantra for this is a line from William Blake: "Everything that lives is holy"--however impermanent.
3. Learn, Teach, Heal, and Create. No matter what happens as the momentum builds in the ongoing and accelerating collapse of our civilization and biological support system, organize your life around these four standing goals: to cultivate resilience through the constant learning of new knowledge and skills; to teach what you know to others; to heal, as best you can, your own and others' physical and emotional distress, and to take care of the portions of our living planet entrusted to us--our own gardens, farms, and communities; and finally, to use your creative gifts in whatever ways nourish your own life and that of others. Hence the slogan I have put on my own self-designed bumper-sticker that sums up all of the above, a succinct recipe for cultivating resilience in a time of growing chaos and catastrophe:  Grow Gardens, Grow Community, Grow Awareness.