Yesterday, in a flurry of self-congratulatory handshakes, the world’s powers signed the Arctic Accord, a five-year moratorium on drilling in the polar region. To the casual observer, this is a victory for environmentalists, a moment of rare global unity. To the contrarian, it is a reminder of how low our ambitions have sunk.

We celebrate a temporary pause, a five-year timeout, as if the Arctic were a misbehaving child sent to its room. The real issue is not drilling: it is the fetishisation of resources, the belief that growth is eternal, that the planet’s cold reserves are ours to consume or to protect at our convenience. This accord is a classic Roman truce: a delay of the inevitable collapse.

The Victorians would have called it a genteel hypocrisy: put off the unpleasantness, let the next generation worry about the bill. Our leaders have become shopkeepers, haggling over years instead of centuries. Five years is a heartbeat in geological time.

It is a pause for breath before the next sprint towards exhaustion. The Accord is better than nothing, but it is a far cry from the radical reimagining of our relationship with the Earth that is required. It is a bandage on a haemorrhage.

So let us not mistake a moratorium for a transformation. The Arctic ice will continue to melt, and our politicians will continue to sign accords that treat symptoms while ignoring the disease. This is not leadership.

This is a five-year holiday from hard choices.