Even to an untrained eye, Iran's environmental landscape appears bleak. Drying or dried up lakes, polluted rivers and brooks, thirsty cities with polluted air, sandstorms and bird-less skies, vanishing orchards and gardens in the vicinity of cities and villages, the victims of urban growth, species on the verge of extinction, pasturelands serving as urban wastebaskets, with plastic bags instead of blooming poppies, hazardous wastewaters destroying fish, insects, and humans alike, shrinking forests invaded by cars and villas, or else exploited by the timber industry, and, of course, scarcity of water almost everywhere. In-depth study of Iran's environmental problems, as presented in this special issue, only confirms the general impression outlined above. Iran's aquifers are fast depleting, and desertification is steadily rising. 1 Yet by some standards Iran is actually ahead of its neighbors and even other countries in the semiarid and arid zones. In its wildlife reserves and conservation efforts, reforestation, level of public debate about environmental problems, and even legislation to conserve and protect the environment, Iran as a whole stands favorably in comparison with the rest of the Middle East and its neighboring regions. The 2016 Global Environmental Performance Index ranks Iran 105 among 180 countries, with a total score of 66.32 out of 100, below Turkey (99) and Egypt (104), but above China (109), India (141), and Pakistan (144). Iran's relatively high ranking among its peers leaves room for hope, if the data is accurate. 2 Yet considering what is at stake-an unusually rich habitat and a diverse ecology in and around the Iranian plateau-no level of concern is alarmist. Nor is it possible to translate a holistic environmental crisis into mere statistics. A Regional Destiny It goes without saying that environmental problems do not recognize national boundaries, or even topographical divides. Today's global climate change only tends to reaffirm the collective nature of our environmental fate. Iran is part of a larger ecosystem that stretches from Central Asia, Afghanistan, and the northern Indian subcontinent to Mesopotamia and the Arabian Peninsula, though the Karakum desert, the Zagros and Hindu Kush ranges, and the Persian Gulf draw natural boundaries, if not barriers,

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Lo! thou the awareness-seeking heart, see by the sight,Make the palace of Mada'in the mirror of your heart.Khaqani's opening verse in his famous qaṣīda of Ivan-i Mada'in has a recognizable resonance in the works of many Persian writers, poets, and historians of pre-modern times who tried to make sense of the events and upheavals of the past. For them ‘ibrat, which in this context may loosely be translated as a grievous sense of historical consciousness, was the essence of the past. It made them see in the ruins of the once mighty empire, or the records of kings of bygone times, the never-ending cycle of the rise and fall of worldly powers. The Sassanian arch of the palace of Ctesiphon in the above verse was a powerful metaphor for the believer and the skeptic alike.In modern Persian historical accounts, for all intents and purposes, this sense of ‘ibrat was lost to the multitudes, if not to a handful of the adept.

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