In perhaps the most important book ever written, humans are given "dominion" over all other forms of life. "Subdue" my creation, said the Lord. The Bible's very first description of man's relationship with the rest of the world is not just one of separation, but one of dominion and unique authority. Like it or not, we are culturally bound to this book and what it has to say in more ways than we'd like to admit. According to the Bible, the rest of the world is here for us to do with whatever we darn well please. The lens of modern language presents "dominion" to us in that way. It has become synonymous with oppression, maltreatment, perhaps even hatred. This, I would argue, is at least partially because of our disillusionment with things like monarchies and the governing class itself during the last several centuries. Many people or groups of people who have been given "dominion" over the most important aspects of modern life have shirked their duties (selfish monarchs in Europe, corruption and the slave trade in Africa, hardcore isolationist /nationalist regimes in Asia, etc.), and as such have created a stigma around the idea of dominance. As anyone with even a passing interest in modern politics knows, there are few things more powerful than a disillusioned public.
Plenty of people distrust this kind of conventional religion and government because both seem to derive their authority from almost randomly bestowed dominance. There is no cause for their effects. The idea of a God giving man power over the world for no clear scientific reason seems foolish because nothing in the universe is just given, especially to humans, who seem determined to misuse it in every conceivable way. Matter and energy (and the ability to use them) don't just materialize out of thin air, at least through human efforts. Religious arguments over that statement aside, these things present us with perhaps the most important question one can ask, given the now widespread realization of our ecological imbalances: what should be our relationship with the things we call "nature?" Should we exploit our resources and trust science and technology to lead us down an ever more narrow path? Should we strive to preserve that which we deem "natural" and take steps to ensure that it remains almost entirely untouched by we silly humans? Should we make an effort to strike a bargain between our pragmatism and our love for aesthetics? Or are these seeing past a more basic, empirical view of our relationship to that which is not human? If it sounds broad and complicated, it is.
One of the best ways I can put my personal thoughts on this into context is to reference an artistic venture in which two Russian painters (Komar and Melamid, if you're curious) traveled to some of the most remote locations on the planet to ask all manner of people a simple question: what type of scene do you find beautiful? The artists polled people from small hamlets in Nepal to Manhattan, and understandably expected some diverse responses. Both artists admitted they were surprised and even a little disappointed by what they got. The results had many striking similarities: evidence of abundant plant and animal life, water, usually both in the fore and background, large trees with low branches (where one might be able to hide if one was being chased by a large predator). Perhaps most importantly, the scene was described from a place from which a large swath of land could be viewed. Sounds nice, right? What raises my eyebrow, just like it does for most people familiar with ancient history, is that this is precisely the same environment in which humans evolved on the African savannah and other places in Asia. To explain it more practically, this is the kind of landscape an ancient human would want to see if they were looking for everything essential to life: water, food, shelter, hiding places, etc. Quite a coincidence, no?
The question of what this really means for us today is a tough one. I could argue that this shows pretty compelling evidence to suggest that living the kind of hunter-gatherer lifestyle our ancient ancestor lived is the intersection of our practical and beautiful necessities. Studies like the one above show that humans are practically programmed to be drawn to these environments and to find them beautiful. While I'm sure it is true in some instances, I doubt many people look over a sea of office cubicles and says, "Ah, yes. This is the pinnacle of human prosperity." Monotony is the antithesis of the best aspects of human nature, and every major religious text (especially the Koran) describes gardens and scenic outdoor landscapes as their various versions of "paradise." With these things in mind, we are left with perhaps an even more imposing reality: we are almost completely removed not only from most of the landscapes that we crave, but also from the ability to live in them. So to whom could we possibly turn to for advice on how to live in such a way that gives credence to these natural tendencies?
As Americans, we're still culturally inclined to look at people like Native Americans and their way of life with the kind of pity we give wild animals. "It was quaint and maybe even dignified, but we know how to do it better." That was the attitude that drove the descendants of Europeans across this productive, bountiful land that we so luckily now inhabit. We pushed aside the people who had lived here for untold generations, and all but completely discounted the cultural knowledge they had accumulated regarding how to best use the land. Their bond to these beautiful places was sacred in a way few of those who overthrew them could likely understand. While there were of course variations from group to group in the ways in which they expressed it, the vast majority of the people who lived here before us saw no significant distinction between the land, the animals that inhabited it, and themselves. Maybe some don't, but when I read what they had to say about their connection with their land, only one thing comes to mind: beauty. The same kind of fantastic beauty one might expect from a painting of a wide-open savannah with an abundance of animals and trees and water.
While it is of little value to say so today, Native American knowledge on this topic would be invaluable in the modern world. These groups had built up a complex, nuanced, and effective way to use almost every area of America to provide for themselves, sometimes even in abundance. But they hadn't even heard of Jesus or the Christian God, and though modern archaeology has proven otherwise, they did not seem to operate as part of a complex, large scale society. Physically, they seemed similar to their European visitors, and they seemed capable of expressing themselves in a similar way. But what value could come of a people who were not Christian? Or technologically advanced? Or white? Without hesitation, I will say say that any "progress" that we as Americans have made in our time here has been a Faustian bargain that began when we told the caretakers of this land that their knowledge (and their lives) were without value.
The idea of "dominance" over nature takes on a much different role with Early North American ecological relationships in mind: Native Americans (and people who live like they do) see themselves as a part of what we refer to as the nebulous "nature," while we see ourselves as the masters of it. This mindset shows itself in many ways. Obviously, outright exploitation of nature is the most obvious example. Despite scientific consensuses pleading for an alternative, this is how most modern economies do business. Almost two hundred countries gave themselves a standing ovation at the Paris Climate "Agreement" last year because they all managed to not ignore a mountain of scientific evidence that any layperson with a computer (or an hour or two to spend outdoors) can plainly see. The axiom "Might makes right," in all of its applications, seems to have found perhaps its best traction in the relationship between man and the natural resources he uses to make his life easier. This is the strip mine, the oil rig, the sprawling parking lot that is never full. It is wastefulness, it is theft, it is stupidity incarnate. It is the almighty doctrine of Manifest Destiny, which of course owes its contemporary legacy to something called Lebensraum.
Our feelings of dominance show themselves in more subtle, ostensibly compassionate ways as well. National Parks are a fantastic, well-intentioned and beautiful thing. I visit them often. But in spite of the feelings they inspire in me as they do in many, I believe they are in effect pulling the wool over our eyes. Any park ranger will readily describe the amount of hands-on work they do to make sure that National Parks look as hands-off as possible. In fact, there are a great deal of resources that go into preserving the scenic beauty of the land so that we can look, but not touch. This fascination with "nature" as a separate thing that we think about and spend time in when we feel like it or get a chance to is manufactured reality, as evidenced in our natural history. How did Native Americans manage to be extremely hands-on with these places and not completely ruin them? Read some of Chief Luther Standing Bear's writings. Read a speech by Sitting Bull or Chief Seattle. It will come to you, as it has come to me.
The equal and opposite reactions to our exploitative compulsions are the active, vocal and sometimes aggressive groups which are preoccupied by the fear of man completely ruining earth as a source of life. These groups, again, are well-intentioned. But to suggest that we humans can "ruin" nature and make earth a permanent wasteland through our foolishness is ignoring almost as much scientific evidence as those who would see every coal-bearing mountain mined and every advantageously positioned river dammed. This kind of thinking both overestimates the effect humans have on the earth long-term and the tenacity of life on this planet. Natural processes survived (and continue to survive) through conditions and cataclysms that are practically impossible for modern humans to accurately understand. They will weather the pathetic nuisance of our foolishness.
I do believe that we humans have dominion over earth. At least for the short time that we are going to be here, we are the ultimate alpha predator. But even alpha predators are in some ways more susceptible to imbalances in nature than other, less imposing members of the natural world. Example: sharks don't eat some of the whale and put the rest away for later, they eat every bit they can and leave the rest to rot. Wasteful? One could say so. But nature has ways of making sure that nothing is ever wasted. The shark leaves some of the whale, the microbes eat the rest, the plankton eat the microbes, the krill eat the plankton, the whale eats the krill, the shark eats the whale. Billions of years of evolution has made processes like this (very oversimplified) one very efficient. Humans, however, either ignore or refute evidence that shows our dependence on the processes that give us life and relative comfort. Nature hands us a simple road map to how best to use our world, and we ask, "but where is the room for profit," or "the way that I interpret this other book tells me that if I play by its rules I'll live in paradise forever after I die." In our very natural efforts to improve our own lives in tangible, immediate ways, we've forgotten how to care for the most basic sources of life itself. What I think we've forgotten about "dominance" is that it implies grave, burdensome responsibility to ensure that everything under our dominion flourishes.
Historically, good rulers have understood this. They have seen themselves as servants to their constituents, or at least as humble equals. When our "Founding Fathers" decided to cast aside foreign dominance and govern themselves, it was fashionable for an elected leader to say that he was unequal to the task given to them. George Washington, perhaps the most revered figure in our nation's history, at least publicly felt that way. He said the highest office in a newly minted nation was bigger than him in every way. That could certainly be attributed to a gentleman's modesty, but can we seriously fathom a modern president openly admitting that he or she is unequal to their task? Certainly not. We want our leaders to be fearless and proud and strong far more than we want them to be wise and thoughtful. Our moral cynicism has lowered us to the level of an odd collection of people who are unsure of what we really want from our government until vain, self-absorbed people remind us. We've thrown off the yoke of out-of-touch monarchs, wandered aimlessly but forcefully for two hundred years, and now we seem to want them back. I promise you, if they have their way, "nature" will become something our children only read about in textbooks.
Let me be clear, I do not fear for nature. It has made its way without us, just as it will when we are gone. When I see people weep for a river turned orange by toxins or for a bird whose habitat is mulched, I think of another Bible verse: "Do not weep for me, weep for yourselves and your children." For me, our divine gift as a species is the keys to our own destruction. We have been given both the tools to end our existence and the wisdom to use those same tools wisely. Is a Luddite utopia of hunting and gathering ever going to be possible again? Not soon. Eight billion people living the same way a few million did millenia ago is not practical, or even feasible, but we still must learn from it. We must look to how our ancestors lived and accept it as part of the way we should live now. We have an invaluable intellectual endowment that was developed over tens of thousands of years that shows us what we need through what we instinctively find beautiful. Beauty is the world's way of telling humans to go after things, to long for things, to live a certain way. Of course, we teach ourselves to ignore things like that and call them impractical and foolhardy. We relagate our most fundamental and essential motivations into the bottom of our minds and the bottom of our cultural conscience. That is perhaps our gravest sin.
This all begs the question: now that we know what we're up against, are we "equal to our task?" There's plenty of evidence which points directly to our prehistoric past as the key to understanding how to exercise our dominion in a way we can sustain for the foreseeable future. We are born with the answer in our minds. The feeling of ecstasy that comes over us when we look out over a scenic vista isn't a culturally conditioned reaction to something we've been told is beautiful. We find it to be beautiful because it is and has always been our home. Likewise, we find a landfill or a clear-cut forest ugly because it shows us the opportunity we have been given to make the most of this world and how we have squandered it. Irresponsible leaders of our recent past squandered their opportunities to exercise responsible dominance, and we see ugliness. We see a parent beat their child when that child trusted his or her parents to use their dominance wisely, and we see ugliness. That is nature at work. There is nothing culturally distinct or relative about things like that. When we are at our best, we exercise dominion with fortitude and grace and a sense of massive responsibility for the things whose care we are entrusted with. It has always been that way, and it always will be.
So what do I learn from "nature?" I know you're not asking, but I will tell you anyway. I learn how to be a person with one eye to the past, one eye on the present, and one eye to the future. Perhaps my feelings on this subject would be more clear if I could give a pivitol moment for when that was made clear to me, but I do not have one. It's been a gradual, relationship with things outside of modern life. Every time I take a break from things and "wash my spirit clean" in the forest, I get more satisfaction from it. Perhaps I am not in a very advantageous position to talk to other people about the power of what we call nature because I have always lived in it. I will let those who read this judge that. But I have found that the best parts of what it is to be a human are reflected in the places where we became human. "Nature" is patient, but it does not waste time. It does not wage war. It does nothing out of spite or fear of an uncertain future. It invites us to come and live from it as well as in it. It poses dangers and sometimes mortal threats, but it offers priceless rewards if they are met with steady, thoughtful action. It is the both the greatest library and the greatest church ever created. It shows us what unadulterated joy is possible when we listen to it and treat it as we would family, and it shows us what harm it can inflict when we use our dominance selfishly and without forethought. And yes, it will one day show us that we need it far, far more that it needs us. When you cut a limb from a tree, it retaliates by growing another. It's difficult for us to understand that kind of patience, but it is the closest thing we have to a tangible example of a truly balanced and fruitful existence. At its core, "nature" is where I see the kind of beauty I always have and always will seek and admire. It's where I talk to God, and where he talks back.
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