If CO₂ were truly the molecule that drives global temperatures, then by all logic, we should be freezing right now.
Even with the modest rise over the past couple of decades, atmospheric CO₂ remains historically low. A little over 400 ppm—pitifully low, really—and hovering uncomfortably close to levels where photosynthesis begins to falter. Push it down far enough and plants don’t just struggle; they stop. And when plants stop, everything else follows. Quietly, efficiently, terminally. Including us.
More CO₂ does not herald doom. It signals life.
It means stronger plant growth. Healthier crops. Greater resilience. It means plants require less water, not more. Less fertilizer, not more. Which, inconveniently for certain narratives, also means fewer petrochemicals. Higher CO₂ levels translate into higher yields per square kilometer—meaning less land needed to feed the same population. Less strain, not more.
There is, quite simply, no meaningful downside to elevated CO₂ within reasonable bounds. In fact, the world would likely be far better off at levels north of 1000 ppm.
Think that sounds dangerous? Walk into any average office building. Measure the CO₂ concentration. With a few dozen people breathing in a confined space, you are very likely already well above 1000 ppm. No alarms. No casualties. No one collapsing at their desks. Even 2000 ppm remains comfortably within a range that produces no discernible health effects for the average person.
And yet, this same molecule—this quiet, invisible enabler of life—is cast as the existential villain of our age.
CO₂ is not pollution. It is the substrate of life itself.
Turning it into a moral scapegoat may well be one of the most audacious sleights of hand ever performed on a population. A trick so effective that people now cheer for the reduction of the very thing that keeps the biosphere breathing.