This morning at dawn, the sky was filled horizon to horizon with flights of geese, constantly calling as they headed north. Flight after flight passed over the farm, the surrounding woods alive with the chatter of birds. The cacophony was almost enough to drown out the background aspiration of motor vehicles, inescapable even out here in the countryside, far from any town or highway.
In my darker moments, I am filled with foreboding. Oil and other fossil fuels, humans could and will learn once again to live without. And even thrive, as humans did for tens of thousands of years – although our numbers might not be so great. Perhaps a blessing, as the world would be replenished with other species. But consider: what if, in the last spasms of the fossil fuel age, humans were to destroy the very ground of their being, erasing any chance of transitioning to a more gentle and hopeful future?
Humans have already set in motion forces that are profoundly changing Earth, most likely into an Earth we will no longer find familiar and amenable.
A new study in the journal Science finds only one period in the last 300 million years when the oceans acidified as fast as today: the Paleocene-Eocene Thermal Maximum, or PETM. Says lead author Bärbel Hönisch:
What we’re doing today really stands out in the geologic record. We know that life during past ocean acidification events was not wiped out – new species evolved to replace those that died off. But if industrial carbon emissions continue at the current pace, we may lose organisms we care about – coral reefs, oysters, salmon.
In his comments on the study, Joseph Romm at Climate Progress notes humans are putting marine life at risk in a frighteningly unique way:
[T]he current rate of CO2 release stands out as capable of driving a combination and magnitude of ocean geochemical changes potentially unparalleled in at least the last ~300 My of Earth history, raising the possibility that we are entering an unknown territory of marine ecosystem change.
Old species, new species – Earth doesn’t care. But we might. Especially if one of those species is us.
Global temperatures are rising, with Arctic temperatures rising the most. Arctic ice is disappearing, with the oldest and thickest Arctic ice vanishing faster than younger, thinner ice. Sea ice loss is affecting the large-scale atmospheric circulation, which leads to weird weather patterns and extreme weather events in the Northern Hemisphere: longer-duration cold spells, snow events, heat waves, flooding events, and drought conditions.
Earth takes several decades to respond to increased CO2 because of the thermal inertia of the oceans. Consequently, the effects we’re seeing today result from what we thoughtlessly dumped into the air 25 to 50 years ago. And emissions have grown enormously since then. While global crude oil production may have finally plateaued, crude production increased about 25% since 1980. Global natural gas production doubled over that period, while global coal production almost doubled. Climate impacts from the huge amounts of CO2 emitted in the last three or four decades, although yet unfelt, are already locked in.
Emissions are now beyond the control of the U.S. and other western nations. Asia-Pacific coal output has doubled, and doubled again (a 400 percent increase) since 1980. China’s coal consumption is now four times that of the U.S., and China alone is now responsible for about half of the world’s coal consumption.
Global emissions have never been higher than now, and prospects for voluntarily doing anything to lower them are nil. In another thirty or forty years, humans will begin to reap the consequences. Unfortunately, other living creatures will suffer the consequences, too. Resource limits and economic contraction offer the only hope for keeping the consequences of climate change to merely “catastrophic” levels.
One of the reasons we choose to live in the Pacific Northwest is because the region is predicted to suffer relatively less from climate change. But even if those “rosy” scenarios prove correct, how much faith can we place in the continued ecological integrity and productivity of our refuge? Will geese continue to fly north to breed in the spring? Will salmon continue to spawn in our streams? Will the mighty Douglas-fir continue to grow thick in our mountains? Will the rains continue to fall, greening the grass and nurturing our crops? Will the summer warmth continue to ripen our grapes and our tomatoes? After the last couple of summers, who can be sure?
For our lives it probably doesn’t matter, as the more fearsome consequences of humanity’s perfidity won’t have time to become manifest before the end of our time on Earth. But we shudder for those who will follow.
Pray for collapse. Plan for collapse. Work for collapse. Collapse is humanity’s only hope.