Bill McKibben’s “The End of Nature”

From The New Yorker's archive: a sweeping early report, published in 1989, about global warming and its impact.  ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌   View in browser | Update your preferences     Reflections The End of Nature The rise of greenhouse gases and our warming earth. By William McKibben The reporter and essayist Bill McKibben has a remarkable ability to infuse potentially dry topics with a sense of personal urgency. Since 1982, McKibben has contributed more than four hundred pieces to The New Yorker, on the environment and other subjects. The author of eighteen books, including "American Earth" and "Oil and Honey," McKibben offers a contemplative approach to the science of cataclysm. One of my favorite pieces by McKibben is "The End of Nature," a sweeping early report, published in 1989, about global warming and its staggering impact. Remarking on the toll that human activity had already taken, he muses on the spiritual ramifications of man's dominion over—and contortion of—nature. "An idea can become extinct, just like an animal or a plant. The idea in this case is 'nature'—the wild province, the world apart from man, under whose rules he was born and died," McKibben writes. "It is too early to tell exactly how much harder the wind will blow, how much hotter the sun will shine. That is for the future. But their meaning has already changed." Published more than thirty years ago, when many were first encountering the notion of climate change, McKibben's piece is striking for its mournful tone. Yes, he wants us to comprehend the science behind the dramatic changes in our environment, but he also wants us to appreciate the scope and significance of this loss. It's our confidence in the cyclical predictability of nature, he notes, that frees us to be fully human. Absent this certainty, we are left unmoored. McKibben's piece evolves into an extraordinary amalgam: a benediction wrapped within a disquisition. There may still be beauty, he observes, but the essence of our natural world has been irrevocably altered—imperilling our future and leaving us to wonder, with elegiac resignation, what might have been.   —Erin Overbey, archive editor More from the Archive     Annals of Innovation Solar Power for Everyone From 2015: Cheap green energy is finally within reach, and it's making utility companies nervous. By Bill McKibben     Daily Comment Fifty Years Past the First Earth Day, a Frayed Planet—and a Sublime One From 2020: The largest living systems on Earth have deteriorated badly, and too many of the leaders of our species are coarse and brutal. And yet so much goodness and kindness endure. By Bill McKibben You're receiving this e-mail because you signed up for the New Yorker Classics newsletter. Was this e-mail forwarded to you? Sign up.   Unsubscribe | Manage your e-mail preferences | Send newsletter feedback | View our privacy policy    The New Yorker may earn a portion of sales from products and services that are purchased through links in our newsletters as part of our affiliate partnerships with retailers.    Copyright © Condé Nast 2022. One World Trade Center, New York, NY 10007. All rights reserved.