This
morning while out for my daily walk I took to contemplating biomes, those
unique biotic assemblages and ecosystems spread around the Earth. The distribution
of biomes is predominantly dependent upon abiotic factors such as temperature,
precipitation, latitude, elevation and so on. Subtle differences in rain
totals, day length or wind regimes can have enormous effects upon the land. Having
just spent a year exploring New Zealand as an environmental science major and
today being back in my native California, those peculiarities of place are
fresh in my mind. And lately I’ve been wondering what to make of those
differences in perhaps a more philosophical sense. I think now I’ve discovered a
reasonable enough analogy.
I
realized that in many ways that global biomes may be likened to our global
religions or any other human system of belief. This is because ecosystems are in
essence an expression to the wild vitality of the universe and an attempt to
make order/meaning from it. This is the same as humanity attempting, through
various beliefs/rituals/moralities, to construct a functional world from the
existence we’re given. All the plants
and animals organize themselves in whatever pattern makes sense to them just as
organize ourselves in a way that makes sense to us. What happens is that we are
all making use of the same base materials but constructing different structures
that are nonetheless equally viable.
In New
Zealand, the dominant forest tree might be Totara, Matai, Rimu or Beech while
in California it might be Oak, Bay Laurel, or Redwood. In both instances the
trees play the same roles of carbon sequestering, habitat provision, soil
building and so forth. It is exactly the same story for Christianity, Islam,
Hinduism, Buddhism, Existentialism or whatever you prefer. Each provides some
measure of comfort, community, love and tradition in its own way. Those are some
of the main functions of religion now whatever where you’re from. And so again
it comes down to the fact that nobody can necessarily be wrong; we’re just
doing what we can with what we have.
That’s
what I’ve come up with at least. Biomes are like religions: creative
expressions of life each equally worthy of respect and valuable for their
diversity.
I want to take some time here to appreciate the fact that there are incredible stories written within our landscapes, if only we have the eyes to read them. This is why I love the field of environmental sciences as a whole. They allow me to draw back the tapestry of the present and peak behind into the narratives of the past. Doing so reveals that Earth is a restless and dynamic system capable of tremendous activity: take for example the Manawatu region of New Zealand.
Driving through, it appears to be nothing more than your standard expanse of pastureland, maybe a few hills in there, a winding river, some small mountains in the distance, but mostly flat and grassy. Yet to comprehend the immensity of time and the multiplicity of events required to assemble these unassuming vistas is quite a task. For one thing, it wasn't long ago on a geological time scale that most of the Manawatu Region lay beneath the sea in the form of unconsolidated sediments. Its current expanse is largely due to the accumulation of these marine sediments and a progradation of the coastline. This is why it's so flat. The underlying continental crust of Zealandia isn't quite thick enough to buoy itself above sea level alone, especially as sea level today is comparatively higher than during past glacial periods.
As such, repeated marine transgressions and inundations subsequently emplaced a great thickness of mudstone, shale, limestone, marine gravels and the like. Gravel terraces are a common feature of the area but often go unrecognized because their vegetative cover or overlying layers of loess. The Massey University campus and Palmerston North itself sits atop such gravels. The Tokomaru Marine Terrace demarcates the former height of the shoreline; a huge distance inland from where it now rests.
The Manawatu River has likewise been an active agent of erosion and deposition for many thousands of years. It has incised and abandoned numerous floodplains, leaving behind another system of undulating riverine terraces. As its level rises and falls, the surrounding area feels its affects accordingly. Oxbow lakes, alluvial fans, in-filled swamps, etc. all owe their existence to this perpetual channel. The river even existence prior to the uplift of the axial ranges. These are some of the most rapidly rising topographical features in New Zealand aside from the Southern Alps. The Manawatu River, whose course crosses the ranges, has cut down through the hard greywacke rock as quickly as it has been thrust upwards to create the spectacular Manawatu Gorge.
At the top of the Ruahine and Tararua ranges, however, you'll still find those marine sediments previously mentioned. Rounded gravels, soft mudstones, etc. all compose a thin veneer draped over the more resistant greywacke. This makes the steep slopes susceptible to landslides and other mass movement failures, especially when saturated with rain. These loosened sediments are then carried away by the river to be deposited wherever it sees fit or to in-fill the coastal estuary, altering its morphology. There is even a massive dune-field associate with the Manawatu coast, the largest in New Zealand. But again, this is hidden by verdant dairy farmland
In short, what appears to be a static and perhaps even boring landscape actually carries with it a dramatic history of floods, erosion, massive uplift, marine transgression and other events that lie outside the typical human framework of cognition. With some effort we can learn to read and make sense of these events, thereby more deeply understanding our current place in things. This all stands testament to the extraordinary capacity that the Earth has for change. Nothing stays the same for long. It's the progression and interconnectivity of these processes that I find so perpetually engaging.
Of course, these ideas on dynamism can help us interpret the rest of our world even on a more human time-scale. Understanding the impermance and fluidity of life is a rather liberating experience. It is simply the nature of things, as anyone who has lived a few years can recognize. By contrast, it's often when we hold rigid expectations that things should stay the same that we do ourselves the most harm.
I just hope that this little example of the Manawatu region's geomorphology can help us all to grasp impermanence inherent in our existences. Learn to read the signs.
If there's one thing that I've learned since studying environmental science here in New Zealand, it's that the country has a dirty little secret. Despite the relentless marketing of a "clean, green New Zealand," this idyllic Pacific nation is in fact in the midst of a harrowing but unpublicized ecological crisis.
Since the arrival of Maori people and especially Europeans, the landscape has undergone massive upheaval. From a forest covering of roughly 80% this has been reduced to somewhere in the order of 20%. The lowland areas proved especially vulnerable, and almost all of the swamp-loving Kahikatea trees were uprooted in favour of a grass monoculture. This is truly where New Zealand's troubles began. After the furious logging of native timbers and clearance for pasturage, the land has become increasingly encumbered with exotic stock species such as the iconic sheep and all-important cow. Today these animals are the backone of New Zealand's export economy. Fonterra, the monopolizing dairy processing corporation, is the largest company in Aotearoa, rivalled only by communications giant Telecom. This economic reliance on stock, however, has brought about a host of environmental issues that only being exacerbated by current practice and policy.
Cows, of course, are prolific defacators and urinators. That means a huge amount of nitrogen is deposited directly onto the land in concentrations that natural nutrient cycling processes cannot handle. It either gets washed overland straight into water courses, or infiltrates the soil through to the water table; but either way the nitrogen ends up in New Zealand's many rivers and streams. The excesses nutrients facilitates massive algal growth, which in turn uses up much of the available oxygen that fish species need to survive. Fish can quite literally suffocate in extremely eutrophic environments; the effect is amplified in static lake habitats. But these nutrients, along with miscellaneous other industrial wastewater pollutants, have hit native stream fauna hard. The Manawatu River, which runs pretty much right past campus here, was recently classified as one of the most polluted in the Western world. This is a direct function of intensive dairying and also human effluent that is minimally treated before being released. Let's just say that the kids don't play by it's banks anymore.
Then there is the sediment. The clearance of native vegetation for pasture has destabilized a huge portion of our hill country and left it susceptible to routine erosion/slippage/failure. Our precious soils are being washed out to sea with every rain event. This wouldn't happen had forest cover been maintained. Once this sediment load is suspended within a stream channel, it only multiplies its adverse effects. Sediment reduces water clarity and forces whatever fish remain to hide in the gravel and substrate of riverbeds just to survive. Sediment also results in deposition and in-fill, raising the height of the stream and leaving already flone-prone regions (i.e. Manawatu) even more likely to be inundated. Where the rivers flow out to sea also is being choked with debris almost to the point of separation between ocean and stream. These estuarine habitats are crucial to numerous avifauna, both migratory and domestic who may feed or overwinter there.
As each of these ecosystems are modified further, there is less and less change of regenerating those species characteristic of New Zealand. A large proportion of flora and fauna here are endemic, meaning they occur nowhere else in the world. This alone should be enough to instill a strong ethic of stewardship, but many species have nonetheless gone extinct or found their way onto the critically endangered list. Our native fish, for example, receive no legal protection and yet are commercially harvested for whitebait fritters despite being classified as threatened. The juveniles are similar snapped up to be eaten as they fight their way back from the sea and up freshwater channels. What a great idea, right? Kill the young before they have a chance to reproduce and maintain population levels. Introduced trout, on the other hand, are tightly managed by innumerable Fish & Game councils. And that is a clear illustration of the problem. It's an economic one. Trout, despite being an exotic, is much more lucrative that tiny native Galaxias fish.
Habitat loss is almost always couched in terms of business development. New Zealand relies on primary, extractive industries that take from the land such as mining, forestry, farming and the like. Coal mines (operated by the state-owned resource company Solid Energy) recently killed off a species of giant carnivorous snail, Powelliphanta augusta, from its native range and today it only survives in holding fridges. Dairying as mentioned has eliminated vast tracts of podocarp-broadleaf forest habitat and thus the populations and communities associated with it. Exotic timber species such as Pinus radiata have since overtaken much of the middle north island. Wetland habitats have been essentially entirely drained away for farms. Basically New Zealand makes its money by marketing its natural capital overseas. This is not a sustainable business model.
On top of this, a number of unfortunate mammalian introductions have wreaked further havoc on native species. The possum is the classic villain, munching on native trees, native birds (even the beloved Kiwi), native snails, geckoes, weta, the whole lot. The blighters are aided also by weasels, ferrets, stoats, rats, pigs and so on. A saddening number of our native species are consequently restricted to offshore islands where these predatory species don't have access. These pests seem here to stay though. That means Motuweta isolata, the tusked weta, won't be returning to the mainland anytime soon; among the other castaways.
Even the introduction of the common wasp has been a massive detriment to New Zealand. They thrive in beeh forests at some of the highest concentrations in the world, feeling on the beech scale insect and its sugar-rich byproduct called 'honeydew'. Typically the honeydew goes towards feeding native birds such as Tui and Bellbirds along with geckoes and even some invertebrates. With wasps eating most of the honeydew though, it really puts a limit on the populations of those species and those that depend on them by extension.
Through its myriad problems, the country continues to run vapid campaigns such as "100% Pure New Zealand" that simply ignore the reality of the situation for the sake of the tourist or business dollar. Prime minister John Key, who should be quite concerned with the state of his country's environmental assets, has both given his support for further mining projects and flat-out dismissed the sciene that 90% of our rivers are below the standards for swimming/bathing. While there is legislation such as the Resource Management Act and government bodies like the Department of Conservation, they are too often hogtied legally, politically or economically into impotence. Even regional councils cannot be trusted to enforce the policies that are handed down for fear of crossing their residents. They have an awful record when it comes to enforcing violations of resource consents, and so the polluting goes on.
In short, the land that brought you Lord of the Rings is a lie. There are just as many, if not more, issues here than in any other developed Western country. New Zealand is not 100% Pure and is instead a dysfunctional assemblage of introduced species, primarily brought in for economic purposes. Hell, the possum was intentionally released in hopes of establishing a lucrative fur industry before that all got out of hand. Look where we are now. If New Zealand wishes to maintain its natural character, and it surely does, then it is going to have to shift its priorities dramatically and probably make some material sacrifices along the way.
A deeper issue even though, is that most Kiwis aren't even aware of these imminent and systemic problems. To them dairying is the best thing that ever happened and there is severe backlash for anyone who dares challenge its dominance. As long as it keeps bringing the money in, it's not going anywhere. There is a precedent, nevertheless, in the Lake Taupo region where taxpayers compensated farmers to limit the number of cattle they ran on the surrounding farms. This has helped keep the lake healthy and free of excess nutrient run-off. But this was an expensive endeavour, and not exactly feasible for the entirety of the country. The point is that there is hope and all it takes is a bit of critical thinking and initiative. After all, rivers (at least) are some of the easiest landscape features to clean because if you stop the input, they'll quickly flush out the remaining toxins.
Of course in the end, this article isn't to detract from the stunning beauty that Aotearoa does in fact possess, but nor do I want people to live under the illusion of a perfectly green and healthy land. Not all areas are being affected equally, that's a given. Peter Jackson still found enough scenery to film The Hobbit. It's the lowlands and rivers that have taken the brunt of the impact. Montane and alpine zones are still relatively free from human intervention, and while they look pretty that's not enough. There are problems here, but they are reversible if only people are willing to engage them fully. Now that we're aware of them, who wants to help implement some solutions? I for one want to see my adopted home country restored to its former glory.
Of course, most of you will be familiar with the concept of Big Brother, George Orwell's anthropomorphism of totalitarian control in 1984. Keeping an oppressively close eye on your every thought, action and word in order to maintain social homogeneity and uniformity.
Less known, but perhaps more important is the panoptic theory of surveillance. Originally a hypothetical design for a new prison system proposed by English philosopher Jeremy Bentham in the 19th century, the panopticon has since morphed and been expanded into a complex phenomenon within the modern consciousness. The idea was that prisoners organized in open blocks around a central tower with reflective glass so that the prisoners would be fully visible from any angle while the guards remained obscured from view. This produces the illusion of constant surveillance, even if there is no one physically in the watchtower, simply because there is that potential for someone to be watching. The prisoners in turn become self-disciplining and willfully complacent without the need for direct action or confrontation.
Now the reason I bring this up is that the panopticon is easily applicable as a model for our modern surveillance culture. In fact, the metaphor dominates the academic literature on the subject almost to the point of boredom. But today there is such a profusion of cameras, wiretapping, data storage, neighborhood watch programs, etc. that we are undoubtedly being continually watched by someone, somewhere who we never actually see. Run a red light, a camera snaps a photo of your license plate and one week letter there's a traffic violation fine in your mailbox. Simple as that. No faces or people involved. Shopping centers too are notorious for the number of eyes in the sky there. Most people know to behave in accordance with the particular rules and regulations of the space despite the fact that mall security guards are usually laughable buffoons at best. Even the supermarkets keeps records of everything we buy in order to tailor advertisements directly to our preferences. And while I don't have any grand conspiracy to tie all of this together, I do believe that privacy has become a thing of the past and that we are continually monitored by myriad people/organizations for a number of different reasons that they think are equally justified.
Even so, the panopticon is especially important because of that self-discipling effect on Bentham's prisoners. In case it's not yet clear: that's us. The public. We're captives of the perpetual gaze. As such, it has had profound psychological and social impacts upon us. We know we're being watched. It's no secret; we expect it. Those giant black orbs in the ceiling are less than inconspicuous. Of course, we're still not perfectly behaved as a public, and crime is still a thing same as ever. The interesting part comes when we take to watching each other. Not only are we are aware of the surveillance cameras, we also know that other citizens are watching with cameraphones and social media ready to record and disseminate evidence. This creates a nearly inescapable and omnipresent network of behavioral control. It is the panoptic culture.
The technologies that have driven this conversion to full-blown observation nonetheless represent unprecedented legal territory. In many cases, the rights of the individual to privacy is not well defined against the right of a proprietor to survey his holdings and protect his own rights to property. As these digital realities become more integrated into the social fabric, these sorts of distinctions will need to be made. At the moment we're accepting surveillance as though it has forever been a part of life. But it hasn't. At least not to the extend that we experience it now. These changes are extremely recent, even on a human timescale. And I reckon surveillance warrants a bit more thoughtful consideration by the public than it has received.
Do we really want the pathological watching that the panoptic instills within our culture? A quasi-Big Brother state where everyone is watching each other and themselves in distrust. Are we okay with our personal information being laid bare to anyone with an economic interest in it? Is this an adequate deterrent to crime, or is that issue better addressed through different social programs? Who has the right to watch and record? Where does it all end?
If you don't believe that the act of watching has become deeply pathological in modern society, just check your Facebook page.
It appears to be a modern capitalist phenomenon that we increasingly develop our notions of personal identity through acts of consumption rather than production. It may be a romantic sentiment, but no doubt gone are the days when a man was defined by his life's trade and given the last name Smith or Shoemaker. Rather, we now understand ourselves in our consumer activities while our employments are sidelined as necessary means of capital accumulation; which then goes towards our purchasing power. The more cash we possess, the greater our access to the identities we might might desire. The depth of our pockets also dictates our access to certain exclusive groups, all united by their excessive capital resources. For example, malls and shopping centres are the domain of the well-to-do middle class who own cars, live in the suburbs, commute to work, etc. as a sign of belonging. Unwanted individuals such as the homeless, minority classes, political radicals are effectively screened out through these barriers, thus guaranteeing homogeneity. This is the obvious part of the process.
More importantly, we are buying false selves. We are so thoroughly ensconced in this consumer-oriented social complex that the feebleness of such endeavors no longer bothers us either. This pathology goes deeper even that simple shopping habits and real estate demographics. It operates on an immediately personal level as well. By even visiting this page and reading its content, you are in effect consuming a particular notion of selfhood. Of course, this blog is also a wide-open display of my own consumptive tendencies. The music I listen to, the books I read, the issues I engage: they all combine in an effort to establish something distinctively "me". I am attempting to distinguish myself from the multitude by not eating meat products, studying eastern philosophies, and so on. These things are not me. And I am not them. But by consuming them, I am arrive at some suggestion of identity; however illusory it may be. We are paradoxically trying to be different but the same all at once.
There are all sorts of niches and sub-cultures that are bonded by their collective preferences, rejections and habits. Rarely are they united by vocation or production however. We no longer know people by what they produce with their hands or the strength of their arm. As far as I can tell, this phenomenon can trace its lineage back to the the advent of medieval mercantilism, from whence the idea of excessive profit for the middleclass was derived. Prior to that, economies were more primitively based on immediate exchange at the necessity/survival level. There are exceptions I'm sure, but as far as widespread systems of consumptive lifestyles are concerned, this is a rather recent occurrence.
To honest, I don't have much advice as to how this pratice of consuming identities can be rectified, or even if it necessarily requires amendment. I just happened to realize that it underlies much of the modern human experience and wrote this muddled post in response. Take that knowledge however you will. I suppose the take-home message would be not to get too caught up in such practices and take a moment to consider people as they are, not what they consume.
Today I want to think on the subject of religious ecology, or in other words, the interrelatedness of human ontological structures. Religion, after all, is fundamentally a prescription for how we ought to understand and approach our experienced realities. In its many forms, religion offers a valuable reflection of the human condition and how it strives to construct itself in this world. Yet for all its diversity, I like to believe that there are more important commonalities that underlie the entire spectrum in varying degrees. While exhaustive investigation would exceed a lifetime's ceaseless work, I want to focus most specifically on the religious treatment and characterization of the natural world. Within every faith we find reason for awe and respect, if not careful stewardship of this enigmatic earth. The respective reasons surely differ, but I reckon the critical aspect is that they each find their own way to appreciate the world we have. Nature offers such a central mysterious to us that it cannot be ignored, and a central function of religion thus becomes establishing this relationship.
To begin, it's probably best to start with the most familiar story, Christianity. As the most prevalent faith in the Western world, Christianity carries a great deal of philosophical heft in its doctrines. In the Biblical conception, the earth is the product of God's loving labour. The land and all its creatures stem directly from divine design. Man, forged in God's own image, nonetheless occupies an elevated position within the realm. Animals and natural resources are considered a use of privilege for His beloved children. While holding dominion, this hierarchy was still based upon gratitude and respect rather than the gross exploitation it has devolved into today. This was a mandate for responsible stewardship and management, because it was God's own work that man was dealing with. Not only did domestic species deserve consideration, but wild species were equally worthy. Man could eat from the land and its beasts, yet the Creation retained its sacred character. The Jewish and Islamic faiths being similarly Abrahamic, follow along the same lines.
Furthermore, there is a sense of awe, even fear at the untamed wilderness of the earth; particularly represented by the arid expanses of desert. This establishes a spiritual polarity between the comfort of community and the dangers of isolation, which means to further inspire a love of God as the Protector. The meaning of many parables and the promise of salvation would largely be lost without this duality. Man learns to respect the elements while cherishing the security of the Lord. It is of course inspired by the revernce we inherently feel for that which we do not understand. This places man and nature on two sides of the same coin, but still inextricably linked. Unfortunately in today's world, we find a heavier emphasis of this separation than the aforementioned relationship of man as caretaker to the world's creatures.
Within indigenous cultures (and I used the term as a very loose designation), we tend to find a more integrated approach. I by no means have a comprehensive understanding of any traditional belief system, but I'll chance to stumble my way through some Native American cosmological thought. These pre-European tribes demonstrate mankind's direct subsistence upon and interaction with the land. A connection that is not mitigated by commercialized pathways as we experience it today. Their religions thus represent these terrestrial dependencies more strongly. Oftentimes the tribesman identifies himself within a dynamic bioregion that rises and falls regardless of his presence. He resides in this great house of the world, with the sky as its roof, the rivers as his blood and the wind his spirit. Coyote is the mythical creator, an animal predecessor that began the life of this world. An area that may be empty of humanity is by no means empty of vitality and sacred importance. It still carries the weight of a multitude of souls, worthy of respect. This conceptualization dismantles that Christian dichotomy in favor of an embeddedness within nature. Interaction therein provides the critical characterization of indigenous religions, in whatever regional manifestation. Traditional animism recognizes the essential roles of all beings while allowing them equal ecological standing. Close reliance breeds close respect.
But then we have the material renouncers of the East. Hinduism, Jainism and Buddhism each advise detachment from the physical, sensory and illusory world. This avoidance is predicated upon an understanding of nature's constant changing. There is nothing eternal to cling to, and all is subject to revision. Even so, there is an undeniable reverence inherent in these religions. Ascetics retreat to the mountains, Zen poets wander homeless, sacred groves are maintained for droves of monks, and Buddhas achieve enlightenment under Banyan trees. A close relationship with the non-human world is instrumental to arriving at transcendental knowledge. Witnessing the inner workings of nature allows one to escape the woefully limited perspective of the suffering human being. There is no disdain or fear of the wild, nor is there any clinging to its cycles. They see through it as a composition of interrelated connections, absent of any selfhood. Even so, the natural world remains the preferred place to pursue religious devotion because its distance from human trivialities. In more traditional strains of Buddhism, there are even levels of paradise that abound in natural beauty and fertility, indicating their positive status, but these too are only temporary realms that any Buddha may pass through on his journey to full release. Thus for all their detachment, Eastern religions nonetheless contain an admiring affectation towards the unadulterated environment and utilize it to further their spiritual trainings.
I think ultimately what we find here (in this altogether too brief investigation) is that religions fundamentally contain a preoccupation with the natural world in deciding how we should engage it. Despite taking very different approaches, most religions arrive at some permutation of spiritual reverence for the worlds both beyond and within them. Care and stewardship are widely advised, suggesting a human attitude that defies categorization into any particular sect. There is an inherent fascination, and really a necessity in establishing our relationship with the non-human aspects of earth. It helps us to understand and define ourselves, representing an indispensible spiritual resource. I think we all need wilderness and connection to natural processes for one reason or another. With this commonality established, I see reasonf for cooperative conservation agendas that transcend faiths to unite human beings on that most basic level. Whether for preserving the Creation, protecting our means of subsistence, or minimizing the suffering of other beings, there is undoubtedly a common interest there. How our world as come to be so damaged today is beyond my understanding. What we need now is to establish a programme for the pan-religious healing of our injured earth. Its obvious that we each cherish it in our own ways once we strip away those shallow differences. Underneath, there is a fundamental human obligation to maintain the ecological connections that we have been blessed with.
Although I abandoned the United States seven months ago to take up a new national identity on non-nuclear shores, I still have hope for its future. I'm still invested in revitalizing it and steering a fresh course towards social and environmental harmony while rescuing it from the clutches of the military industrial complex and all of those classic villians. Most of what I write on this blog is in hopes of a better future for the States. I might joke about it with friends, but I haven't simply jumped ship to New Zealand because California was failing to live up to my expectations. The States, and California especially, is pulsing with creative energies simply begging for release into the wider sphere of consciousness. I'm actually quite eager to go back and be a part of the movement I feel coming, the movement I feel a part of. There's more happening on that grassroots revolutionary level than down here in the southern hemisphere. Americans (myself included) are crying out for a more meaningful and interconnected existence than the current model provides.
But don't take it from me. Orion Magazine, an incredibly thought-provoking bimonthly publication has published a two part series entitled "America the Possible."
The articles provide both a summary of everything that is wrong with our beloved country, and a vision for an American future that openly engages those issues. In effect, I see in it a perfect reflection of this blog's agenda. Except written in a more concise and comprehensive fashion.
Hawks, hobos, drifters and madmen
Thus run my companions of late
Wiser than you'd at first think
All mumbles, screeches and dirt
The lot of them dissenting
Hostile towards flaccid, limp modernity
All blood, bone and sinew
Pumping and rushing towards an ecstasty
Unknown to settlers, passive folk, liars
Theirs is an unnamed freedom
Floating in the choking mists
Hanging at mind's edges
Transcending focus
Carving souls from the rock and
Watching them drift softly upwards
Any hint of reason eroded
Leaping and playing, not giving
A good god-damn about it
Whether that god be Avalokitesvara
Yahweh, Allah, or an open boxcar
Equally absurd and beautiful
The grass grows thick underfoot
Writhing, rapt in truth.
Evening oak,
Rustle a smile for my soft stepping
Careful of Slippery Jack, wayward twigs
And queen ivy's crimson arms.
The snake's hollow rattle an auspicious greeting
While salamanders slip under crystal waters
Fire-bellied and Awakended.
This is my California and
Here I know Peace.
In these woods I am known.
The quail in my heart will die out, with me
Long before the quail of these woods because
Shivering does yet crouch in quiet dark corners
Gray-suited quirrels laugh madly on high
And spiders weave silver dreams over the meadows
Even while my restful slumber spins eternal.
Mind at ease, I breathe well-worn scents
Crushing fragrant brittle leaves, scuffing dirt and roots
Along crusty clay-red trails
Dawn and Dusk
And if I should grow weary,
Legs spent in joyful communion,
I will simply rest my head softly
Next to an eager trunked sapling,
Promising the infinity of earth.
Then what is the answer?- Not to be deluded by dreams.
To know that great civilizations have broken down into violence,
and their tyrants come, many times before.
When open violence appears, to avoid it with honor or choose
the least ugly faction; these evils are essential.
To keep one's own integrity, be merciful and uncorrupted and
not wish for evil; and not be duped
By dreams of universal justice or happiness. These dreams will
not be fulfilled.
To know this, and know that however ugly the parts appear the
whole remains beautiful. A severed hand
Is an ugly thing and man dissevered from the earth and stars
and his history... for contemplation or in fact...
Often appears atrociously ugly. Integrity is wholeness,
the greatest beauty is
Organic wholeness, the wholeness of life and things, the divine
beauty of the universe. Love that, not man
Apart from that, or else you will share man's pitiful confusions,
or drown in despair when his days darken.
-Robinson Jeffers
Junior year of high school I was unassumingly recommended Robinson Jeffers for a poetry project in English. As per the requirements, I did literary analyses on a few poems, as well as a few poetic imitations; including one for this beauty here: The Answer. I was proud of what I came up with; but not brave enough to display it here.
I can't tell you why I chose that particular piece to ape. I probably didn't quite grasp its significance at the time, being a simple-minded teenager. But somehow it felt the most powerful or truthful, even if its meanings were quite beyond me.
But just last week I rediscovered the work of Jeffers. I devoured his dense collection of poems in a matter of days. While some were vaguely familiar, they each took on greater depth and meaning for me. I felt like I understood them now. His words were alive with truth. They just fit so perfectly. And when I turned my attention to The Answer for the first time in probably three years, I discovered a near flawless reflection of the life philosophy that I have come to hold. I was pretty floored.
It is strange to think that perhaps my spiritual and intellectual trajectory was determined all the way back in those adolescent days. Who would have guessed.
They're a Kiwi band from the nation's capital, Wellington. While I had heard the name once or twice on the internet, I had never much taken notice of the band. That is until I chanced upon a gig poster, saturated in skulls and black ink, advertising for that very November evening in Palmerston North. I decided I couldn't pass up the opportunity. And I'm sure glad I didn't.
At first put off by the dingy pub vibes and the meager crowd, I managed to suffer through the opening acts with optimism. Admittedly, Bloodspry for Politics, despite their unimaginative moniker, cranked out some decent approximations of Cryptic Slaughter tunes.
Nonetheless, when Beastwars took the stage around 11pm, the atmosphere shifted palpably towards something near humble reverence. It was about to begin.
What followed was an hour of trance-like riff worship and inspired delivery. It was if I could do nothing but bang my head to every song. It was unbelievably contagious. Vocalist Matt Hyde appeared to have left his earthly body; eyes rolled back, head to the sky, beseeching the crowd with wild gestures. He was rapt. I was rapt. I didn't want it to end.
Walking out the front doors after the show that night, I felt as though ripped from a pleasant reverie. I wanted to remain among the pummelling riffs and the pervasive sense of mysticism. Even if my ears were ringing and I felt like I could faint from exhaustion. None of this dull, tepid reality.
That Beastwars gig, for me at least, felt like some sort of cathartic spiritual quest. I truly underestimated the power of their music and the force of their delivery. That's how we do shit in NZ.
Lately I've been reading Man and Crisis by the Spanish liberal philosopher Jose Ortega y Gasset. In it I've found a few interesting ideas with implications for human ecology.
To begin with, let's suppose that every man is caught in an existential plight, struggling to orient himself within his unsolicited circumstances. The main focus of his life is simply to survive in this strange, incomprehensible world. This means experiencing, testing and determining which ideas we can rely on: will that chair remain solid if I sit upon it, or will it dissolve into nothingess? Humans go through this fundamental and necessary process of forging a functional reality, so that we may continue to live. Each man and woman is charged with the construction of their own convictions, because we are ultimately individual agents and cannot transmit the right to live onto our fellow. Even by surrendering to the will and whim of another, we still choose that such is the mechanism we will make our decisions by.
In order to aid ourselves in the fabrication of effective realities, man has arrived at culture; the accumulation of thoughts and opinions held by those who preceded us or our contemporaries. This cultural knowledge reduces the pressure on the individual to industriously build up his understandings through firsthand experience and internal consideration. He can now let others do it for him.
The net result, however, is a society of men who take their ideas on the good words of others, and often do not care to test them out personally. For instance, it can be said that much of science is characterized by a certain kind of faith equal to that of religious conviction. Have you ever seen the electrons transferred between the sodium and chloride atoms of your table salt? I sure haven't. Of course, being a science major, I'm clearly not here to deny its practicality or the suitability of its theories. The point simply remains that that it is a system largely taken on faith by those outside of the scientific community.
Continuing on though. By Ortega y Gasset's defintion, man is in crisis when he cannot locate or differentiate his own personal beliefs and ideas amidst the myriad offered by the culture of others. He is only at peace when he is in agreement within himself. As evidenced by history, man must occasionally shake off his amassed culture in order to reconnect with what is in his own mind. The Renaissance, for example, was the action of escaping Christianity to embrace the immediacy of human reason.
My conceit then is that mankind today is staggeringly encumbered by his own culture. The proliferation of information has in effect alienated the individual to a greater distance from his own tried and true realities. We live in a world governed not by our own conscious opinions and decisions, but by the ideas of mass society. These are the faceless ideas that cannot be attributed to any one person, because they were not generated in such fashion. Man trades in his own beliefs for those of the fickle and unnamed 'people' with whom he identifies.
Yet as mentioned, there inevitably comes a time to divest ourselves of these sedimentary conventions. Like depositions of silt, they weigh down on us from many sources; assumptions, suppositions, dogma and the like.
It is clear that our world today is in crisis. There is a great deal of dissatisfaction, regarding nearly every facet of our modern lives. We crave social justice, gender equality, and corporate responsibility. We crave a closer connection to the natural world, away from the industrialization that has come between us. Or at least some of us do. But all together we crave to be at home within ourselves. And according to Ortega y Gasset, this is a natural human cycle.
The challenge thus becomes one of choosing the best solution to our specific crisis. It's the chance to replace the underpinnings of our society and our culture with something more ecologically sensitive; perhaps that holistic worldview I posted about recently. That's the link in all of this. Man has come to a historical point in its progression, and now the stage is set to decide how we will move on from our alienated relationship with the land and with ourselves. Capitalist culture has weighed down on us long enough. Now is the time to stand on our own two feet and decide was is the truth of our surroundings, of our interactions therein. Of our human ecology.
In recent months I've become increasingly aware of a paradoxical element within the way I construct my identity: wine. It encompasses disparate aspects that I both love and loathe.
On one hand, I grew up in wine coutry where a few bottles of the stuff was requisite fare for any social gathering. The wine rack assumed a natural presence in my conception of adult life. Now in New Zealand where the drinking age is lowered to 18, I've been delving into the oenological world and trying to grasp the characteristics of sundry varietals. It's an acquired taste, one that is almost certainly acquired for reasons beyond mere flavour.
Viticulture holds a special place for me in terms of aesthetics as well. I spent my youth being shuttled to and from school or sport, always gazing out the window into the endless rows, eyeing their heavy fruits jealously and marvelling at the stunning color of their broad leaves. Those vines, standing sentry all across the valley,helped to shape my understanding of the land. I'm almost even disappointed when I find myself in a place without acre upon acre of gnarled rootstock climbing the hillside. When I spent two weeks working a permaculture farm on Waiheke Island here in NZ, I was thrilled to find myself surrounded by wineries. I felt comforted in a way I didn't think possible. I kept telling people how at home I felt there, simply because the landscape was reminiscent of Sonoma.
At the moment I'm even considering biodynamic viticulture as a career path. It seems a natural choice, given that I grew up just down the road from an award-winning label who helped pioneer the field. However, considering the matter more objectively, I've come to notice a few details within the general practice of winemaking that clash with my environmentalist and health-nut ethos.
For one thing, vineyards are the enemies of native landscapes. The indigenous oak woodlands of northern California have been largely sidelined by the parallel repititions of vines, being treated almost as intruders in their own land. As the industry has proved more lucractive over the years, greater areas of land have been clear for planting. This issues is especially poignant in the case of the Gravenstein apples of Sebastopol. The ancient, bowed and stooped trees of this cherished heirloom variety are being uprooted because of their insufficient economic performance; to be replaced by none other than Vitis vinifera.
In the process, previous biodiversity is jeopardized as greater exapenses of native habitat are co-opted for commercial purposes. Conservationist that I am, this leaves a somewhat unsavoury taste in my mouth. Which leads me to my next point: that wine as a beverage is fundamentally a poison, alcohol.
As with any alcohol, irresponsible use can lead to the loss of coherence; a fact with has ever kept me off heavy drinking. A few glasses in an evening is harmless enough, it's true. There are even potential health benefits in the polyphenols of red wine (though the grapes themselves would do just as well, if not better). But in general, I'm not terribly keen on intoxicants. As such the notion of joining and industry predicated upon the proliferation of alcohol makes me uneasy. Perhaps moreso because I don't trust the moderation of most people, and tend to envision the destructive effects; or at least the boisterous abuse some may put the beverage to. Yet likely enough the positive social benefits outweigh the carelessness of the few.
It must also be admitted that the operation of a vineyard is an inherently stratified arrangement. The lower classes undertake the brunt of the hard labour, only to taste little of their efforts. Their refined products fetch prices far beyond their means, especially for the seasonal workers. Perhaps this is simply the inarguable logic of the capitalist system, but I see it as the perpetuation of bourgeoise dominance over their oftentimes ethnic labourers. Maybe social justice is a bit beyond my scope, but the spectre of inequality still haunts my vision of the vineyard.
Returning to the positives though, my research into the Slow Food movement has also proven wine to be an undeniable marker of cultural identity in the face of global homogenization. The terroir of a place is distinct and inimitable. I'm fascinated by the alchemy of soil, vine, fruit and fermentation to produce something wholly unique to its time and place. I see that as something worthy of respect, especially when attended to with an artisanal sensitivity. I've elsewhere described my admiration for such examples of individual passion and committment.
In the end, I believe I'll come to embrace wine through my misgivings, and perhaps work to settle the issues I perceive. It is simply too integral to my understanding of the world. And I would like to think that it does hold the potential to heal the psychic wounds of modernity by returning us to the land and creating a product in rhythm with natural processes.
Besides, what's a social gathering without wine anyways?
Today I want to discuss environmentalism as a more spiritual practice; or at least a more holistic sensibility. Stay with me here. It is my opinion that broader structural changes will not come without the individual internalization of environmental ethics and the establishment of greener cultural values. At present, natural resources issues are still measured against the ruler of economic performance and short-term return. This is the devil's algebra, for lack of a better expression. What we need is an alternate means of conceptualizing value and making policy decisions that reflect this. If our ecological relationships were mediated by something approaching religious respect, then our courses of action would not be given over to such perverse equations as the aforementioned.
Admittedly, this post comes on the back of just having finished a book entitled Environmental Philosophy and Ethics in Buddhism. That's where I'm drawing these notions of 'spirituality' from. It is not meant to connote anything remotely theistic. Instead, I conceieve of it as a certain level of understanding regarding the interconnectivity of all the animate forces that inhabit Earth. It is simple ecology, kicked up a notched into metaphysics.(As a disclaimer, no acid has been dropped in the writing of this post).
What it promises is an escape from purely economic thinking, and a reassertion of respect for the complex systems emplaced over evolutionary time. These naturally constructed communities, these webs of being, are being wantonly destroyed by contemporary human activity. They don't factor into our reasoning very strongly at all. This is regardless of religion as well. Modern Buddhists can have a carbon footprint as well.
However, I have come to find positive solutions in the practical philosophies of the Buddha. After all, the Buddha's pedagogy was a multi-tiered system that emphasized contextual responses over strict imperatives. For instance, laymen were given differing instructions than the monks in the ways to lead a decent life. A farmer could still plough his land for agriculture because food is a necessity, though many plants and bugs may be destroyed in the process. Conversely, the monks were restricted from such professions, and were even advised not to travel during the rainy season when they might trample the emerging worms. As such, you'll find none of the categorical moral philosophy that was popularized by Kant in the Western tradition.
The implication of this is that the individual retains a greater amount of responsibility for his own enlightenment, in the same way that we should each be cultivating our own experience-based sensibilities towards the environment. This allows for a much stronger connection to our actions than being instructed what to do by an elevated power such as the government. We should feel how to act and behave towards the land. We should inherently know that strip-mining is an inexcusable violation of the Earth, or that fracking too is condemnable practice.
Ultimately what I'm suggesting is a shift towards eco-centric ethics; a mindset where all of life is taken into account equally, rather than being overshadowed by anthropocentrism. The route I've taken to this sensibility is through Buddhism, but that is by no means the only way. Some of the most passionate environmental literature I've read has been authored by bona fide Creationists who view themselves as stewards of this planet. But the effect is essentially the same. I believe that if only we taken these issues to heart and understand them on a more spiritual or holistic level; or however you might describe it; then a sustainable world may yet prevail.
After an extended absense, I've decided to take up the mantle once again and will be ranting and raving about all things related to environmentalism, food culture and the seemingly unrelated subject of metal music.
The fields have lain fallow for nearly a year now, but as of today I'm preparing to sow a new crop of iconoclastic posts to shake you from the shackels of industrialized life.
There has been a great deal of unexpected change within the intervening year for your humble author; not the least of which was dropping out of college, moving to New Zealand, attending Buddhist meditation retreats and other such shenanigans. All those details will come in due time however.
