Grief is the opposite of hope, but, perhaps counterintuitively, it’s a more important affect for doing the existential work of facing climate disruption. Whereas hope is often sought as a distraction from the gravity of what’s really going on, for Jamail, “a willingness to live without hope allows me to accept the heartbreaking truth of our situation, however calamitous it is. Grieving for what is happening to the planet also now brings me gratitude for the smallest, most mundane things. Grief is also a way to honor what we are losing. . . . My acceptance of our probable decline opens into a more intimate and heartfelt union with life itself.” Grief allows Jamail to “fall in love with the Earth in a way I never thought possible.” Embracing grief and decline is not a morose, fatalistic orientation. Facing death—the planet’s and ours—opens us up to the love that is necessary in order to sustain the work of climate action. Punishing ourselves for being a part of the humanity that has caused so much destruction can activate a savior complex or a politics of sacrifice, and assumes that the goal is moral purity. It’s preferable to aim for humility instead, and to accept our own entanglement in systems of injustice.