The Machine Is Not Green

Green activist Paul Kingsnorth has given up, and he explains why in his rather grim, beautifully written, and occasionally cabalistic collection Confessions of a Recovering Environmentalist and Other Essays . . . this is a heavy read, bordering on a manifesto, and Kingsnorth does not see a traditionally Green future for our planet; he has no regard for the techno-optimists, who very well might solve the major human environmental problems in our future-- climate change and floods and famines and disasters and feeding the burgeoning population-- but he sees very little hope for the things that used to matter to traditional conservationists: biodiversity and wild places and an appreciation for ecology . . . he doesn't even think education is the answer; many people know the facts and most of those people would still rather escape into sleek digitized worlds of their own creation . . . he does have a few lists of what you can do, if you don't want to jump on the techno-optimism bandwagon, if you feel like you are living inside a giant machine, a machine built to drain your data and your bank account; a machine built to convince you to consume more than you need; a machine that persuades you to spend time in front of screens for more and more hours of the day; a machine that throws off your circadian rhythms, creates endless desires and constant jealousies, makes you care about things that you wouldn't ordinarily care about and makes you lose sight of what is important in life, a machine that keeps you from getting outdoors and enjoying what is left of the natural world . . . here are some things you can do:

1) withdraw . . . withdraw as a moral position and refuse to help the machine advance, withdraw "to examine your worldview"

2) preserve non-human life, in any local way shape or method you can 

3) get your hands dirty and do some physical work 

4) insist that nature has value beyond utility, beyond aiding and assisting the economic growth of mankind . . . and tell everyone this

5) build refuges from the oncoming storm;

and then at the end of the book he has eight principles of "uncivilisation" . . . here is a summary:

1) face the oncoming ecological unravelling with honesty and learn how to live within it

2) reject the paradigm of "problems" and solutions

3) change the modern story of progress we have been telling ourselves, because that has separated us from nature

4) make storytelling more than entertainment

5) recognize that humans are not the point of the planet

6) celebrate art and writing that is grounded in place and time, and not symbolic of the "cosmopolitan citadel"

7) no theories and ideologies, write with dirt under your fingernails

8) "the end of the world as we know it is not the end of the world full stop"

p.s. moments after I finished this post, the snowstorm disconnected our house from the machine and we spent an hour in darkness, contemplating "uncivilisation," which means my writing possesses miraculous powers (while I'm probably not the God, I'm certainly a god).