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.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Monday, September 17, 2012
Friday, September 7, 2012
Surveillance Culture
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.
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.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Consuming identities
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Sunday, June 3, 2012
The Ecology of Religions
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.
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.
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