The Adventures of Jimmy Utah
Part of an ongoing series that revisits different ideas I explored as part of my graduate studies in the Environmental Humanities.
Searching for Metaphors
Forgive me, but I am not used to talking in metaphors. I wonder if it’s a skill that becomes dormant through inactivity. A specific articulation of the writing muscle that becomes weak without repeated use?
Why I am even worried about metaphors?
Because in the ensuing attempt to conceptualize and convey an entire semester of ideas into one blog entry, metaphors seem like relatively solid footing, and an efficient method for casting a net around the big ideas that have been working on me these last four months.
With the benefit of a semester under my belt, I have a hunger to reflect and a thirst to articulate this experience. These new rhythms of life are fundamentally reshaping me and its time to try and give voice to these changes.
Pearls of Wisdom
Over the course of a semester spent engaging a variety of texts and interacting with an entirely new group of like-minded individuals, there have been countless moments of insight and words of wisdom that have moved me to the very core.
But where to even begin cataloging them?
Perhaps I will start by echoing something our visiting lecturer Subhankar Banerjee said during his visit in November.
Over the course of two separate class meetings, his passion for the unique opportunity afforded by the world of technology and the blogosphere was palpable. He encouraged us to look for our own stories to share by going into a familiar place and actively working to de-familiarize ourselves.
I have been keeping an online journal in one form or another since 2001, and this virtual terrain seemed as good a place as any to test out Subhankar's advice. So herein is an attempt to rethink and rework words and ideas from a fresh angle, looking for unfamiliar synthesis in an environment that I have found varying degrees of comfort in over time. Let’s begin…
Losing My Religion
Upon leaving the University of Utah as an undergraduate in 2002, I felt like I had all the answers. Interestingly, all of the answers were founded on an assumption of the infallibility and limitless potential of Western science.
It should come as no shock that such an attitude led to a number of heated debates with people I love about the ultimate role and value of science in our world. But I was young and I had defiantly made up my mind on the matter.
Life has interesting ways of providing perspective, and enough critical life experiences in my 20's convinced me that, while practical, the whole of science couldn't adequately explain away all of the thoughts and ideas growing and creeping around in my head.
This semester while reading environmental critiques on the mechanistic paradigm of modern science, I found myself returning to the assumptions I had once held to so tightly.
The implications that come with revising huge chunks of a philosophy have equally huge ramifications.
For me, realizing that science is just one strand of human knowing has opened new doors. My worldview has expanded and I find myself actively seeking out perspectives that holistically refuse to reduce life into component pieces.
At its best, science is one distinct form of human understanding (among many) and it must be subject to the same questioning and criticism that is demanded of any other ethos. And in this sense the tools offered by the humanities (that I had been very casual to overlook) offer a unique ability to act as a periodic brake on the scientific endeavor.
After all, what good are the fruits of science and technology if we don't have a world in which to utilize them?
A Boy And His Dog
Growing up I wanted to be an oceanographer. There was something about the dark, mysterious ocean and its giant, mysterious inhabitants that I found endlessly enchanting.
These days my interest in the ocean doesn't rely exclusively on whales, dolphins, and sharks. I have come to appreciate the crucial roles performed by coral reefs, plankton, and the other minuscule creatures that are pivotal for life on Earth (though I will admit to still being completely enthralled by shipwrecks).
These memories are the earliest impulse I can recall of something approaching an unrefined green ethic in my life. It is a part of my past that meshes seamlessly with the memories of the pets and animals that touched my life and still manage to roam the corridors of my mind. Looking back, I have to say my parents were extremely good sports...
…there was the small pet lizard that broke free from his cage one day and was found months later living underneath the family sofa...
...I recall my first brush with death that came when my first cat (Spunky) suddenly refused her meals and retreated to a secret spot in the basement to die alone…
...even today, my dog (Abbey) provides a daily reminder of the sheer joy that seems to pour out of a happy canine in limitless and uncontrollable waves.
In his book Last Chance to See, Douglas Adams writes of his own experiences observing a menagerie of animals around the world. His words underscore the point that these creatures deserve a special dignity and our respect as fellow, co-evolved citizens of the planet.
But while that is a noble argument, a key point from that book that has always stuck with me is the need for us to understand our actions and how they can (often ignorantly) impact non-human lives.
Take for example the white dolphins of China. These creatures rely on a complex sonar system to model their watery world. In effect they “see” through sound and the model that produces is fundamentally different from what we generate with our light-grabbing eyeballs.
Seems that one (admittedly humble) question from our species should be whether there is something unique in an alternate way of knowing the planet…something special that unfortunately gets lost in translation.
And this leads me to an issue that has been mutating in my mind throughout the semester.
Early on in our readings we were introduced to an ethic of ecocentrism that runs at the core of much environmental thought. Essentially ecocentrism is a call for us to set aside a worldview that human beings are the preeminent species on the planet and begin exploring new, better ways for us to fit into our environment.
Needless to say, discovering this powerful new thread of thinking felt extremely empowering…initially…and then came the questions...
Like everything else in life, it couldn't possibly be that simple, could it? Because of the very fact that we are human, aren't we always doomed to function from some kind of anthropocentric perspective? If so, is it a sliding scale (with some forms better than others)? And is it a naive waste of time to simply assume that ecocentrism alone has the power to overcome the assumptions and attitudes that have led us to this crazy globalized human world (and its accompanying environmental crisis)?
Our species is capable of so much simultaneous beauty and destruction. Perhaps one road is an acknowledgment of this truth and a greater focus on the hope implicitly bound in cultivating the things we get right.
A crucial insight gained this semester is that there is no true distinction between nature and culture aside from the artificial constructs we build around both. One doesn't benefit at the expense of the other. As we come from nature it is imperative to figure out exactly what that sophisticated concept means (and learn to behave accordingly).
In his book Ecocriticism, Greg Garrard mentions a virtue espoused by the Ancient Greeks that translates to “greatness of soul.” I think it is in this concept that my conflicted mind finds the most hope. We need to embrace and celebrate our humanity at the same moment we re-imagine our place in a world that is beyond our full control or understanding. It is a daunting project, but finding like-minded friends and a wealth of ideas in the EH program does fill me with hope.
It makes me think that maybe one day I will really discover what lies behind the smile of complete contentment that Abbey wears on her face when I scratch behind her ears.
Searching for the Ghost of Tom Joad
There is power in music. The way in which the chaos of disparate sounds is blended together for a brief space of time to create something coherent is almost magical. Songs have the power to inspire, motivate, and spark the powerful human emotions that can lead to action.
Consider the power folk and protest songs had in the tumult of American history that gave rise to the civil rights movement, feminism, gay rights, and the modern environmental movement (among many others).
Among the most enabling ideas encountered this semester is the fertile common ground that exists between environmental activism and social justice.
The linkage between how we treat each other and how we treat the planet directly challenges us to figure out ways to reinvent a world that makes environment meaningful to everyone (and not just those who can afford to find it in a recreational context).
The nexus of environmental and social justice forces us to understand that the society we have fabricated is not only intrinsically unsustainable in its energy consumption but prescriptively dangerous when glorified as the ultimate end to industrialized living.
For better or worse, this is a globalized world and such a big place needs bigger (and better) ideas and examples.
Needless to say, these are complex and potentially frightening thoughts, but I find some comfort in the advice offered by Wendell Berry in Life is a Miracle when he comments that we need to reorient ourselves and focus on the common ground that exists beneath our feet. At the very least such an attitude ties one into feeling a part of something greater, and in the climate of fear that is often perpetuated in the world today, this is a powerful commodity.
Perhaps it is best summed by asking how we can possibly expect to respect and care for the environment if we don't look out for each other?
Believe Half of What You See
Genetics gave me no chance. I was destined to have bad eyes. The majority of my life has been spent relying on glasses and contact lenses to get me through my day. But having a wealth of firsthand experience I can safely attest that lenses serve as a potent metaphor.
In many ways, gaining knowledge and insight is not far removed from putting in a new pair of contact lenses and having the myopia and confusion of the world come into sharp relief.
Of the variety of new ideas that have passed by my eyes this semester, one of the most versatile is a better understanding of the ways our culture is constructed, in particular how we have become increasingly reliant on rhetorically powerful images.
I think about the use of the phrase “Mother Nature,” which has been criticized by many ecofeminist thinkers as an unacceptable phrase that perpetuates a link between women and nature that could have the unintended effect of disseminating a set of values that keep both from achieving full autonomy.
I also think about the use of the phrase stewardship and how potentially divisive and loaded it can be. Is a stewardship ethic that envisions and promotes human beings as wise agents overseeing the planet an ethic we really want to perpetuate (particularly in light of the physical evidence of our present environmental crisis)?
Viewing the world through new lenses troubles issues that can be easily taken for granted. It forces us to mindfully consider who is presenting an argument and ask critical questions about their motivations. In a sense this is intimidating stuff, as it risks deconstructing and splintering the world into so many fractured bits that the bone may never get set back together again.
But conversely, there is also power here. Growing up with bad eyes, I know firsthand the satisfaction that comes with putting on a new pair of glasses. Clear vision sharpens the unrefined edges of the world and opens it exponentially to new observations, questions, and ideas.
In this way I suppose my metaphor provides a valuable lesson that the more you learn, the less you truly know. Personally, I think there is wisdom in acknowledging that.
Brewing A Conclusion
Over the last four years, brewing beer has become one of my more enjoyable hobbies. But in the midst of brewing my last batch (a smoked porter that I have high hopes for), I was troubled when a new metaphor came to mind.
At its core, making beer isn't far removed from making bread. It involves extracting starches from grain, converting said starches to sugar with boiling water, and adding yeast.
In effect, all preliminary steps leading to the finale are aimed at creating an environment of unlimited (sugary) resource on which the yeast can feed. Upon finding themselves in such a rich environment they perform the chaotic miracle of life admirably, namely by reproducing at a rapid rate, consuming sugar, and crapping out waste (in the form of carbon dioxide and alcohol). But once the sugar reserves are exhausted they die out, leaving behind an environment that has been fundamentally altered.
The metaphor I'm drawing here is obvious. Will human beings ultimately prove no wiser than yeast?
For a variety of reasons (many of which are directly tied to my burgeoning experience in the EH program), I refuse to believe this.
That our world is full of problems that can overwhelm is not in question. However, it is our response to these pressures that are crucial. In an assortment of ways this new experience as an EH Masters student is equipping me to better navigate these dark waters…
I am discovering new perspectives that help refine and articulate my own philosophy…
I am developing my voice and discovering the means to make what I say worthwhile…
I am cultivating the conviction and resolve to want to stand up and actively protect the people and places I love…
And I am finding new hope and strength through interaction within a community of inspiring individuals. There is incredible power that lies at the heart of the best human communities…
On a cold October night midway through the semester, our EH community met and watched a documentary on Edward Abbey entitled “Canyonlands: Edward Abbey and the Great American Desert.” Near the end of the film, Abbey's friend Ken Sleight offered an insight that I believe adequately sums up a lot of what I'm feeling at the moment. Simply put, he said “everyone has a monkey wrench; you just need to figure out what it is and how to use it.”
Now that's a metaphor worth thinking about...