Declinism Declined
A review of
Alan Weisman's The World without Us
by Matt Beck

We might as well get used to it: declinism is a perennial aspect of human nature. The reader would do well to ponder the irony of that statement before tackling The World Without Us; the soft, humanless sunsets of which author Alan Weisman depicts with a saccharin, seductive, and not entirely unsympathetic hand. Writers like Weisman, it would seem, often have their own special notions of piety. The gift of deathless prose is obtained only by sacrificing mirth on the altar of old Saturn. The profusion of colorful adjectives throughout the book seems strangely powerless to dispel a pervasive darkness, like tulips shrinking back in a gathering twilight. Weisman is a crooner, to be sure. He flirts, he trills, he waltzes starry-eyed adorers around his champagne stage. The effort, however, is somewhat overdone. This syrupy ballad can render one’s eardrums hyperglycemic if adequate precautions are not taken. A glazed, narcotic feeling attends the reader at the conclusion of the work. “Sinatra at the Sands” would be too sober a metaphor to capture it; “David Crosby in a sauna” feels just about right. Nevertheless, no one can argue that many of the most enduring examples of literary skill have been executed using just this brand of sepia-toned ink. We may wonder how, after reading a book that takes delight in detailing just how rapidly the Earth would return to its edenic state should we humans suddenly disappear, the hope that anything of ours might (or should) endure can possibly retain a foothold in our human hearts. Is it another irony, perhaps? Or perhaps the awareness of this tension points to a way out of the ennui induced by a steady habit of mentally erasing ourselves from our picture of existence? If so, then we may also obtain therefrom a clue as to how to read such books with maximum profit.

There are two kinds of declinism into which we may fall. The first kind is the imperative: the human race will go extinct because it deserves to. We have overpopulated the planet, destroyed the environment, sinned against the gods, and now we must be punished for our hubris. Imperative declinism is closely connected with those who express feelings of social guilt. This fact, still surprising to many, no doubt accounts for the otherwise hard to explain observation that those who speak most enthusiastically about the end of the world are predominately the very ones who are now living most comfortably within it. Already we note the cognitive dissonance inherent in such modes of thinking. The up-to-date Angelino is well versed in the Gaia Hypothesis; the starving Sudanese woman (on whose behalf its proponents ostensibly act; and whose essence, as a “noble savage,” it supposedly touches) has never heard of it.

The second kind of declinism is contemplative; and of the two, it is very much the more interesting. Contemplative declinism simply involves the mature recognition that we ourselves, and all the artifacts we contrive to help fill up our lives, are going to revert to dust someday anyway. This sort of declinism is religious in nature; and helps us to orient our perspective towards eternal things. With a little imagination, it can be a fun exercise to try and follow out the first and last destinies of common household items. This not only tests our working knowledge of physics and chemistry, it deepens our picture of the world, enlarges the scope of our vision, and acquaints us more intimately with the life that flows on within us. Try to imagine what your house would look like after one hundred years of neglect. Pretend that you were commissioned to create a superrealistic sculpture of that event. Would you know just how to style your work in order to achieve verisimilitude? Can you sense just how the patio is likely to crack, and what sort of plants would soon inhabit that crack? How deep is the catenary arch of the sagging timbers? How long are the rust streaks on the garden wall? If the house is still standing, in which direction is it leaning? From whence do the prevailing winds blow?

No sooner do we try and contemplate such specifics than we realize that decay is far from being an arbitrary entropic breakdown. It has a sublime aesthetic all its own. To the rhythm of passing years there is added a secret, wistful melody for all who hath ears to hear. We begin to grasp that there is logic in things falling apart the way they do. We may even come to suspect that this logic is related to the fundamental structures of the universe, that to understand it is to peer into the abyss and glimpse deep secrets. He who has gained such knowledge would have access to powers and plans and recourses of which the normal man has no inkling. His strategies would be bolder, his courage rooted in unassailable domains of the spirit. Is this how the legendary martial artists acquired their prowess? Is this what they meant when they said that, in order to live abundantly, we must embrace death? A man who could do so would be like a wizard. He alone would be the Taoist and the Doge. How marvelous it would be to find a book that could lead us, step by step, into a deepening awareness of the subtleties of all things! a book that, through the aesthetics of decay, could plot for us the enneagrams of existence, and uncloak for us the calculus of change!

Alan Weisman did not write such a book, which was rather a disappointment to this reviewer. Of the two schools of declinism, he leaves little doubt that he belongs solidly in the former. Fittingly, his book does not read so much like a tale of the world without us as it does a lamentation over what we have done to the world.

Weisman sets up his narrative with a brief history of Ecuador’s Zapara Indians, wherein we learn that Henry Ford was the man responsible for destroying Eden. Apparently, the Zapara had lived in relative peace and prosperity until the massive new rubber plantations required by the auto industry enslaved them and bankrupted their lands. No longer able to hunt or farm as they once did, they now live a marginal existence, serving as sad reminders of how human activity is quickly upsetting the world’s delicate balance.

This book, by its own lights, is an attempt to showcase nature’s remarkable capacity for healing. Evidently, this is more credibly done by throwing it into relief against a backdrop of damage so extensive that we must already be near the tipping point. From the very beginning, it seems like we are in for a rehashing of the standard litany of eco-complaints. Aborigines have been trotted out to play their customary role as the hapless victims of progress. This does not bode well for the rest of the book.

We ought to pause here and mention that Weisman wastes no time speculating about what may have caused all human beings—and only human beings—to disappear off the face of the earth. This is to his credit, for such speculations are not necessary in order to carry out the thought experiment. We will just agree, “for argument’s sake,” that it happened. A world without people is upon us. Let us go out and explore it.

The organization of the book is not always intuitively obvious, but if there is a theme to Part One, it would seem to be an appraisal of the impact that human civilizations, advanced and primitive, have had on ecosystems the world over. We begin with a trip to Poland’s Bialowieza Puszcza, an ancient hunting preserve for nobleman, and the only place in Europe where the primeval forest that once covered that continent still stands. Weisman begins in a sentimental vein. He finds the idea that such a forest might someday reclaim the whole of Europe “heartening.” The resurgent forest is indeed lovely to imagine, but we should never be lulled into thinking that its possible existence is in any way imperiled by our current activities. On the contrary, the sheer rapidity and thoroughness with which the forces of nature could erase all evident signs of our existence ought to give us pause. The world is a dangerous place, and we are but a small part of it. Imperative declinists often appear to be of two minds on the issue. We are an insignificant creature in a vast cosmos, and yet we are endangering the very fabric of life itself. Navigating these logical loops can be quite a vertiginous business.

A very brief chapter outlining the breakdown of a suburban home follows. This is where we should have liked to see more. No great mental effort is required to reach the conclusion that wooden beams will rot, iron nails will rust, vinyl siding will photodegrade, and animals will move in. Weisman seems much more at home in the next chapter, discussing how Manhattan Island would revert to its arboreal past. He is rather fond of trees, it seems, taking care to note how the different species interplay in the process of forest succession. As for the human artifacts, their solidity is a deceptive ruse. Within days, water will infiltrate subway tunnels, helping to weaken the foundations of the great skyscrapers. Massively over-engineered structures like the George Washington Bridge may last two or three centuries, but soon no above-ground signs of erstwhile human occupation will remain. Our most lasting legacy will be a layer of heavy metals and plastics, buried under several feet of forest humus.

Several subsequent chapters take us back into the recent geological past. We get a primer on the climatic changes which complicated life in Africa’s Rift Valley several million years ago; and which may have led to human evolution. The extinction of North and South America’s megafauna is traced to the arrival of human beings at those continents near the end of the last Ice Age. The final chapter of Part One invites us to ponder a most interesting conundrum that emerges from these data. If humanity managed to quickly wipe out America’s great beasts shortly after discovering them, why did they not have a similar effect on Africa’s wildlife, having been there many times longer? Africa, to this day, possesses a relative abundance of fearsome creatures. The answer, Weisman surmises, is that the African wildlife evolved along with human beings, learning our tricks as we learned them. They became more wily and cooperative in response to the new bipedal predator. Thus, we are told that humanity has been a thorn in Mother Nature’s flesh ever since the first clubbing.

The language of Part One occasional verges upon prolixity. A surfeit of adjectives renders certain sentences too long by an inch. Additionally, we are treated to various sardonic asides concerning the sinfulness and rapacity of man. Weisman clearly has access to a thesaurus; his use of trade lingo outside his own proper sphere of expertise is not always handled elegantly. There are several questionable statements in this section which may raise the eyebrows of scientifically literate readers. Not all the aspects of physical decay or biological evolution seem to have been thought through with the greatest precision. Aluminum, for instance, undergoes well-documented oxidation reactions in the presence of saline. (The author asserts that we have no way of knowing how long aluminum artifacts will last, because they corrode too slowly to be measured.) These are not fatal flaws; but, given the subject matter of the book, surely a science editor could have been retained to catch them? We have seen before the great extent to which the quest for scientific rigor can be supplanted by the urge to market doomer porn. The widespread popularity of Weisman’s book proves that such concerns are not unwarranted here.

On the other hand, Part Two of the book is where the author’s reputation for sparkling prose, noted by other reviewers, is most nearly achieved. It is also the section in which the pole of contemplative declinism is most nearly approached. The first chapter presents an engaging discussion of Varosha, which had once been a resort strip on the eastern shore of Cyprus. The posh, upscale vacation spot found itself marooned in a neutral zone after the Turkish invasion of the island. The last inhabitants had to evacuate so quickly that meals were left sitting on the tables. 30 years hence, and the crumbling ruins are haunted by a morbid ambiance; wild flowers carpet disintegrating streets, birch trees project through collapsing roofs. Weisman briefly pauses to observe that the ticky-tacky retirement homes currently being built on the Cyprian shore are likely to degrade even quicker, impacting what’s left of the native ecology in the process. A visit to a Stone Age cave dwelling finishes off the chapter, connecting us back to first origins. The scratches we make in the Earth’s surface do nothing to diminish her majesty.

The best reading in the book is to be found in Chapter 8, “What Lasts.” Weisman here speculates on which signs of human habitation would survive the longest in a world without people. He favors Turkey’s Cappadocia region, where millennia worth of apartments, fortifications, storehouses, and churches have been carved directly into the volcanic tuff. This beautiful landscape is beautifully rendered by Weisman; and of all his sketches, it comes closest to justifying the price of admission. Cappadocia will last and deserves to last. Unfortunately, nearby Istanbul probably won’t (and probably doesn’t deserve to). It’s sprawling, ramshackle tenements will soon be shaken to pieces by the powerful earthquakes that frequent the region. Mexico City (and, although the author doesn’t mention them, California and Japan) will share the same fate.

“Polymers are Forever” treats of the lasting impact that the plastic we humans have been scattering about the planet will have for centuries to come. Much of it will end up in the oceans, where surf action will steadily grind it into powder. We may imagine a world, several centuries on, in which the great oceanic gyres are lightly dusted with the pulverized remains of ancient salad shooters and shampoo bottles. Although often rebuked as the unmitigated defilement of the world’s last pristine region, would this plastic dust not provide convenient anchorage for drifting plankton? A new, floating reef may indeed by in the making. Pollution does not always pollute.

We may also make mention here of a fact that Weisman ought to have included but didn’t: plastics may not be anywhere near as permanent as we’ve been led to believe. As early as 1975, Japanese researchers discovered a bacterium that had somehow acquired the ability to metabolize nylon-like compounds. Other researchers were then able to train a different species of bacteria to perform the same feat in the laboratory. Exposed nylon ropes and fabrics are now known to biodegrade on a timescale only several times longer than their natural counterparts. The sheer amount of plastic waste distributed throughout the world forms an immense “natural laboratory” that, we may safely wager, will give rise to bacterial populations able to digest it sooner rather than later.

There follows a protracted investigation into the fate of the vast petroleum refining infrastructure surrounding Houston, Texas. Not surprisingly, without human intervention it would ignite fairly quickly, burning until the last drop of distillate was either consumed or dispersed. Houston itself, the land beneath it having subsided from the withdrawal of so much crude oil, will become an inundated deltaic tidal flat. Although digressions on Global Warming and the burning of carbon fuels appear here and elsewhere in the book, they are blessedly short and immaterial. Weisman did a fine job of keeping climate change hysteria out of the discussion. It would be remiss not to commend him for it, as he could have easily increased the sales of his book by pandering to the more imperativist elements.

Human agriculture takes up some 43 percent of the land surface area of the planet. In the last chapter of Part Two, Weisman considers the fate of so much land in a world with no people to tend to it. The conclusion will sound familiar by now: reclamation is rapid and, except on the chemical scale, complete. Century-old abandoned farms in New England are only recognizable by their crumbling stone walls, along with an abundance of similarly-aged trees colonizing what had once been the pasture. The farmhouse is utterly gone, leaving only the hollow of its root cellar behind in the form of a ferny grotto. The world’s soil signature, however, may have been subtly altered for thousands of years to come. The nearly indestructible halogenated organic compounds of modern chemical engineering may persist until the ground they rest in is finally subducted into the mantle.

Who would have known that, somewhere in England, a little research farm has been testing farming methods and bottling soil samples for the last 160 years? Weisman uses this singular archive to track the build-up of radioisotopes, dioxins, and heavy metals in British soil over the course of the Industrial Revolution. While the existence of such a record is impressive, the data gathered often seem like so much measuring for measuring’s sake. We are alerted, for instance, that, over the last century, the concentration of zinc molecules in the test area has increased from a few dozen parts per million to a few dozen more parts per million. And although persistent hydrocarbons have been accumulating in the fatty tissues of arctic animals, this news, while it bears watching, hardly seems to have the drama or the ecological impact of an oil spill.

Part Three takes us on a tour of the great engineering wonders and great uninhabited corridors of the world. How long would the Panama Canal last without human maintenance? Not very long, it turns out. Even today, authorities are waging a round-the-clock struggle to prevent the earthen dams which protect the canal from disintegrating. The English Channel Tunnel will fair a bit better, having been wisely burrowed through an impermeable bed of marl; but eventually, a rising sea level may submerge its French terminal, leaving only an artificial undersea cavern.

Another gem of a chapter introduces us to the wildlife of the Korean Demilitarized Zone, a forbidden strip of land left in place to buffer relations between the two Koreas after the cessation of hostilities there in 1953. The DMZ functions as an unintentional nature preserve, providing habitat no longer found elsewhere on the heavily urbanized Korean peninsula. Rare cranes and spoonbills, lynx, deer, and even the nearly extinct Amur leopard can all be found here. Ironically, their greatest threat is peace. If the Koreas ever reunify, the DMZ will almost certainly fall to developers. There follows a brief chapter devoted solely to birds. Apparently, human activity is responsible for the deaths of billions of them every year in North America alone. These data seemed somewhat dubious, and led this reviewer to question how our bird populations could sustain such massive repeated decimations. Adding up the death tolls, quoted by Weisman, from power lines, radio towers, automobile traffic, feral cats, and loss of habitat, results in an unrealistically high cumulative figure. This is another instance where fact-checking and citations might have come in handy.

The two most obvious examples of human alteration of the globe are handled next: nuclear power and mining. The Chernobyl disaster zone has grown back impressively since the accident in 1986, despite the fact that radiation levels in the immediate area are still prohibitively high. The concrete sarcophagus built to house the breached reactor is itself now falling apart; but migratory swallows are nesting amid the ruins. These swallows do not survive as long as their radiation-free brethren, as documented by their lower than average return rates; yet, mysteriously, they are there. A regrettably short discourse on massive mining operations follows. In summation: we make holes. Holes last a long time. Finally, a somewhat parenthetical chapter treats us to an examination of what had once been an archaeological mystery: Why did the thriving Maya Civilization, centuries more advanced than contemporary Europeans, suddenly succumb to the jungle some 1200 years ago. The answer, according to Weisman, is that they lost the habit of restraint. A fast-multiplying horde of minor nobility created an ever increasing appetite for luxuries. As a result, warfare, which had previously been a highly ritualized sport-contest between noble houses, became an orgy of mob violence which disrupted society and upset agricultural production. The Maya withdrew into the city-centers. In one last desperate act, they tore down their temples and erected crude fortifications from the rubble. Then they faded from glory altogether, their descendents retaining not even a memory of their former greatness. The reader will know how to draw the moral for himself.

Part Four finishes off the experiment. Here, we wonder at last how humanity might go about removing itself from the picture, letting the world lie fallow so that it may heal in peace. After a darkly humorous digression on the fate of human corpses (embalming only prolongs the inevitable), Weisman examines the possibility that the transhumanists will succeed in finding a way for us to download our minds into computers, allowing us to live disembodied forever. He is quick to dismiss this, and rightly so: even if it were possible, the computers we’d then inhabit would be no more permanent than our human bodies had been. And it’s not possible. Regrettably, attention is then given to an execrable little group known as the Voluntary Human Extinction Movement (VHEMT). If anyone needed a reminder that these “thought experiments” can have very dangerous social consequences, let him look no further.

How long would our artwork survive our disappearance? It depends on the medium in which it was executed. Even stone architecture is highly perishable on geologic timescales; the features of Mount Rushmore, however, may still be recognizable for up to 10 million years. On earth, the crown of longevity belongs to bronze sculpture; its protective patina, formed upon exposure to air, will allow it to last effectively forever. But the most lasting impression we humans have made on the cosmos will consist in those things we’ve tossed into the void of space. The Voyager probes, speeding out of the solar system, contain pictures and phonographic recordings of humanity and the planet we call home. While highly unlikely they will ever be seen by anybody, they are predicted to last for at least a billion years. Then, of course, there is the ever expanding shell of radio and TV broadcasts, embarking from Earth at the speed of light to announce our presence to the universe.

“The Sea Cradle,” the final chapter, attempts to provide us with some hope, if you can call it that. Weisman acknowledges that the life surrounding mid-Pacific atolls, while not immune to human influence, will outlast whatever we can throw at it. They have survived extinctions, Ice Ages, coral bleachings, and meteorites before; and they will do so again.

An epilogue, inappropriately entitled “Coda,” simply ends the book. It does not complete it. After nearly 300 pages, it remains for us to decide what we would like to do with Alan Weisman’s message. To contemplate the end of all things has been a highly recommended spiritual exercise since the dawn of humanity. Today, however, there are also many who recommend the apocalypse as a practical course of action. The bad habit of ingratitude, abominably misnamed “environmentalism,” has led many to the horrid belief that the earth would be better off were it not for our presence. But if that were to happen, the resurgent forests would have no one to walk through them. The teeming seas would have no one to sail upon them, searching for new horizons. With no one to wonder at them, how long would the starry heavens go on shining? There, in the very heart of nature, would be an empty hole. The earth herself would cry out for her companion, for the one who was to know her beauty, her kindness, and her faithfulness. As was noted in another context, nature abhors a vacuum. The world would be a very empty place without us.