One wild complexity.

Last summer I was molested by a tiny insect. It was hastily zig-zagging around my face, just millimetres away. As erratic as its flight pattern seemed, it was perfectly controlled. Whenever I tried to shoo the creature away, within a split-second it avoided my swift movement, then immediately resumed harassing me. Even blowing it off hard resolved the irritation for just a few seconds. Clearly, the tiny thing was in full control.

It was annoying, but actually I was struck with awe. Most likely a member of one of the 1700 known species of sciaridae (dark-winged fungus gnats), this insect, which has a life-span of about 5 days, was equipped with capabilities that even the most modern technology would be unable to fit into the microscopic space of its nervous system. Its physiology works worldwide, even in extreme habitats such as subantarctic islands, deserts and high mountain ranges. Up to 70% of all dipteran (fly and mosquito) species are thought to be sciaridae, with an estimated 20,000 species of this clade awaiting discovery. And that’s just one group among perhaps some 5.5 million insect species in existence, of which about one million have been described and named.

Insects constitute around half of all eukaryote species (animals, plants, and fungi). And each of these is a library in which you find the instruction for surviving – not just today, but for millions of years. Surviving in competition, cooperation and confrontation with countless other species, all of which are interacting in a dense network of aquatic and terrestrial ecosystems.

Such is the complexity of life.

It’s really one wild, called the biosphere. And it is being degraded year after year – unless we commit ourselves to saving what’s left.

For this commitment, there are at least three good reasons. First, an emotional one: the awe at the incredible complexity, enormous diversity and stunning beauty of life forms. Losing these natural wonders is inexcusable, akin to a planetary-scale capital crime.

Secondly, a rational reason. The ongoing extinction crisis reduces the viability of the biosphere on which we depend, and it does so irreversibly for the entire future of human life.

Thirdly, a reason of self-respect. Humans proved capable of developing a legal order to protect each other from the arbitrariness and injustice of tort law. But are we really unable to do the same for protecting the wild from ourselves – a species with the primordial drive to reap the max, and the unprecedented, monstrous ability to really achieve it?

Sure, the overwhelming results of the "great acceleration" — the exponential scientific and technological revolution of the past 200 years — seem to have placed nature right into the palm of our hand. But make no mistake: we don't own the planet. The planet owns us.