It turns out I have more in common with Alastair McIntosh than I might have imagined, including disagreeing with Rupert Reed! In reality, and I don’t mean to sound obsequious, I found myself in complete agreement with every one of his key points, a few of which I hope to pique your interest.

In systems thinking, a useful question to ask is “how do you know that”; in other words, where did the information come from, and what does that tell you about its validity? It was always a good question, and between disinformation on Facebook and one-sided dog-whistle headlines in The Mail, it has never been more apposite. (Pre-internet, I relied on my mum to answer questions, and it turns out she was often just as economical with the truth). So how do we decide what to believe, and how to act as a consequence? 

It would seem that even the brilliantly researched, peer-reviewed and co-authored report such as that produced by the Inter-governmental Panel on Climate Change is insufficiently valid for some people. But it is interesting, to me at least, that many environmentalists lean on their senses for insight; the soil, the oceans, the trees, insects, and the weather can tell us all we need to know sometimes. This is where Alastair starts, on the shores of his home village on the Isle of Lewis and indeed goes on to invite readers to skip the first half of the book altogether if you need no further convincing that the science is clear and that climate change is real, present, and dangerous. 

To be fair, far fewer disagree with the IPCC’s findings (openly at least) than 5 years ago. Despite this, as Alastair rightly points out, the scale of the problem is now the biggest facing humanity. In the face of such good science, now so strongly worded, those in power still seem to be sitting on their hands, putting off today even those actions which will be economically beneficial in the longer term. This is why I found Alastair’s focus on the human condition so interesting, coinciding with my own personal journey beyond technological, regulatory, and financial interventions, toward human psychology, community, and faith as the drivers of change. 

Throughout his book, I felt immense warmth emanating from the pages. I suspect that even those such as Rupert with whom Alastair has taken issue, would embrace his words as a powerful call to action. They caution against the kind of reactionary rhetoric that so strongly mirrors the obfuscation, lobbying and legal games being played by big business and politicians, offering a sense of purpose that is all the more powerful, in my view, as a bridge to the many who are losing hope, but aren't willing, yet, to get themselves arrested. 

This warmth seems to come from Alastair's sense of faith; a source of love, openness, inquiry, and community that can respond to and regenerate our future in the face of such an existential crisis. His book offers readers the opportunity to progress together, thriving within planetary limits, rather than see those limits as framing at best a return to less plentiful times, or at worst, mass species extinction. For it is only when we refute the modern-day belief that capitalism and consumerism are the best routes to health, wealth, and happiness that we will create sufficient common cause to react in time to avert the coming storm. 

I loved this book, and hope one day to meet Alastair in person, along with my daughter Isla, named after we visited the Isle of Harris and we wet her head with a bottle of the aforementioned community produced gin (see below!) 

(With apologies to Alastair if I have mangled his words, meaning or intent - this is just my take, having put his book down and reflected upon it for a few days. Controversially perhaps, I would suggest starting with this, and then reading Soil & Soul for an even deeper insight.)