“The weight of this sad time we must obey/Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say…” Shakespeare, King Lear.
Once again, in what seems at times my perverse addiction to doomscrolling, I find myself reading yet another article by prominent climate scientists and professional, scientifically literate journalists who, to a person, are confirming what I already know: that both our global industrial civilization and the biological support systems that sustain it are doomed to inevitable, catastrophic collapse due to our fossil fuel addiction and the overshoot of human population and resource consumption well beyond what our planet can sustain. This imminent, unimaginable collapse has already passed many tipping points — accelerating global heating; destruction of global biodiversity on land and sea alike; rising energy prices due to depletion of fossil fuels; brutal resource-driven wars of conquest by fascist regimes like Putin’s Russia (and likely Xi’s China as well in the near future); record-smashing heat waves, droughts, wildfires, floods, and violent weather breaking out simultaneously all over the world; and the rapid erosion of the democratic and diplomatic norms that have largely kept the peace, both domestically and internationally, since the end of World War II. And so, as I grow more and more certain that our time is up on this planet, and that we are destroying our habitat, taking the plants and creatures we’ve always known with us to oblivion, I have started to carry with me, everywhere I go, a persistent, often overwhelming grief, especially when I see and interact with beautiful young people and children, or when I walk out in my garden, or through the magnificent fields, woodlands, and rivers where I live, here in Oregon. These things, which once brought me joy, now are tinged with grief, as I contemplate their imminent demise (and my own as well).
I am lucky; at almost 73 years old, I have already been blessed with the proverbial threescore-and-ten year lifespan, during a time, mostly, of unprecedented postwar affluence, international stability, rapid technological innovation, and steadily advancing freedom and democracy throughout the world. None of my descendants, nor anyone else’s, will be so fortunate. Though I am childless myself (fortunately!), I still have nieces, nephews, and grand-nieces and nephews — as well as all the delightful, curious, ambitious college students I have taught over my 35+ year career as a professor. I love them all, wish them all well, but I don’t envy any of them for their youth and beauty. None, however successful, will have a life anything like my own or that of my peers; instead, their future will be a hellscape of ecological and agricultural collapse, global starvation and die-off, the rise of psychopathic demagogues like Trump and Putin everywhere, the breakdown of civil society into fiercely defended islands of (deteriorating) wealth, surrounded by a turbulent sea of destitution, resentment, polarization, psychosis, and murderous tribal warfare. And according to many prominent climate scientists, such as Dr. Guy McPherson, none of us will escape the extinction that follows the collapse of our habitat, when all the plants and animals we depend on for our food, and the insects that pollinate those plants, are gone, due to the annually accelerating rise in global temperatures and the havoc this is already causing, and will increasingly cause, on our weather, agriculture, ecosystems, and communities worldwide.
In contemplating this gloomy scenario we all face — of no global future at all, other than collapse, chaos, and extinction, I feel that for our own and others’ sakes, we need to make a crucial distinction between despair and grief. Despair, however justified it may seem, is neurotic and demoralizing; it can lead, all too easily, to behavior that only increases our own and others’ suffering, such as rage, violence, madness, or suicide.
Most people, of course, are trying to avoid grief or despair altogether, by living in chronic denial, reassuring themselves and telling their children that all will be well, if we only (take your choice) — throw out the bums in power, tax the rich, grow more trees, go solar or nuclear, or (more hatefully) work hard to get rich, stop wasting money on the poor and homeless, build gated communities, crack down on protesters and environmental “terrorists,” ridicule the “junk science” of “doomsayers,” increase oil production, and so forth. But denial leads ultimately to resentment, fear, and despair, when the reality being denied finally hits home.
Grief, conversely, is rooted in love: it is the endurance and ultimate acceptance of the inevitable loss of all we cherish, up to and including our own lives, the lives of all those we love, our secure and comfortable way of life, our communities and nations, and ultimately, of the only living and life-sustaining planet we will ever know.
Buddhist traditions have a variety of useful techniques for coming to terms emotionally with impermanence, which is (and always has been) an inescapable reality. One I like to use is called the “Five Remembrances” as translated by the eminent (recently deceased) Vietnamese monk and teacher Thich Nhat Hanh. Recited mindfully at the beginning of a meditation session, it goes as follows:
1. “I am of the nature to grow old; there is no way to escape growing old.
2. “I am of the nature to have ill health; there is no way to escape ill health.
3. “I am of the nature to die; there is no way to escape death.
4. “All that is dear to us and everyone I love are of the nature to change. There is no way to escape being separated from them.
5. “I inherit the results of my actions of body, speech, and mind. My actions are my only true possessions.” (From Chanting from the Heart, p. 51)
In our current time of inexorable global collapse and likely extinction, we can elaborate on the first four of these five remembrances by reciting them three or more times in a row; starting with “I” and then going on (depending on our own preferences) to “my family,” “my community,” “my nation,” and finally (most importantly) “our living planet (Gaia)…”
In this way the everyday grief we all must endure, once we fully awaken to the inescapable reality of imminent global collapse and extinction, can be gradually transformed into acceptance, enabling us to let go of false hopes and get on with our essential daily agenda, based on love for ourselves, for others, and for Gaia: being well, doing good work, keeping in touch, and growing gardens, growing community, and growing awareness.