Yes, of course the climate apostles would appear infinitely more credible if they chose to live like medieval peasants instead of gliding across oceans on million-dollar composite yachts, clinking glasses with billionaires while denouncing the very molecules that made their floating palaces possible. It would help if the sermon matched the lifestyle. Sackcloth is more convincing than carbon fiber.
But that hypocrisy, delicious as it is, is merely the garnish. The deeper point is far less theatrical and far more inconvenient.
Hydrocarbons are not some alien infestation inflicted upon a pure planet by wicked industrialists. They are not an aberration. They are not a stain. They are everywhere. Earth is, in a very literal sense, a vast hydrocarbon engine. Deep in the mantle, geophysical processes churn out methane continuously. It migrates upward through fractures and faults, sometimes remaining methane, sometimes undergoing further chemical transformation under pressure and temperature to form more complex hydrocarbons—what we politely call crude oil. The architecture of the crust determines where these substances accumulate, how they migrate, and where they become concentrated enough to form reservoirs that humans can tap.
This is not mysticism. It is geology.
The theory of abiotic oil—the idea that not all hydrocarbons originate from decayed biological matter—has existed for decades. It was long treated as heresy in polite academic circles, something to be whispered about if at all. But time has a habit of humbling consensus. We now observe phenomena that are difficult to reconcile with the kindergarten tale of “rotting dinosaurs.” Old oil fields show signs of replenishment over decades. Reservoir pressures behave in ways that suggest deeper sources feeding them. Where does that material come from? A few fossilized ferns and lizards are not an adequate explanation.
Meanwhile, hydrocarbons are found throughout the cosmos. Methane lakes on Titan. Organic molecules in interstellar clouds. Carbon chemistry is not a terrestrial anomaly; it is a cosmic commonplace. The universe is not allergic to hydrocarbons. It manufactures them with enthusiasm.
On Earth, we barely grasp the magnitude of methane outgassing from the oceans. Estimates exist, of course. There are always estimates. But the planetary surface—most of it oceanic, much of it poorly measured—remains more mysterious than we care to admit. We lecture each other about atmospheric parts per million while vast submarine processes hum along beyond our observational reach. Our knowledge is partial. Our confidence is not.
And yet, on this incomplete foundation, entire political architectures have been erected. Entire industries dismantled. Entire populations instructed to feel shame for using the very molecules that saturate their planet from mantle to stratosphere.
Hydrocarbons are not merely fuels. They are feedstocks for modern civilization. Plastics, fertilizers, pharmaceuticals, insulation, synthetic fibers, medical equipment, electronics—strip hydrocarbons from the equation and the world does not become pastoral and serene. It becomes naked, cold, and astonishingly fragile. The composite yacht is an obvious symbol, but the hospital ventilator is the more sobering one.
This is why the moral framing has always been flawed. You cannot declare war on the fundamental chemistry of your own planet and expect victory. You can regulate, optimize, reduce waste, improve efficiency—these are sane endeavors. But to portray hydrocarbons as an unnatural intrusion is to misunderstand the substrate of Earth itself.
We still have much to learn. The planet is not a closed book. It is a thick, complicated manuscript with pages stuck together and chapters missing. The arrogance lies not in asking questions about climate. The arrogance lies in pretending the questions have already been definitively answered.
And here we arrive at the uncomfortable conclusion: the alarmists were spectacularly wrong about far more than they care to admit. About scarcity. About timelines. About irreversible tipping points that stubbornly refuse to tip on schedule. About energy transitions that would be painless and immediate. About the supposed moral clarity of dismantling the hydrocarbon backbone of civilization.
Reality has a way of outlasting narratives.
Hydrocarbons are not a historical accident. They are woven into the geology of this planet and the chemistry of the universe. We would do well to approach that fact with humility rather than hysteria.
You may dislike hydrocarbons. You may wish for something cleaner, more elegant, more utopian. Fine. Innovate. Compete. Build something better.
But do not pretend the Earth itself is on your side in a crusade against carbon. The Earth appears to be quite fond of the stuff.
https://wattsupwiththat.com/2026/02/07/crudely-put-oil-is-everywhere/