Sophie Kerr Portfolio
II: Self-Portrait as Wind
Another déjà vu, dear readers! There's a lot of these in Section II, but, again, there are revisions to the versions submitted for the portfolio. This version of this essay will appear in the 2010-2011 edition of the Washington College Review and won the Warner/Beacham Prize for Environmental Writing. Unfortunately, I was unable to attend reading at which they announced the winner of the prize because Insley and I had gone biking way out in the country to explore and take pictures of abandoned houses and I lost track of time. Honestly, I did not expect to win, anyway, and had only decided to go to support the friend I was certain would be winning. Instead, Insley was helping me take pictures for an art project that dealt with the interactions of man and nature (particularly that everything mankind creates will eventually return to nature) when the prize was being announced. So I guess I was out living what I advocate, in a way. And also cutting myself on a rusty nail (which I do not advocate). But I very much regret not being there. Apparently everyone else who submitted was there.
Nos Sumus Gaia:
An Intersection of Science and Religion
(translation: We are Gaia)
Prelude
Long before Darwin brought his theory of evolution to the table, rocking the foundations of many religions, there was a division between Religion and Science. Both have encompassed many ideas throughout the years and sometimes have even overlapped, but as science has discarded faith, so, too, has religion rejected any scientific theories that would undercut their worldview.
Raised in the Lutheran church and taught in the Maryland public school system, I believed for a long time that both God created the world and that the world had evolved. I spent my childhood playing outside or reading and camping trips were the favourite family vacation. The ideas of creator-God and an evolving natural world never seemed to conflict in my head, but slowly evolution took precedence, and I told my confirmation class that I didn’t see why God couldn’t have made the world via evolution, earning for myself some worried looks. It didn’t take long for me to learn the old axiom “you can’t please everyone,” but nevertheless I continued to walk a middling path and cheerfully explained to my best friend, who was falling away from Christianity as we ended high school, that I wasn’t really Lutheran anymore, but rather had made up my own Caroline religion. My strange mish-mash of beliefs has persisted, sometimes leaning more towards Christianity, sometimes more towards a pagan attitude and in many aspects I am still figuring out what I believe. All around me science versus religion debates have raged and extremists refuse to acknowledge that the opposition might have a valid point or even acknowledge that the other side exists.
Certainly such obstinate attitudes are proving a major problem in our civilization in innumerable arenas and no one wants to try to find the common ground, but rather shout at each other from distant shores. Recently, readings I have done in the realm of environmental writing have shown me that commonalities do exist between the supposed opposites of science and religion. These readings have also given me the vocabulary to articulate some of what I believe, which does, indeed, lie somewhere between science and religion. What I hope to bring you is an organic belief system or worldview originating in both hard evidence and intuitive evidence.
Some Science
Since atmospheric chemist James Lovelock published his article “Gaia as Seen through the Atmosphere” in 1972, a theory or hypothesis called Gaia has been circulating and gestating in the scientific world as a means to explain the interactions between the living and non-living components of the earth. At a conference in March of 1988, Lovelock summed up the theory as it currently stands in this way: The Gaia hypothesis “holds ‘that the nonliving and living represent a self-regulating system that keeps itself in a constant state,’ or at least within a limited range of conditions” (Kerr 393). Previously this self-regulating system had been referred to as an organism, but the terminology of this iteration of the theory implied a deterministic stance regarding the reason for homeostasis. The scientific community as a whole was willing to accept these implications and do the theory that is now generally accepted is somewhat different than the initial proposition, but the underlying idea has not changed. Personally, I would argue for the organism-view, but for now I will focus on a presentation of the science of Gaia and other scientific aspects that support a close interrelation and dependence between humans and their environment.
At first Lovelock’s theory was really just a hypothesis based on his findings from studying the atmospheres of Earth and Mars, but after he came into collaboration with microbiologist Lynn Margulis they found they could explain the mechanisms by which the systems of the earth were interrelated. Lovelock and Margulis looked primarily at the influence of other aspects of the planet on the atmosphere itself. The Earth’s atmosphere is “characterized by a constant flow of energy and matter” and yet it maintains a constant composition (Capra 102). The interchange of gases between living and non-living elements on earth all contribute to the composition of not only the atmosphere, but to other planetary conditions as well throughout the hydro-, litho-, and bio-spheres. One of the best examples Lovelock gave in his book on the subject was that of carbon dioxide (CO2):
Earth’s volcanoes produce CO2, but this is a greenhouse gas and so if life is to exist, it must be reduced or the temperature would rise too high to support life. The process by which plants take in and animals produce CO2 and oxygen (photosynthesis, respiration, decay) is well know, but these keep each other in balance and so do not affect the CO2 from volcanoes. This volcanic CO2 is taken out instead by the process of rain weathering the rocks and turning their CO2 into a liquid solution. Microscopic algae absorb the CO2 from its liquid solution and use it to make shells of chalk, which in turn from sediments of limestone when the algae die. The limestone eventually sinks into the earth’s mantle where it melts and will eventually be spewed out in a volcano again (Capra 104-5).
This process has involved everything from air to land to ocean to animals and this is just one system of many that Lovelock has show to regulate conditions on Earth. Not only does this process maintain a balance within itself, but is also contributes to planetary temperature regulation by keeping the greenhouse gas in check. Other systems, or “feedback loops” regulate other conditions such as ocean salinity and overall climate.
Lovelock points out the relative stability of the earth’s temperature for the last four billion years, despite a 25% increase in heat from the sun and that conditions have remained optimal for the continuation of life. These feedback loops he has demonstrated provide proof that “all life and all of its environment [are] tightly coupled so as to form a self-regulating entity” (qtd. in Capra 103). Margulis put it thus: “Life actually makes and forms and changes the environment to which it adapts. Then that ‘environment’ feeds back on the life that is changing and acting and growing in it. There are constant cyclical interactions” (qtd. in Capra 106). The scientists refuted accusations of teleology with a model called Daisyworld in which they showed that a planet can, in fact, regulate itself intelligently “without the need to assume any overall design or purpose” or god-like agent (Capra 107).
There is no doubt that the systems Lovelock and Margulis explain do exist, but the questions that arise come from the idea that these systems can adapt and that living and non-living elements can interact in such a way as to support one another in propagating life. There may or may not be a God with a larger purpose, but adaptations nevertheless have been shown to happen. Furthermore, the interdependence of all part of nature is well-established. Without the systems in place to regulate CO2, there would be no way animal life could survive and the planet would heat to temperatures unable to support even plant life. It seems more likely that the planet is operating as a whole organism rather than random separate systems. Within the planet-organism (Gaia), each system is like a part of our own bodies working in harmony as best they can to support a continued healthy existence.
Some Religion
Connectivity to our environment is something that many indigenous peoples emphasize in their religious practices worldwide. Even in the Jewish and Christian traditions there is evidence for an earth-centered view. From many religious perspectives there is a need for humans to care for the earth because of the closeness between humans and nature. I will now explore some of the religious background that supports a human-nature organism viewpoint.
David Abram talks about the role of the medicine people or shamans in many traditional societies. We (that is, contemporary Western cultures) might view them as primitive, but we must remember that these tribal, sometimes nomadic communities are our roots as well. Abram says that the shaman is an intermediary, ensuring “that the relation between human society and the larger society of beings is balanced and reciprocal” (819). Even though not all the people can have the intimate connection to and understanding of the land that the shaman has, they nevertheless know that they must have the shaman for his connection and the people listen when he tells them what they must do to keep the balance. There is an innate sensibility in these peoples that they must maintain their place in the larger order of the world.
Just as Gaia theory proposed that all earthy systems are interrelated, so too, does the shaman address all parts of nature when seeking to maintain the balance. The community within which he works is not just the human one, but also “the multiple non-human entities that constitute the local landscape, from the diverse plants and the myriad animals… to the particular winds and weather patterns that inform the local geography, as well as the various landforms” (Abram 819). The overt function of a shaman may be to provide healings and blessings, but his “primary allegiance… is not to the human community, but to the earthly web of relations in which that [human] community is embedded,” from which the knowledge to cure illness arises (820). The supposed magic of his craft comes from “the ability to slip out of perceptual boundaries” of his culture and listen to the natural world at large (822).
Traditional communities consider the natural world to be the dwelling place for their gods. Whether or not there exist ‘gods’ as such is irrelevant because the essence of this religious practice comes from the understanding that all parts of nature are imbued with a spirit that is connected to the spirit of the whole earth. Abram relates an incident in which he noticed that offerings left out for the household spirits were being eaten by ants. In the physical world, this makes sense because the ants will have a constant food supply without having to invade the homes of the people and so a balance is kept, but the spiritual side is manifest in that they people refer to their practice as pacifying spirits. They are not pacifying some invisible being, but rather the non-human intelligence that is the ant world. The same applies to inanimate parts of the landscape such as rivers and mountains as well as the living animals and plants.
Traditional treatments of death furthermore give us insight into the unity of the natural world in which people have long believed. Even now we know that our physical bodies return to the earth upon our death (or, we would if we didn't put ourselves in lead-lined boxes) and this is even part of the Christian teaching; from dust we were made and unto dust we shall return. Decomposition is the obvious way in which we are connected to the larger system. But most indigenous cultures see this decomposition as more than a physical process that returns us to our component parts; it is an intimate re-connection of the human to the earth. The spirit becomes part of the landscape; they may be re-born into another animal or they may reside in a spiritual state in the landscape, but no matter what they always seem to have a connection to nature itself. The worship of ancestors, then “is ultimately another mode of attentiveness to nonhuman nature… This cycling of the human back into the larger world ensures that the other forms of experience that we encounter – whether ants, or willow trees, or clouds – are never absolutely alien to ourselves” (Abram 829). In cultures that believe in such ancestor worship and reincarnation concepts, there is a distinction between the spirits of individuals; however, I would take the idea of the return to nature a step further to say that the spirit within each individual will always maintain such a connection. The spirit of nature is not so much comprised of different individuals who have shared experiences, but rather it is a communal spirit to which we are all connected. We all contribute to the experience of the collective; from trees to cats to people, these experiences are of individual minds and bodies, but are all within the reach of each member through the spirit. Death simply ends a physical form, but the collective continues.
Even within the Judeo-Christian tradition there is evidence for the closeness of humans and nature, though the nature of the relationship is not so much one of equals as of caretakers. Certainly the Christian God puts humans above nature and Christian teaching would not imbue non-human beings or things with their own souls, but nevertheless God’s decree to man is to keep the earth and He even gives some more specific instructions as to how one goes about this. In Exodus and Leviticus, rules are written that one should leave fields fallow one year in every seven to let them rest, just as we rest from our labours on the Sabbath. This is a sound agricultural practice, although now we generally recommend letting fields rest more frequently – every other or every two years. Nevertheless, we can see that what people know to be true from practice and intuition comes out in their religion.
God’s command to keep the earth is also more that just an injunction to make gardens to sustain us, but the Hebrew word for “keep” (shamar) has a much deeper significance. Calvin DeWitt explains that shamar is best realized in the blessing: “The Lord bless thee and keep thee” (Numbers 6:24). Shamar is used here for “keep” in the original text and DeWitt gives us a full sense of the connotations in this phrase:
May God, the Creator, keep you: with everything working right inside of you, everything working right psychologically, everything working right between you and all the people, and everything working right between you and the soil, and the air, and the land, and the rest of creation – everything in the biosphere. (921)
It is all of this richness of meaning that we must remember when we read that God told Adam to keep the garden of Eden and by implication all of creation, as Adam was given dominion over the earth and every living thing (Genesis 1-2). In addition to keeping the earth, God commanded that we “be fruitful and multiply, and replenish the earth” (Genesis 1:28). The implication of “fruitfulness” here is not only human propagation, but also maintaining the abundance of the earth itself, as evidenced by the second half of the command. De Witt looks at this command in context of the story of the Ark; Noah ensured continued diversity and proliferation in the animal community and by doing so ensured that the earth itself would continue to be fruitful. The diversity of life is necessary for the systems of Gaia to be maintained and for life to flourish. In one tiny teaspoon of earth there are millions of life forms and when we allow agriculture to destroy the topsoil with pesticides and plows, we lose not only the life of the tiny organisms, but also the ability of the field to support plant life. Hence God’s more specific decrees regarding the rest of fields which we seem to have forgotten, in addition to our amazing ability to ignore continued scientific evidence for better farming and gardening practices. De Witt suggests that Christians should keep Noah’s admirable protection of diversity in mind as a model for promoting fruitfulness. He says, “we may take the fruit, but we may not destroy the fruitfulness of earth’s living creatures. Their home in creation must be sustained, their habitat saved, and their lineages preserved” (DeWitt 924).
A Proposal
Taking into account that both science and many religions support an interdependent human-nature system, it seems more than likely that there is an ultimate truth behind it all. In my own grasping for the vocabulary to define my beliefs, I reached out to both the ideas of science and religion for answers. For me, the science lends legitimacy to religious beliefs and the fact that so many religions are nature-based suggests that this knowledge might be instinctive. As my own understanding of the science of the earth grew throughout my schooling, the interdependence of human and natural, living and non-living systems became more and more apparent. Until I came to college, my religious education was mostly limited to Biblical teachings from the pulpit, from which I took the injunctions to love all as including the natural world. In college, I met others who shared similar ideas and I read more widely, finding historical and contemporary movements that gave me the words to define the feelings in which I had long believed. It was comforting to realize that my own instinct to assign a spirituality to the trees of my backyard was not so far removed from many established religious beliefs.
I would not ask that the scientists become spiritual or that that the pursuits of religion become scientific, but I would ask that all peoples take both into account when formulating a belief system and making decisions that will have an effect on the environment. From politicians deciding on carbon emissions-reduction policies to the average person’s dietary choices or participation in recycling programs, we base our decisions not only on scientific evidence, but also a belief system that values nature as much as humanity. The decision to place similar values on human and non-human life comes from belief, not facts, and yet many scientists take for granted that non-human life must be sustained just as much as human life. Scientists will understand the importance of diversity for healthy ecosystems, but the impulse to try to preserve nature is deeper than that. Instinctively we understand what Gaia proposes: because of our interconnectedness with the world as a whole organism, we must look after all of its parts.
It is impossible to deny that human life affects the environment and it would not be unreasonable to ask for belief in the self-regulatory Gaia system. It is not so far a leap from this to come to a belief that there is an underlying spirituality to the Gaia system. The understanding that indigenous peoples have of the land comes not only from living in close relation to it, but also from a natural human instinct. They are in tune with the spiritual world. It is not an active consciousness that makes decisions about the balance of salinity or the need to keep the deer population in check, but rather a sensitivity to the web of life such that when there is an imbalance, there is an intuitive reaction to restore balance. Whereas most Gaia systems can keep balances without conscious thought, humans often have some trouble with this. Hence the creation of religions. And even though religion has so often failed to guide us to the deep earth respect we need, the groundwork is there, and as I found in my own wandering in the woods, it is not so hard to make the leap to seeing the spirituality of nature. Even without a sacred tradition to act as guide, any human could become so attuned to the system as to be able to know what to do to restore the balance, but most of us are unwilling to put in the time it would require to be able to listen and feel with that altered perception. Despite our lack of deliberate effort, there is still evidence that we can pick up on the spiritual connection. When confronted with the vastness, the intricacy, the beauty, the terribleness of nature, emotions are stirred up within us. When I breathe the polluted air of our metropolitan areas, especially after having come from clean country air, we know that we have upset the balance.[1] The human influence on Gaia is huge and deliberate and so our reactions must be similarly thought out and deliberate. No longer can we rely on the shaman alone to tell us of the imbalances and suggest changes to restore optimal conditions.
We must become our own shamans. We must take to listening to the earth. Our own souls are part of the soul of Gaia and if we could just put aside our humanity for a moment, we would know that we are one. Our dependency is undeniable on the spiritual as well as physical level. Our science gives us clues to our connection and gives us methods for balancing ourselves again, but we must also listen to the earth if we are truly to give back. For most of us, this will be difficult as we have been raised in the belief that ours is the only higher consciousness, and so saying we must listen to the winds seems like a poetic personification rather than something that can actually be accomplished. We must alter our perception of reality. Abram warns us that “modern humanity’s denial of awareness in nonhuman nature is borne not by any conceptual or scientific rigour, but rather by an inability, or a refusal to fully perceive other organisms” (827). This is something that we must overcome. We should look to the traditional cultures of our lands for clues. The shaman ensures that the community “never takes more from the living land than it returns to it – not just materially but with prayer, propitiations, and praise” (Abram 819). Our science tells us how to give back materially, but we must provide the necessary praise from our own souls. Let us revive the songs of sunrise.
Works Cited:
- Abram, David. “The Ecology of Magic.” American Earth: Environmental Writing Since Thoreau. Ed. Bill McKibben. New York: The Library of America, 2008. 815-834.
- Capra, Fritjof. The Web of Life. Random House, 1996.
- DeWitt, Calvin. “Inspiration for Sustaining Life on Earth: Greeting Friends in Their Andean Gardens.” American Earth: Environmental Writing Since Thoreau. Ed. Bill McKibben. New York: The Library of America, 2008. 920-928.
- Kerr, Richard A. “No Longer Willful, Gaia Becomes Respectable.” Science 240.4851 (1988): 393-395. JSTOR. Miller Library, Washington College Chestertown, MD. http://www.jstor.org/stable/1701175
[1] I do not have time here to address at length a somewhat important issue in my presentation of these ideas. Nevertheless, there will come up the argument that not all people feel the connection to the earth of which I am speaking. This type of person – a city person, perhaps – is not uncommon in today’s world of expanding urban centers and increased reliance on technology. Such people may have lost their ability to connect with nature because of lack of contact in childhood or a lack of sustaining contact into adulthood. It is an interesting paradox because we have removed ourselves from the process of natural selection and in many ways are no longer a part of nature as we used to be, and yet it cannot be denied that we are still sharing the planet and are the creating the largest impact on the planet of any species. Our literal disconnect from the evolutionary process does not, however mean we no longer have an innate connection to nature; it is simply a lost connection rather than a non-existent one. There are many people addressing this problem, often labelled “Nature-deficient disorder.” To those interested in exploring this matter further, I would recommend Richard Louv’s Last Child in the Woods. Also of interest for this problem and man other problems addressed in this paper are: Peter H. Kahn Jr.’s The Human Relationship with Nature: Development and Culture, David W. Orr’s Ecological Literary: Education and the Transition to a Postmodern World, and Theodore Roszak’s The Voice of the Earth: An Exploration of Ecopsychology.
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