By David French
Thursday, July 25, 2019
Yesterday I read one of the sadder articles I’ve read in
a long time. It’s in BuzzFeed, and it’s the personal story of a young
woman who became a “birth striker.” That’s a person who chooses not to have
children — as an act of personal autonomy, yes, but also as a statement of
despair at the state and fate of the world.
It’s difficult to overstate the bleakness of her vision.
When friends tell her that her children could be agents of change, she
responds:
I want to agree with them, but I
can’t. Because we are in a crisis, an emergency. And my kid won’t solve it, and
your kid won’t solve it. If they are empaths they will feel just as trapped as
I do, just as complicit in something they cannot solve — and they will pollute
and harm and gobble up the world because that is what it means to live in the
21st century.
When she had an unintended pregnancy, she tried to get an
abortion but couldn’t afford the procedure. When she told her environmentalist
friends that she was pregnant, “they froze. Did I know that abortion was an
option? they asked. As if I did not. One friend sat silently for a long
time after I told him, and then sniffed. ‘That baby will use up a lot of
resources,’ he said, then got up slowly and biked away.”
She gave her child up for adoption. She loves her
daughter, and she’s “glad she exists,” but she also says that “her existence —
white, middle class, pampered — will make it harder, in some slippery,
maddening math that is not her fault, for others to do the same.”
The author’s words echo the despair of another writer,
who wrote these words last year in the pages of the New York Times:
I cried two times when my daughter was
born. First for joy, when after 27 hours of labor the little feral being we’d
made came yowling into the world, and the second for sorrow, holding the
earth’s newest human and looking out the window with her at the rows of cars in
the hospital parking lot, the strip mall across the street, the box stores and
drive-throughs and drainage ditches and asphalt and waste fields that had once
been oak groves. A world of extinction and catastrophe, a world in which
harmony with nature had long been foreclosed. My partner and I had, in our
selfishness, doomed our daughter to life on a dystopian planet, and I could see
no way to shield her from the future.
There is now such a thing as “climate-change anxiety,”
and as the Washington Post reported last month, it’s filtering into pop
culture. A key subplot in one episode of the HBO series Big Little Lies
featured a child suffering an actual panic attack during a classroom
climate-change discussion. In another HBO show, Euphoria, a character
justifies her drug use by claiming that “the world’s coming to an end, and I
haven’t even graduated high school yet.”
I’m reminded of the nuclear fears that haunted my
generation. I grew up during intense Cold War tensions. As a young nerd, I even
tried to calculate whether our house was in the blast radius if the Soviets
targeted the Bluegrass Army Depot, a nearby storage facility for chemical
weapons. I remember watching The Day After when I was 14 years old, and
the next morning it was all anyone talked about in my Kentucky public school.
I’m not going to say that nuclear fears dominated our
minds, but they certainly dominated some minds, and the anxiety could be
very real.
But I think there’s a key difference between
climate-change anxiety and nuclear anxiety: There is far more cause for hope
for the future now than there was then. In fact, if you rewind to 1983, we were
facing a recent world experience that clearly taught us that catastrophic
great-power conflict wasn’t just possible but was the recent norm in human
affairs. Two opposing powers faced each other, bristling with weapons, and
history taught us that this was a recipe for total war. We did not have
concrete reason to hope for the peace that did, in fact, come.
But what is recent history teaching us about the human
condition on this planet? It gives us both cause for concern and reason
for hope. One does not have to buy the doomsday scenarios — including the
predictions that we have a decade (or less) to save the planet — to be
concerned about humanity’s impact on the climate and the climate’s impact on
humans. I am concerned, and I do believe we should take reasonable measures to
mitigate that impact.
But we should not give into dystopian thinking. The same
human ingenuity and industry that has extended life expectancies, slashed
extreme poverty by 74 percent in 25 years, and also reduced carbon emissions in
numerous advanced economies can advance the twin, interconnected goals of human
flourishing and planetary flourishing.
In fact, as Tyler Cowen argued at Bloomberg in March, the
reality of human ingenuity argues for having more children, not fewer. He asks,
“Is the remedy for climate change, to the extent we find one, more likely to
come from North America or New Zealand?” As he notes, “the wealthier and more
populous America is a more likely source of technological innovation, even
though it is also a more significant source of greenhouse gases.”
Earlier this week, writing in Foreign Policy
magazine, my friend Ted Nordhaus, founder of the Breakthrough Institute,
highlighted U.S. investments in two technologies, shale gas and nuclear power,
that have generated immense benefits:
Washington may have wasted billions
of dollars in the 1970s and 1980s on synthetic fuels, but during the same
period, it spent a fraction of that on shale gas, which has brought such
extraordinary economic benefits to the U.S. economy that it alone has probably
made up for the cost of all other federal energy investments since the end of
World War II. . . . U.S. investments in nuclear energy have proved similarly
efficient. Over the last half-century, nuclear plants have avoided somewhere
between 15 and 20 gigatons of carbon emissions, at a cost of less than $5 per
ton.
Nordhaus is a coauthor the “Ecomodernist Manifesto,” an
environmentalist document that utterly contradicts the modern conservative
caricature of environmentalism and rebuts the bleak vision of “birth strikers”
and other dystopian doomsayers. It’s not a new document — it was written in
2015 — but it’s one that too few conservatives (not too mention too few
Christians) have read.
It leaves ample room for political disagreement about
costs, approach, and policy, but it holds that human well-being can be increasingly
decoupled from the destruction of nature. It begins, “To say that the Earth is
a human planet becomes truer every day. Humans are made from the Earth, and the
Earth is remade by human hands. Many earth scientists express this by stating
that the Earth has entered a new geological epoch: the Anthropocene, the Age of
Humans. As scholars, scientists, campaigners, and citizens, we write with the
conviction that knowledge and technology, applied with wisdom, might allow for
a good, or even great, Anthropocene.”
Amen to that.
When I read the despair evident on the virtual pages of BuzzFeed
and the New York Times — and portrayed on HBO — it grieves me not
because there isn’t cause for concern but because there is no need for panic.
It transmits the mistaken view that care for the environment means that we must
minimize the inherent worth of humanity or hold back development from those
countless millions of souls who seek the same bounty and opportunity that’s now
baked into the our world’s advanced economies.
In his Foreign Policy essay, Nordhaus seeks to
shift the “climate debate from one in which one party posits an existential
threat demanding solutions that serve its own interests and the other denies
that the problem even exists for similar reasons.” His alternative is what he
calls a “quiet climate policy.” This he defines as “the art of the possible,
focused on reducing the costs of action, disentangling climate policy from the
ideological disputes and electoral calculations, . . . and lowering the
political threshold for meaningful action.”
Amen to that as well. Quiet climate policy depends on
understanding not only that a challenge exists but also that panic is
counterproductive and polarization should be shunned. It also depends on a few
fundamental assertions — we are not doomed, human beings should flourish, and
our God-given ingenuity and creativity can craft the instruments of our own
environmental rescue.
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