The Concept of an Endling

The term "endling" refers to the final known individual of a species, a word that resonates with profound sadness. Coined in 1996, it initially described the last of a family line but has evolved to signify something more tragic. This term encapsulates the heart-wrenching reality of our current mass extinction crisis, primarily driven by human actions, as we extinguish species faster than we can even name them.

At sunset, flocks of birds take flight above the lonely cedar, reminiscent of lost stories. Once, there were countless birds; soon, there will be fewer still.

Martha, the last passenger pigeon, passed away in 1914, unaware she was taking her lineage with her. Benjamin, the Tasmanian Tiger, was filmed just before his death in 1936, marking the extinction of an entire genus. Now, Najin and her daughter Fatu are the last of the northern white rhino, while Lonesome George, the final Pinta Island tortoise, died without leaving descendants.

The Weight of Extinction

The alarming rate at which species are disappearing is distressing, often overshadowed by the attention given to more charismatic animals. Research indicates that at least 543 land vertebrate species went extinct in the twentieth century alone. It takes years to officially declare a species extinct, yet it’s estimated that as many have vanished in the early years of this century.

Species rise and fall as part of nature's cycle. Our existence is intertwined with this reality; we are driven by instincts as primal as any other creature's. My vegetarian choices do not exempt me from this cycle, as even plants communicate in ways we fail to understand. Life feeds on life, creating a complex web of existence.

We are heading toward a crisis. Overpopulation and overconsumption threaten our world, and while this is not a justification for our behaviors, it underscores the need for change. To live is to take life, a harsh truth we must confront.

Collective Identity and Individual Value

We often define ourselves by the groups we belong to, yet at our core, we are all unique. Each of us carries a blend of experiences, scars, and qualities that make us precious. Just as handcrafted items hold more value than mass-produced goods, our individuality is what makes us rare.

In a way, I find myself as the last of my branch of the family tree. As the youngest male in my lineage, I see my name fading with the passing generations. My brother's daughter carries her mother’s surname, and my sister’s children have their father's name. The Frawley name may soon only exist in memory.

A friend expressed relief at having a son, feeling a sense of permanence through his name. Yet, when I reflect on my own name, I realize it’s merely a representation, a compromise of my Irish heritage. Languages, like species, evolve and can also face extinction.

The Weight of Individual Extinction

Every day, approximately 150,000 people pass away, each one taking a unique perspective of the world with them. We rarely mourn their loss, much like we overlook the extinguished stars that once shone brightly.

Yet, the solitude of being the last of your kind is haunting. It’s akin to the final prototype that never reached production. James L. Dickey’s poem, "For the Last Wolverine," captures the essence of this struggle, illustrating the triumph that comes from acknowledging our mortality.

Extinction is a concept that has changed over time. Martha, the last passenger pigeon, became a symbol of loss long ago, while Lonesome George’s genetic material was studied in hopes of prolonging human life.

In 2000, the Pyrenean Ibex faced extinction when its last member, Celia, was found lifeless. Remarkably, a clone was born from her DNA, but this miracle lasted only moments. Nature enforces its laws without exception, even when human actions bring about the loss.

We are all endlings in our own right, unique and irreplaceable. A solitary tree stands in a field, resilient against the elements, untouched by the uncertainties of the world.

When a species disappears, it is indeed tragic. Yet, it is this very impermanence that gives life its beauty. At any moment, we could vanish, never to be repeated. I yearn for the rare and the doomed, the last wolverine, and the solitary tree that once belonged to a vast forest. This is far more valuable than countless identical units.

All proceeds from this article will be donated to Doctors Without Borders/Medecins Sans Frontiers.