“Endling.” It’s a word that twinkles with mystery and enchantment, as if plucked from a long-lost fairy tale. But the term was actually coined in 1996 by physicians at a convalescent center to describe the last person in a family line, or the last survivor of a species.
It has since come to be mostly associated with the last known members of animal species that have been pushed to the brink of extinction by human activity—such as the last passenger pigeon, Martha, who died in 1914, or the last male northern white rhinoceros, Sudan, who died in 2018. Endlings bear the weight of extinction alone, whether they are aware of it or not.
“It’s one of the loneliest words that I’ve ever heard,” says J.J. Johnson, a writer, director, and producer who explored this idea in his television series Endlings about a group of children and their extraterrestrial friend who are on a mission to save creatures that are the last of their kind. “When you have to confront something so final, it also challenges us to take action on behalf of the other species that are still here.”
(What our photographer learned documenting the last male northern white rhino’s death.)
Endlings clearly captivate us, judging by the variety of creative works that have been inspired by them. In the beloved sci-fi franchise Doctor Who, the Doctor is the last of his alien species. The 1982 animated fantasy The Last Unicorn follows the titular character in a quest to learn why her kin have vanished. The idea of the “last human on Earth” shows up in everything from cartoons, like Adventure Time, to apocalyptic horrors, like I Am Legend.
Endlings embody this trope in new and visceral ways, particularly because humans are responsible for putting so many of these species at risk. But can endlings—and stories about them—actually move us to save them?
Entitled “Endling,” paleoartist Julio Lacerda’s illustration shows the last Siberian unicorn (Elasmotherium sibiricum) gazing out across a rugged landscape. Fossils suggest this ancient rhino species may have walked Earth alongside humans before its extinction some 39,000 years ago.
Illustration by Julio Lacerda
Why we’re so moved by the concept of an ‘endling’
Since the term was coined, endlings have inspired poems, ballets, television shows, visual art, video games, and musical compositions for classical fans and metalheads alike. Most of these works can be traced back to a common creative ancestor: In 2001, a somber exhibit at the National Museum of Australia displayed the definition of “endling” alongside the remains and video footage of the last known thylacine, or Tasmanian tiger, that died in captivity in 1936.
The exhibit—which is no longer on display—pushed the term into the mainstream. The direct connection of the evocative word to a real individual provoked compassion for endlings and other vulnerable species.
(The controversial quest to bring back the Tasmanian tiger.)
“There’s a certain mythos and appeal of that ‘last’ story of fighting against inevitable defeat,” says Dolly Jørgensen, professor of history at University of Stavanger, Norway, who has written extensively about endlings. “That is the narrative that can be told about all of these animals as well because by the time they’re the last one, it’s over.”
But there’s optimism in these stories too.
“Endlings serve as powerful symbols of hope and resilience in the face of overwhelming odds,” says Javier Ramello, CEO of Herobeat Studios and developer of the 2022 video game Endling: Extinction is Forever, a haunting survival story about a family of endling foxes. “Their status as the last of their kind embodies the indomitable spirit of life, urging us to confront our own mortality and consider the legacy we leave behind.”
Both Ramello’s video game and Johnson’s television series use endlings as a call to action. “By imaginatively experiencing the world through the eyes of a fox struggling to survive in a rapidly changing environment,” Ramello says, “players are compelled to confront the realities of ecological degradation and consider the actions they can take to make a difference.”
A critically endangered Sumatran elephant bull (Elephas maximus sumatranus) at Taman Safari in West Java, Indonesia. All three remaining subspecies of Asian elephants—which include Sumatran, Indian, and Sri Lankan elephants—are in decline.
Photograph by Joel Sartore, Photo Ark, Nat Geo Image Collection
Sumatran tigers (Panthera tigris sumatrae) are critically endangered as a result of habitat loss and poaching. Many of the remaining Sumatran tigers—like the cubs pictured here—live in protected areas.
Photograph by Joel Sartore, Photo Ark, Nat Geo Image Collection
For Johnson, it was important to be honest with young audiences about the gravity of the situation, while also providing hopeful and practical takeaways.
“People underestimate kids and their sophistication,” he says. “They can handle this stuff. They’re hearing it all over the place. They’re seeing it. What they don’t want is to be talked down to about it.”
Can an ‘endling’ inspire us to take action?
Conservation movements have latched on to endlings for this reason; it’s a lot simpler to attract support with a tale about a compelling character, as opposed to a pattern of depressing statistics.
“The ‘last in a lineage’ story is one that recurs often in human storytelling … and as a result was always going to focus diverse hearts and minds,” says Alexander Lees, a reader in conservation biology at Manchester Metropolitan University who has conducted field searches for endling birds.
(These 5 species may vanish. If they do, we’re all in trouble.)
“I think the power of this paradigm can be leveraged to save other species before it is too late,” he adds. “We need to harness this outpouring of ecological grief and use it to motivate people to care about ending endlings—by bending the curve of biodiversity loss.”
But while endlings present opportunities to combat extinction and biodiversity declines, there are some problems with their appeal. For one, endlings are inevitably anthropomorphized. Was Lonesome George, the last male Pinta Island tortoise, really lonesome? Nobody knows, but the effort to find him a mate created an international fandom that catalyzed conservation causes in his native Galápagos Islands, and beyond, according to Johannah Barry, former president of Galapagos Conservancy.
“He also became a symbol of the tremendous advances that can be made when science, conservation expertise and political will are aligned on a common cause,” she said in a 2020 statement about his impact on conservation.
Though famous endlings like George can signal-boost broader struggles, it is also important to be aware of the favoritism we place on charismatic species—a category that doesn’t necessarily overlap with the species that are most in need of our empathy.
“We’re still finding out about new species every year, who are often tiny invertebrates and so on, that may well be becoming extinct before we’re even aware of their existence,” says poet Joanna Lilley, author of the 2020 collection Endlings. “Those little invisible creatures may come and go without us even knowing it, which is really heartbreaking.”
Lilley’s collection breaks the word out of its more recent anthropogenic constraints by including poems about endlings that vanished long before humans came on the scene, as a way to temper the grief and guilt about the losses humans have caused. In a poem entitled “Herbivore” about the Cretaceous ceratopsid Chasmosaurus russelli, she writes: “Loving dinosaurs is easy; the asteroid wasn’t our fault.”
A critically endangered Amur leopard (Prionailurus bengalensis euptilurus) is photographed at the Prague Zoological Garden. Native to the Primorye region of southeastern Russia and northern China, this leopard subspecies is one of the world’s rarest cats as its population declines.
Photograph by Joel Sartore, Photo Ark, Nat Geo Image Collection
Ultimately, endlings invite new audiences to experience the world through a new perspective. Take paleoartist Julio Lacerda’s poignant depiction of the extinct species Elasmotherium sibiricum, better known as the “Siberian unicorn.”
Entitled “Endling,” the illustration shows the last unicorn gazing out across a rugged landscape, fully alive even as it portends the death of its species. It is a reminder that endlings represent far more than the loss of one species, but an entire way of life for our planet. For example, the extinction of keystone species—which earned that name because of their role in keeping entire ecosystems in balance—“can mean a collapse of entire habitats,” Lacerda says.
“A species is more than simply a collection of individuals,” he adds. “The death of an endling means much more than the loss of a number of individuals.”
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