Extract from The Guardian
Europe now
Defining this continent is a slippery undertaking, but it is revealing to look at its evolution over the last 100 million years
How
was Europe formed? How was its extraordinary history discovered? And
why did Europe come to be so important in the world? For those, such as
me, seeking answers, it is fortunate that Europe has a great abundance
of bones – layer upon layer of them, buried in rocks and sediments that
extend all the way back to the beginning of bony animals. It is where
the investigation of the deep past began. The first geological map, the
first palaeobiological studies, and the first reconstructions of
dinosaurs were all made in Europe.
This history begins around 100 million years ago, at the moment of Europe’s conception – the moment when the first distinctively European organisms evolved. Earth’s crust is composed of tectonic plates that move imperceptibly slowly across the globe, and upon which the continents ride. Most continents originated in the splitting of ancient supercontinents. But Europe began as an island archipelago, and its conception involved the geological interactions of three continental “parents” – Asia, North America and Africa. Together, those continents comprise about two-thirds of the land on Earth, and because Europe has acted as a bridge between these landmasses, it has functioned as the most significant seat of exchange in the history of our planet.
"Contemporary Europe is not a continent in any real geographical sense – instead it is an appendix"
Defining Europe is a slippery undertaking. Its diversity, evolutionary history and shifting borders make the place almost protean. Yet, paradoxically, Europe is immediately recognisable. With its distinctive human landscapes, once-great forests, Mediterranean coasts and Alpine vistas, we all know Europe when we see it. And the Europeans themselves, with their castles, towns and unmistakable music, are every bit as instantly recognisable. Moreover, it is important to recognise that Europeans share a highly influential dreamtime — in the ancient worlds of Greece and Rome. Even Europeans whose forebears were never part of this classical world claim it as their own, looking to it for knowledge and inspiration.
So what is Europe, and what does it mean to be European? Contemporary Europe is not a continent in any real geographical sense. Instead it is an appendix – an island-ringed peninsula projecting into the Atlantic from the western end of Eurasia. In natural history, Europe is best defined by the history of its rocks. So conceptualised, Europe extends from Ireland in the west to the Caucasus in the east, and from Svalbard in the north to Gibraltar and Syria in the south. So defined, Turkey is part of Europe, but Israel is not: the rocks of Turkey share a common history with the rest of Europe, while Israel’s rocks originate in Africa.
I am not European – in a political sense at least. I was born in the antipodes – Europe’s opposite – as the Europeans once called Australia. But corporeally I am as European as the Queen of England (who of course is ethnically part-German). The history of Europe’s wars and monarchs was drilled into me as a child, but I was taught next to nothing about Australia’s trees and landscapes.
This history begins around 100 million years ago, at the moment of Europe’s conception – the moment when the first distinctively European organisms evolved. Earth’s crust is composed of tectonic plates that move imperceptibly slowly across the globe, and upon which the continents ride. Most continents originated in the splitting of ancient supercontinents. But Europe began as an island archipelago, and its conception involved the geological interactions of three continental “parents” – Asia, North America and Africa. Together, those continents comprise about two-thirds of the land on Earth, and because Europe has acted as a bridge between these landmasses, it has functioned as the most significant seat of exchange in the history of our planet.
"Contemporary Europe is not a continent in any real geographical sense – instead it is an appendix"
Defining Europe is a slippery undertaking. Its diversity, evolutionary history and shifting borders make the place almost protean. Yet, paradoxically, Europe is immediately recognisable. With its distinctive human landscapes, once-great forests, Mediterranean coasts and Alpine vistas, we all know Europe when we see it. And the Europeans themselves, with their castles, towns and unmistakable music, are every bit as instantly recognisable. Moreover, it is important to recognise that Europeans share a highly influential dreamtime — in the ancient worlds of Greece and Rome. Even Europeans whose forebears were never part of this classical world claim it as their own, looking to it for knowledge and inspiration.
So what is Europe, and what does it mean to be European? Contemporary Europe is not a continent in any real geographical sense. Instead it is an appendix – an island-ringed peninsula projecting into the Atlantic from the western end of Eurasia. In natural history, Europe is best defined by the history of its rocks. So conceptualised, Europe extends from Ireland in the west to the Caucasus in the east, and from Svalbard in the north to Gibraltar and Syria in the south. So defined, Turkey is part of Europe, but Israel is not: the rocks of Turkey share a common history with the rest of Europe, while Israel’s rocks originate in Africa.
I am not European – in a political sense at least. I was born in the antipodes – Europe’s opposite – as the Europeans once called Australia. But corporeally I am as European as the Queen of England (who of course is ethnically part-German). The history of Europe’s wars and monarchs was drilled into me as a child, but I was taught next to nothing about Australia’s trees and landscapes.
When I first travelled to Europe as a student in 1983 I was thrilled, certain that I was going to the centre of the world. But as we neared Heathrow, the pilot made an announcement: “We are now approaching a rather small, foggy island in the North Sea.” In all my life I had never thought of Britain like that. When we landed I was astonished at the gentle quality of the air. And the sun. Where was the sun? In strength and penetration, it more resembled an austral moon than the great fiery orb that scorched my homeland.
European nature held more surprises. I was astonished at the prodigious size of its wood pigeons and the abundance of deer on the fringes of urban England. The vegetation was so gentle and green in that moist and cushioned air that its brilliant hue seemed unreal. After days of peering into misty skies and looking at soft-edged horizons, I began to feel that I was wrapped in cotton wool.
Another discovery was the number of globally important ecosystems and species that arose in Europe, but which are now long gone from that continent. Who would have guessed, for example, that Europe’s ancient seas played an important role in the evolution of modern coral reefs? Or that our first upright ancestors evolved in Europe, not Africa? And who imagines that much of Europe’s ice-age megafauna survives, hidden away like the elves and fairies of folklore, in remote enchanted woods and plains, or as genes perpetually slumbering in the permafrost?
So much that shaped our modern world began in Europe: the Greeks and the Romans, the Enlightenment, the Industrial Revolution, and the empires that by the 19th century had divided up the planet between them. And Europe continues to lead the world in so many ways: from the demographic transition to the creation of new forms of politics and the reinvigoration of nature. Who knew that Europe, with its population of almost 750 million people, is home to more wolves than exist in the USA, including Alaska?
And perhaps most astounding, some of the continent’s most characteristic species, including its largest wild mammals, are hybrids. To those used to thinking about “pure bloods” and “mongrels”, hybrids are often seen as nature’s mistakes – threats to genetic purity. But new studies have shown that hybridisation is vital to evolutionary success. From elephants to onions, hybridisation has allowed the sharing of beneficial genes that have enabled organisms to survive in new and challenging environments.
Some hybrids possess a vigour and aptitude not seen in either parent, and some bastard species (as hybrids are sometimes known) have survived long after the extinction of their parent species. The Europeans themselves are hybrids, created about 38,000 years ago when dark-skinned humans from Africa began interbreeding with pale-skinned, blue-eyed Neanderthals. Almost the instant those first hybrids appear, a dynamic culture emerges in Europe, whose achievements include the creation of the first pictorial art and human figurines, the first musical instruments, and the first domestication of animals. The first Europeans were, it seems, very special bastards indeed.
• Tim Flannery is one of Australia’s leading writers on climate change. This is an extract from the introduction to his new book Europe: A Natural History (Penguin)
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