Dear Dr. Emmott:

Dear Dr. Stephen Emmott: Last night, I read through your recent book, Ten Billion. In it, you outline the global ramifications of the growth of the human population, covering how it will affect the global carbon cycle, climate change, crop and water demand, and how greater demand for everything that humans need in general will eventually tip the world into spiraling hothouse-mass-extinction decline. In fact, the last line of the book (and I should point out here that, even though it tops the 200-page mark, most pages only have a sentence or two, and every image and chart is given a double-page spread) clearly states that, in your educated opinion as a scientist, "I think we're fucked."

Now, I don't question your statistics. I'm sure that in your lifelong quest as a scientist, you are more aware than the vast majority of us about the troubles we face, and what would need to be done to overcome them. What I call into question is your moral irresponsibility in publishing your book. Because what we come away with is a definite statement that we have already gone too far, and there is nothing that can be done, short of changing every social, political, economical, and instinctive (re: procreative) behavior we have. Globally.

So my question to you, sir, is: What purpose does your book serve, exactly?

I think I am a rather practical person. I think I have a pretty good idea of what I can control and what I can't, and don't spend much time worrying about things that are beyond my ability to influence. Some people might even say that I embody this trait to a fault. Which is why I can say that after reading it, Ten Billion left me with a stronger sense of futility and fatalism than I have experienced in a long time. And, I wonder, if *I* felt this way, what might your book do to someone else, someone who is more sensitive to declarations about the ultimate fate of the human race?

And this is why I wonder whether your heart is in the right place on this issue. Because while your book is quite clear on how many gallons of water it takes to make one hamburger patty (800, which is mostly wrapped up in the growing of feed and maintaining of cattle), it doesn't give us any idea of what to do about it other than "consume a lot less". And even then, as you say, we're still fucked, because the change we have already presented to the world is enough to send us past the ecological tipping point. You present a hellish vision of the future, but offer no solutions on how to change it. Is that because (and here I know I'm guessing at it) you don't see the point in attempting any?

It's your clear cynicism of global politics and business that motivates most of your reasoning for why things cannot change in time to stave off disaster. You argue that fossil fuel companies are too big, have too much power, and are responsible for making too much economy-fueling money to change course, politicians' only interest is in getting elected again, and geo-engineering is too poorly understood to fix the problem. And yes, many globally-supported programs to curtail carbon emissions and resource consumption have already failed. But does that mean we should stop trying?

If humans are going to change this disastrous course, then they need to only be given one thing, the thing that is sorely lacking in your book: hope. Cynicism has never produced any result other than apathy, which I think we can both agree there is too much of, and has been for too long. (And I considered the possibility that your book is a double-feint, a dare for the rest of us to prove you wrong, but I honestly don't think you thought about it that carefully.)

Ultimately, what you're leaving out of the equation is exactly what you see as the source of the problem: humankind itself. True, if we continue on the current track, there will be ten billion people before the end of the century. But if, as you say, the world profoundly changes sooner rather than later because of our influence, won't our own growth be part of that affected change? Any number of the effects you talk about in your book will cause overpopulation rates to slow, and some would argue that the change is already starting to take place.

So here's something that I've been thinking about for a while now, and it seems to have been fully brought up out of the depths by my ruminations about your book: that the ones who really control the world aren't politicians, or titans of industry, or even great ethical leaders. It's storytellers. Think about it... Most of what inspires us as human beings, what grounds us to the world and also lets us fly beyond it, investigate its realities and imagine its possibilities, are the stories that we tell each other. In the end, stories are the only thing we really have that lasts. And I'm not just saying this because I fancy myself a storyteller. I say it because we all are, in our own way. And that's where moral responsibility comes in.

There's a story Ray Bradbury wrote in the mid-20th century called "The Toynbee Convector", where a man announces to the world that he's created a limited time machine that allowed him to see 100 years into the future, and he describes the beautiful, near-utopian society he glimpsed there. In response, humanity bands together and works toward the common goal of a bright future that they already know is going to happen. They do it because they now know it is possible; not only that, it is destined. And they make it happen. Taken in this light, what do you think it is likely that your book will do?

I know, I know... scientists deal with facts, not fancy, and your job is to seek the truth, no matter what form it takes. But what you have done with Ten Billion is to present the facts and then extrapolate them, in effect writing a story about what you believe will happen, in the guise of inevitability. Yes, your opinion is more educated than most, but what is the price of putting this problem-with-no-solution book into the world? The twist ending of "The Toynbee Convector" (fifty-year old spoiler alert) is that the man who saw the future was lying. He never built a time machine. But what he did understand is what I already stated earlier: people need hope to change. So here we come to a place where fancy is more useful than fact, in fact is better at ensuring the survival of the human race.

Do I think you should have presented a rosy, I'm-sure-we'll-come-up-with-something ending, wrapped in a bow? Of course not. But I think that you could have split the difference between your instincts and Mr. Bradbury. Don't just point out the problem, but endorse new solutions, instead of knocking them down known ones like ducks in a shooting gallery. As much as science likes to pride itself on its impartiality, it doesn't exist in a vacuum, either. I can't imagine any thinking person coming away from your book with anything less than a vague sense of despair, maybe even a profound one. And I then have to question your motivations in publishing Ten Billion. Maybe your responsibility as a human should at have at least partially eclipsed your responsibility as a scientist.