The term 'natural resources' confuses people. 'Natural resources'

Host: The morning light filtered through the tall glass windows of a modern university atrium, spilling across polished concrete floors and the quiet murmur of students moving like tides between classes. Outside, the city skyline glowed — steel, glass, and ambition — while the distant hum of traffic sounded like a heartbeat beneath it all.

On the third floor, in a lecture room that smelled faintly of coffee and whiteboard markers, Jack sat at a desk littered with notes and old economic journals. His sleeves were rolled up, tie loosened, and there was that familiar furrow in his brow — the one that came whenever he was about to dismantle an illusion.

Across from him, Jeeny perched casually on the edge of a desk, her laptop open but ignored. She was watching him, her eyes alive with curiosity, a faint smile playing on her lips — the look of someone ready for a debate she already knew would matter.

Jeeny: “You’re frowning again. Either you’ve discovered a crisis or caused one.”

Jack: “I’m trying to explain to my students that we’re not running out of the planet — just imagination.”

Jeeny: “That’s optimistic, coming from you.”

Jack: “It’s Alex Tabarrok, actually. He said, ‘The term “natural resources” confuses people. Natural resources are not like a finite number of gifts under the Christmas tree. Nature is given, but resources are created.’”

Jeeny: “And you agree with that?”

Jack: “Completely. The problem isn’t scarcity — it’s how we define it.”

Jeeny: “That’s very economist of you.”

Jack: “And very human of you to sound skeptical.”

Host: The sunlight hit the whiteboard, scattering glare across the room. The air felt heavy with ideas waiting to be spoken — the kind that change not just opinions, but how people see the world itself.

Jeeny: “You really think resources aren’t finite?”

Jack: “No, I think human ingenuity isn’t. Oil, coal, minerals — those are just materials. They only became ‘resources’ when someone found a use for them. Before that, they were just rocks.”

Jeeny: “So you’re saying we invent value?”

Jack: “Exactly. Nature gives us the raw canvas. We decide what’s paint.”

Jeeny: “That’s poetic. But doesn’t that logic let us off the hook? If resources are created, then there’s no reason to protect what’s left.”

Jack: “No. It’s the opposite. Protecting nature means protecting our ability to keep creating. Once we destroy the canvas, there’s nothing left to paint on.”

Jeeny: “You think we’ll innovate our way out of extinction?”

Jack: “I think we’ll invent our way into survival — if we stay humble enough to keep learning.”

Host: A gust of wind outside rattled the tall windows, scattering leaves from the rooftop garden across the glass. Jeeny looked toward the sound, thoughtful.

Jeeny: “You sound like someone who believes in human exceptionalism.”

Jack: “No. I believe in human adaptability. We’ve always mistaken the limits of our imagination for the limits of the world.”

Jeeny: “So you’d tell a climate activist to just… innovate harder?”

Jack: “I’d tell them to dream smarter. The future isn’t built by panic — it’s built by possibility.”

Jeeny: “That sounds dangerously close to faith.”

Jack: “Faith is just data waiting to be discovered.”

Jeeny: “You always blur the line between science and philosophy.”

Jack: “Because that’s where the truth hides — in the blur.”

Host: The room fell silent for a moment, the kind of silence filled with reflection rather than absence. A group of students passed by the door, their laughter spilling briefly into the hall before fading again.

Jeeny: “You know what I think?”

Jack: “Always.”

Jeeny: “I think ‘natural resources’ confuse people because it makes them think nature is here to serve us, not that we’re part of it. We talk about using the Earth as if we’re not living on her skin.”

Jack: “Maybe that’s why Tabarrok’s quote matters. He wasn’t glorifying consumption — he was reminding us that our real resource is thought. Nature doesn’t give us meaning — we do.”

Jeeny: “And yet, we keep mining the planet like we’re entitled to it.”

Jack: “We are — but only through responsibility. Entitlement without stewardship isn’t creation. It’s vandalism.”

Host: The light had shifted now — the soft amber of late afternoon creeping through the window, catching dust motes in its glow. Jeeny’s expression softened, her earlier skepticism giving way to curiosity tinged with reverence.

Jeeny: “You think there’s still time to get it right?”

Jack: “There’s always time until there isn’t. And we don’t need everyone to change. Just enough people who still believe that the next great resource might be a new idea, not a new mine.”

Jeeny: “So what you’re saying is — progress isn’t about extraction.”

Jack: “Exactly. It’s about transformation. The coal became power. The sand became glass. The atom became energy. And maybe now, knowledge becomes survival.”

Jeeny: “And ignorance?”

Jack: “Ignorance is the only finite resource we’ve ever had.”

Host: The clock on the wall ticked softly. The world outside had grown quieter — that golden hour where the day exhales before night takes its place.

Jeeny: “You know, it’s funny. We spend so much time talking about saving the planet, but maybe what we’re really trying to save is our own imagination.”

Jack: “That’s the irony. The Earth will recover. It’s us who might not.”

Jeeny: “So what do we do, Jack? How do you convince people to think like creators, not consumers?”

Jack: “You remind them that creation isn’t privilege — it’s purpose. Every engineer, every farmer, every artist — we’re all builders. It’s in our nature to make meaning from matter.”

Jeeny: “And when the meaning runs out?”

Jack: “We redefine it.”

Host: Jeeny closed her laptop, the sound crisp in the quiet room. She stood by the window, watching the last light scatter across the skyline — a city built from sand, steel, and imagination.

Jeeny: “You know, maybe ‘natural resources’ isn’t the right phrase after all.”

Jack: “No. It’s an old label for a new truth.”

Jeeny: “Then what should we call them?”

Jack: (smiling) “Mirrors. They reflect who we are — and what we choose to become.”

Host: The camera would have pulled back then — the two of them standing amid notebooks, maps, and the hum of a fading day. Outside, the city glowed like an organism built from thought itself — a reminder that every skyscraper began as an idea, and every idea began as wonder.

Host: Because Alex Tabarrok was right — nature gives us the canvas, but humanity paints the resource.

And in that fragile, powerful truth lies our real inheritance:
not what the Earth gives,
but what our minds dare to make of it.