The link below is to the University of California’s new report on the state and future impacts of the decline of Lake Mead. Critical reading:
Sheesh! “Such an option is essential given that the very oceans that support Maldives’ economy would engulf it by the end of the century, eradicating a 2000-year-old culture.”
essential read below, but
re below: climate change is also in the details, not in the landslide, which is tragic, but in this, the last paragraph: “Heavy rain in May triggered a landslide in Pangalengan district in Bandung, West Java, which killed at least five people and caused the explosion of a geothermic pipe owned by Geothermal Start Energy.”
Solving social problems is difficult enough, but when you're not even sure how to define the problem, things get even tougher? Tim Curtis calls these conundrums "wicked issues". "A wicked issue," he says, "is a social problem in which the various stakeholders can barely agree on what the definition of the problem should be, let alone on what the solution is."
Last week, I blogged about a striking figure created by evolutionary biologist Josh Rosenau of the National Center for Science Education, plotting U.S. based faiths and denominations based on 1) their members’ views about the reality of human evolution and 2) those members’ support for tough environmental laws.
The figure (below) has created much discussion, both because of what it seems to suggest about the unending debate over the relationship between science and religion, but also because of how it appears to confirm that more conservative leaning denominations harbor a form of science resistance that extends well beyond evolution rejection and into the climate change arena.
This study by Richard G. Miller and Steven R. Sorrell for the Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society (a scientific journal with 350 years of research behind it) is provided here for two reasons. First, the study is thorough and fascinating, a valuable resource for anyone in the industry or considering divestment. However, the second reason I have provided it here, is that it also represents a time capsule of sorts. The study was published in 2013, which is not long ago, but in climate and energy landscape in the world, it is a very long time ago indeed. In 2013, the question was still, 'when will we hit peak oil'. Now, the question is, 'How soon can we divest from oil before it is worth more in the ground?' Also, it will be interesting to return to this article in a few years hence to see just where it stands in relation to the petroleum industry (and age) at that time.
Thus began the bringing out of chairs. There were two folding metal chairs (i can't stand them), four were something resembling a knee high box with a cut out handle, except with a step built in, two dinner table chairs with totally different fabrics (rickety), and a table which had to be carried carefully so it didn't fall into two halves. This collection of furniture outside on the street was absolutely random and fit in with everything around them and everything had the bright green new leaves across from us near the sidewalk as a backdrop.
A decade ago, Nobel Prize-winning scientist Paul Crutzen first suggested we were living in the “Anthropocene,” a new geological epoch in which humans had altered the planet. Now, in an article for Yale Environment 360, Crutzen and a coauthor explain why adopting this term could help transform the perception of our role as stewards of the Earth.
Spiritual ecology calls us to dismantle the powerful defense mechanisms we have developed against our impulse to listen to the sacred in our world. Awe and mystery are so vital to the human experience of the natural world that without them we are doomed to treat nature as little more than a resource, a science or a playground for recreation alone.
Tonight I read Edna St, Vincent Milay's poem, Spring. Reading it satisfied a mood I was in. Last week two men whom I loved died. One, Fr Thomas Hopko, was my mentor and friend for years and also one of the giants of church life and theology. The other man was my parishioner for many years and had dedicated time each day of his life to pray for me. We went through a lot together in my parish and I deeply saddened by his passing. However, when I read Milay's poem I immediately thought of Hopkins' poem of the same title and realized how contrasting they are when side by side. I see now that they form an interesting dialogue. So I put this little visual together.
I propose that it is time for us to accept as a premise in whatever environmental discussions we have -- or indeed, in any deliberations on anything taking place in the future -- the fact that the world is coming to an end. Well, not the world itself: The planet is actually pretty resilient, and will likely continue on its orbit unbothered by the warm spell; it's just people, along with most other life forms, that will disappear. Geologically, there's not so much to worry about; biologically, on the other hand, we have a situation.
I am twelve years old. I am alone, I am scared, I am cold, and I am crying my eyes out. I can’t see more than six feet in either direction. I am on some godforsaken moor high up on the dark, ancient, poisonous spine of England. The black bog juice I have been trudging through for hours has long since crept over the tops of my boots and down into my socks. My rucksack is too heavy, I am unloved and lost and I will never find my way home. It is raining and the cloud is punishing me; clinging to me, laughing at me. Twenty-five years later, I still have a felt memory of that experience and its emotions: a real despair and a terrible loneliness.
Water makes life possible, while oil is toxic to most life. Water in its pure state is clear; oil is dark. Water dissolves; oil congeals. Water has inspired great poetry and literature. Our language is full of allusions to springs, depths, currents, rivers, seas, rain, mist, dew, and snowfall....We think of time flowing like a river. We cry oceans of tears. We ponder the wellsprings of thought. Oil, on the contrary, has had no such effect on our language. To my knowledge, it has given rise to no poetry, hymns, or great literature, and probably to no flights of imagination other than those of pecuniary accumulation.
Few people over the centuries have had the confidence, or perhaps the chutzpah, to publicly prognosticate on what a papal encyclical would say. But the ascension of Pope Francis has been accompanied by the rise of an entire industry devoted to ripping his words from their contexts, putting words in his mouth, or applying convoluted hermeneutics to tease out what he "really" means. As a result, speculation about his upcoming ecological encyclical has reached fever pitch.
My one word for 2015 is discipline, principally because at its root is the word disciple. I think discipline is discipleship in action and requires only that I apply myself with purpose to what is already manifest in my life. I am a disciple to God in Christ (a practitioner of the Gospels), a disciple to the earth (with its ecosystems, plants, animals, lakes, shorelines, mountains – all of it calling me now to postulance), a disciple to my vocation as a father to three girls (the
Over the lat few weeks I have been thinking about Gerard Manley Hopkins a lot. Truth is, I think about him a lot anyway, but somehow his poem, The Windhover, has really been playing in me deeply. One thing about the poem I have always admired is how Hopkins uses the word 'AND'. The sonnet is so tightly put together that its various themes all hing on that word, a conjunctive even. The joy, the theology, the transformation of bird to Christ, of man to Jesuit, and even the srung rhythm of the poem, all break out and express themselves through the 'AND'.