nature should make us feel afraid
rethinking our relationship with nature
part I.
In late March, I visited the Royal Botanical Gardens of Edinburgh. It was nice, it was cute. There were pretty flowers and shrubs, moss-covered rocks, and an artificial mini-waterfall with a footpath leading besides it. Each plant had a little label sticking out, and some areas had boards with written descriptions about the history of the saplings. There were trees, hundreds of years old with trunks too thick to wrap your arms around, growing in individually assigned spots in the ground with fixed distances between them. Very nice, very cute. But the more time I spent inside, the more pessimistic I grew.
What does it mean when we, humans, have to create a fake pocket of nature just to feel some semblance of sanity within a concrete jungle? I love nature most when it makes me feel insignificant. It makes me feel powerless. Like I belong to a universe larger than myself. To a planet with a history that goes far beyond the blink of time for which our entire species has existed. (Cue Matt Maltese’s ‘The Earth is a Very Small Dot’, a song that I will never shut up about)1. Can a small park like this truly replicate that same feeling, when every little shrub there has been selectively picked, placed, and curated, just for our little amusement?
The artificiality of the Gardens struck me even more strongly when walking along Queen’s Drive a couple weeks later. We could see Arthur’s Seat towering over us in the distance, the extinct volcano that once shaped this very land, the iconic landmark that gives Edinburgh its identity. Rolling hills and grassy plains stretched out before us, reminding us that before this city, there was nothing, and it was beautiful. The Botanical Gardens felt like a desperate and futile attempt to capture a glimpse of the natural world. Like trying to observe the vast oceanic life by staring at a spoonful of water.
I’m sorry if this sounds overly cynical. The Gardens are beautiful, and definitely worth a visit. And I’m someone who wouldn’t survive a day in the wilderness, so perhaps it is a bit ironic for me to go on ranting about the ‘real’ natural world, without really knowing anything useful about it.
But I think this conversation lends itself to a very important, and much broader, discussion about our relationship with nature. It is an aspect of environmental philosophy that I have been unable to stop thinking about for the last two months.
part II.
About two weeks ago, I came across an article from Aeon titled ‘Have you forgotten what it means to be afraid of nature?’ It discusses the philosophy of American writer, philosopher, and environmentalist Aldo Leopold (1887-1948), and specifically his short-essay ‘Thinking Like a Mountain’.
Shawn Simpson, the writer of the article, explains Leopold’s idea of the ‘ecology of fear’ – where predators not only serve an important function in the food chain physiologically, by limiting the number of herbivores and therefore preventing over-grazing, but also do so psychologically. The mere presence of predators lurking in a mountain instills a certain fear and respect for the environment, which shapes the way the rest of the ecosystem behaves and functions.
It’s a very insightful discussion, and one that I could not do justice to by trying to summarise it, so I suggest you read it yourself. I especially recommend reading the original essay being discussed, ‘Thinking Like a Mountain’; it is only 2-3 pages long, and Leopold’s writing is so beautiful and powerful that it made me gasp.
A deep chesty bawl echoes from rimrock to rimrock, rolls down the mountain, and fades into the far blackness of the night. It is an outburst of wild defiant sorrow, and of contempt for all the adversities of the world. Every living thing (and perhaps many a dead one as well) pays heed to that call. To the deer it is a reminder of the way of all flesh, to the pine a forecast of midnight scuffles and of blood upon the snow, to the coyote a promise of gleanings to come, to the cowman a threat of red ink at the bank, to the hunter a challenge of fang against bullet. Yet behind these obvious and immediate hopes and fears there lies a deeper meaning, known only to the mountain itself. Only the mountain has lived long enough to listen objectively to the howl of a wolf.2
– Aldo Leopold, ‘Thinking Like a Mountain’
part III.
Earlier this year, in our Political Thinkers course at university, we covered similar ideas by Australian philosopher and ecofeminist Val Plumwood. And while I was not consciously thinking about her writing, it stuck somewhere in the back of my mind. The Aeon article and Leopold’s short essay made everything click together; from my previous encounter with environmental philosophy, to my experience with the Botanical Gardens. It drew on all my previous love for hiking, forests, and nature – for tranquility, politics, art, and Studio Ghibli films – and combined it into something terrifying.
I say terrifying because these ideas feel so grand; I am aware of how much I don’t know, of how much more time I need on this Earth to understand them. And as I mentioned before, I could not survive a day in the wilderness; my lack of knowledge and ability terrifies me. I wish I could be more like one of those nature enthusiasts who can name every species of bird and fungi they happen across. One day, maybe. But for now, I want to do my best to explore these ideas through literature and, of course, experiencing nature first-hand.
I want to end this post with a story from Hindu mythology about Lord Krishna3 which I first discovered watching the cartoon ‘Little Krishna’ as a kid. In his village, the people held an annual celebration to worship Lord Indra, the god of rain, for blessing them and supporting their agricultural livelihoods. When his father, the village Chief, explained this to him, the young Krishna questioned why the villagers didn’t worship the mountain Govardhana instead. After all, it was the mountain that stopped the clouds over the village and brought it rain, and the mountain from which the river came. If there was anyone or anything to be thanked, it should be Govardhana.
His father listened, agreed, and redirected the festivities towards the mountain. Indra, enraged and with his ego hurt, unleashed heavy rains, floods, and lightning to teach the villagers a lesson. Krishna smiled, unbothered, and went to the mountain. Bowing to it, and requesting it for help, he then lifted the entire mountain on his little finger. The villagers and the cattle gathered underneath, protected and sheltered while the storm ravaged the village for seven days straight. Krishna continued to hold the mountain, playing his flute, while the villagers danced and sang. After a week, Indra realised his mistake and that Krishna was Vishnu’s avatar, and apologised to him.
Is it any wonder, then, that stories about Krishna soon became my favourite as a kid? In a country so blinded by religious hatred and arrogance, we have became more like Lord Indra with our hurt egos and carelessness about what truly matters.
Well, I suppose the topic of environmental conversation in India is a whole separate discussion, one that I know embarrassingly little about. But the philosophical venture of it is just as interesting to me. How does our relationship with the natural world inform us of the very nature of our existence? And how does capitalism establish the normative superiority of profit over morality, of domination and control over nurture and care, of ‘masculinity’ over ‘femininity’?...
end.
I hope you enjoyed this article! I tried to start writing this back in April after the Botanical Gardens and the walk along Queen’s Drive, but words escaped me and, suddenly, language felt insufficient to fully convey what I was feeling. Then, after a month of reading and thinking, it all came vomiting out at once today after the most beautiful, life-changing 2.5-hour nap (at 9pm). I love sleeping, and I love spring. Until next time! =)
love,
mihi
I wrote more about this song, the inspirations behind it, and the existentialist philosophy it conveys, at the end of this post:
Leopold, Aldo. “Thinking like a Mountain.” In A Sand County Almanac: And Sketches Here and There, 1949.
Krishna is a highly worshipped religious figure, a reincarnation of Lord Vishnu. Vishnu is the ‘Preserver (of Life)’ in the Hindu Trimurti (trinity), alongside Brahma (Creator) and Shiva (Destroyer). He is said to have ten avatars who descend onto Earth as reincarnations to restore good and prevail against evil, Krishna being one of them.
This is such a thoughtful article and I really commend your ability to synthesise different ideas together and ponder over experiences you have had for a long time before emerging with something original and thought-provoking like this. It really represents a life of the mind I would like to emulate. Always keep thinking and writing xx
this is such a beautifully written piece, i recently took a course on the anthropocene and environmental philosophy that deals with it, and this immediately reminded me of it! Please keep writing about the environment! The way you write about your emotional attachment to nature feels very raw, i would love to read more :,)