Northern Arizona University/Environmental Ethics/Journals/Reid's Journal

Week 1 Entry 1

Leopold’s theory about the evolution of ethics is surprisingly insightful, considering its simplicity. From what I have seen from skimming through upcoming readings, this quality applies to most, if not all of Leopold’s work. It is nice to see that despite his ecological education and career, his practicality is more of a philosophical sort than an economic or scientific one. I can see how this approach would be refreshing, insightful, and revolutionary during the time of its writing, considering the impact it still has on students like myself and others outside of the university setting that find inspiration in his work.

The evolution of ethics, it appears to me, is a dependent and consequential series of events. It is dependent on, and consequence of, the evolution of intelligence. Without intelligence, we would not have social communities. Without social communities, all but the most primitive form of ethics would exist. Intelligence, and its resulting efficiency and influence, are the defining characteristics of our species. The implications, both positive and negative, are far reaching. Concepts like love, trust, and peace, contribute to our sense of meaning, purpose, and beauty in the world. Meanwhile, our collective pursuit of these ideals (and attempt to escape other concepts like hunger, pain, and poverty) has been manifested at a great price.

Ultimately, the idea of evolution in ethics must not be considered independently of the evolution of human intelligence. Perhaps this is Leopold’s purpose, to connect the dots between intelligence and ethics, as if to say that irresponsible intelligence may not be the smartest ultimate cultural goal. Rather, it is the ultimate evolutionary experiment, and whether it proves to be beneficially or catastrophically successful, the experiment is occurring on a grand scale. If ethics are to be the answer to our parasitic relationship to the land, they must do so as a driving force of our collective intellect, not an independent pursuit for the sake of a soothed cultural conscience.

Week 2 Entry 2

This has been an interesting transition from the “Land Ethic” into the early months of Leopold’s journal entries. The skunk, mouse, and hawk from January introduce an interesting question about the inherent purpose in nature. The manner in which it is done is, however, seems to me to be nearer to the heart of the issue. The fact that Leopold does see worth in nature, independent of its human contributor, is clear. It is his tendency to anthropomorphize, however, presents a potential contradiction. How, if the value of nature is inherent, does Leopold justify describing it in such human terms? The mouse, grieving over his ruined tunnels in Leopold’s eyes, could not possibly demonstrate such a human quality as grief in a biological sense, much less a deep, ecological one.

Perhaps the answer lies in Leopold’s concept of the community. Just like giving something a name makes it more familiar to us, giving something human qualities makes it more human. If this is true, the evolution of ethics becomes much more feasible. The same line of thought could be behind his use of poetic language. If Leopold is able to get his audience to associate nature with art, the logical transition to accepting art as nature is not far behind. These concepts would go a long way in undoing our established notions of property and value, which have had deleterious impacts on the land and our relationship with it. John Locke, whose writings inspired a young nation of idealists, put forth a notion of property that argues that ownership is transferred once labor has been put into effect. This practice promotes the subjugation and economic manipulation of the land. The same can be said of Adam Smith’s definition of the value of goods, which he describes as being derived from their appearance in a market setting.

Anthropomorphism is certainly one approach to establishing the accountability that has been missing from our cultural notions of property, ownership, and value. It could also, however, put into place a foundation that proves, in the long run, to be just as harmful to ecological conservation. Leopold’s argument for the inherent value in nature, when viewed in conjunction with his anthropomorphic tendencies, seems to be built upon shaky foundations. Perhaps a resolution will present itself as I continue to read.

Week 3 Entry 3

I am interested to apply Leopold’s test from the opening pages of “July” on myself. His challenge (“that by knowing what plant-birthday a man notices, he could “tell you a good deal about his vocation, his hobbies, his hay fever, and the general level of his ecological education”), seems at risk of being overly ambitious.

Each year, I notice the forsythia first simply because it is the first to bloom. It does so in spectacular fashion, with showy yellow flowers. Irises are next in the succession, and do so with all the grace that spindly forsythia couldn’t muster. Throughout the season, I appreciate all of the plants that bloom, but none with the same intensity as forsythia until the sumac begins to turn red. Sumac is often the first plant to admit defeat in fall, deciding not to battle on like the stubborn and defensive barberry. This focus on seasonal indicator species might suggest that I have a seasonally affected life. In my case, both the emotional and vocational implications of this statement are to some degree true. Having worked at Warner’s nursery for the extent of my time in Flagstaff, I see forsythia and iris as indicators for another season of work, and sumac as harbinger of unemployment and Ramen.

As for revealing my hobbies, this knowledge also indicates at least enough interest to have cared about putting plant names with plant faces. Perhaps this evidence of interest can be followed to the conclusion that at least some of my hobbies occur outdoors, where it is possible to notice as hidden a thing as the newly risen Iris in a sea of pine needles.

As far as hay fever goes, I suppose it can only be concluded that if I am indeed afflicted by allergies, it must be sufficiently mild as to not prod me towards another vocation. This is true, and actually the exposure seems to have done me good, since spring allergies torment me less and less each year.

I hope that, taken as a whole, this test shows hope for my ecological education. Although it has arisen, in some part, from commercial motivations, I would argue that it was an interest in plants that drew me to this form of commerce, not an interest in commerce that blossomed into an appreciation for the local landscape. I believe that it has much potential for growth, and I would hope that Leopold could see and cultivate that.

Week 4 (No entry)

Week 5 Entry 4

“It was while feeling sad to think that I was only walking on the edge of the vast wood, that I caught sight of the first palmetto in a grassy place, standing almost alone. A few magnolias were near it, and bald cypresses, but it was not shaded by them. They tell us that plants are perishable, soulless creatures, that only man is immortal, etc.; but this, I think, is something that we know very nearly nothing about. Anyhow, this palm was indescribably impressive and told me grander things than I ever got from human priest.”

Other than his direct narration in “The Land Ethic”, A Sand County Almanac is a very subtle work. Leopold was able to insert dense and persuasive meaning into his sparse prose in a way invites the reader to pick up the book again and again, knowing that a unique significance will present itself each time. With Muir, however, this meaning is extrapolated into more solid and tangible thoughts, and told in the style of a master storyteller. His argument is clear; religion, as it is presented to us, is an incomplete (and in some part invented) social institution, and nothing more. This, it is worth noting, is distinctly different from an attack on the principles of religion. Instead, the “human priest[s]” are the targets of Muir’s reproach, specifically their presumptive knowledge about the nature of divinity.

“Many good people believe that alligators were created by the Devil, thus accounting for their all-consuming appetite and ugliness. But doubtless these creatures are happy and fill the place assigned them by the great Creator of us all. Fierce and cruel they appear to us, but beautiful in the eyes of God. They, also, are his children, for He hears their cries, cares for them tenderly, and provides their daily bread.”

Here again, we see Muir’s argument for nature as proof of both divinity and the fallibility of man’s church. For Muir, God exists, but in a fundamentally different way then has been described to us by our fellow man. The god of religion has been moratlized, and by exposing this condition, Muir seeks to restore a simpler faith in true divinity. One effect of this change is a rearrangement of values as we excise the deification of ourselves from religion. Human values diminish in significance, and take their place in the mind’s of men with other, equally divine values. Like that of the alligator!

“Let a Christian hunter go to the Lord's woods and kill his well-kept beasts, or wild Indians, and it is well; but let an enterprising specimen of these proper, predestined victims go to houses and fields and kill the most worthless person of the vertical godlike killers, -- oh! that is horribly unorthodox, and on the part of the Indians atrocious murder! Well, I have precious little sympathy for the selfish propriety of civilized man, and if a war of races should occur between the wild beasts and Lord Man, I would be tempted to sympathize with the bears.”

“...and if a war of races should occur between the wild beasts and Lord Man, I would be tempted to sympathize with the bears”! Muir really is ecocentric, or at least biocentric. And this is his battle cry. This shift represents an improvement on the anthropocentric tradition of organized religion, as well as the consequences this world view creates.

Week 8 Entry 5

I don’t think The Bean Fields is meant to convey the sense of disappointment that at first might seem apparent. Thoreau tells us that after several summers, he introduces a new variable into his experiment by attempting to grow productive crops “with less toil and manurance”. As he explains, these floral volunteers would only need sustain him, unlike “fair and salable crop[s]” such as beans and potatoes, for which profits would reflect a level of care. The results of the experiment are not encouraging at first glance. “Alas! I said this to myself; but now another summer is gone, and another, and another, and I am obliged to say to you, Reader, that the seeds which I planted, if indeed they were seeds of those virtues, were wormeaten or had lost their vitality, and so did not come up.”

The first, and for me more immediate way to interpret this notice is to assume that we have just learned of Thoreau’s failure. His great test of human virtuosity, tainted by doubt, disillusion, and a soul as wild as the land. A more focused examination of this failure, however, reveals its success. By disproving that seeds, being representative of virtue, can grow independent of cultivation, he reinforces his purpose to be at Walden Pond in the first place. He has come specifically to live this purposefully, to tend the crops with such care and diligence. This failed experiment, then, implicates the necessity for the consistent development of character.

It also suggests that the true importance of work is not to be found in its financial consequences. Like in Economy, we see that meeting the needs of the physical self does not necessarily satisfiy the spiritual self. Nor can the spiritual self be cultivated without a strong, existential connection to one’s reality. Maybe this was an experiment Thoreau had to fail, and did so knowlingly, if only to warn the rest of us. To quote Kings of Convenience, “Failure is always the best way to learn/retracing your steps til you know...”

Week 10 Entry 6

I finally understand. It wasn’t about being sad. I needed proof of my freedom, of the fact that there is nothing in life to which I am obligated. That I could scatter the paths of my future all around me. Now I realize that these paths all lead right back to me, and bridge the gap between a million mediocre futures and myself. As I let some of these paths return to the wilderness of chance they came from, it seems prudent to remember that the ones that remain will persist and multiply. There is no destination. I am where I am and each step should be chosen with care, lest I roll an ankle. Basically, I must not forget the lyrics of “All We Have Is Now” by The Flaming Lips.

Week 11 Entry 7

Like many Disney movies, Fantasia is extremely awesome. What a fantasitic concept, combining artists, their imagery, and music in such a unique and creative way! Watching it the other night, I realized that the clip we all remember from that movie, with Micky as the impetuous assistant of a powerful wizard, provides a nice metaphor for understanding ethical arguments about geoengineering. In this metaphor, Mickey represents us at the beginning of the Industrial Revolution. Still carrying buckets of water by hand, we glimpse potential in the power of magic and fantacize about using it to accomplish great things. What we have observed from the sorceror leads us to believe that we understand how to wield this magic. At the first available chance, we don the sorcerer’s hat and use our newfound power to establish convenience, relief from what we understand to be our obligations, limitations, and causes of suffering. Provided for by our magical creations, we have time to sleep and dream of the limitless and universal potential of our power. What rude awakening then, when we rise and discover that our single feeble attempt at magic has escaped our control, and is accomplishing its task with catastrophic efficiency.

This is us today. We have awakened from our industrial dream, but cannot stop what we have set into motion. As consequences accumulate and intensify, we look in our panic for something that can end the devastation. Geo-engineering, represented in this metaphor by Mickey’s axe, is the nearest option at hand. It is fast, relatively easy to use, and should provide instant results. And at first, it does. What we fail to understand, however, is the extent to which we don’t understand magic and its properties. The problem is transformed, and multiplied exponentially. Now, our manual efforts to bail water are entirely futile. Only the sorcerer can stem this flow and restore balance before Mickey drowns. Luckily for Mickey, he does. What does this mean for us, and for the argument about Geo-engineering that is beginning to dominate some scientific circles? Is the sorcerer God? Is faith really an ethical solution to the problems we have created?

I believe, in a Muirian sense, that the sorcerer is indeed God, or at least divinity. I also believe that, having just woken up, we must avoid using the axe. Instead, let us endeavor to awaken and alert the sorcerer, whose true and universal power of pursuing stability (i.e. negative feedback mechanisms) is our only hope of redemption. By renouncing magic, and redoubling the manual work of ensuring the survival of ourselves and our global habitat, we can survive. Certainly things have changed, and that one broom bringing buckets of water will remain an inconvenience, but it is one that can be tolerated. The danger now lies in our fear of the unknown, and the consequences of our frenzied attempts to restore a world that has been fundamentally changed.

Week 12 Entry 8

Most people pray for a quick and quiet death. I hope I am not one of those people. Instead, I only hope that I have time to savor a farewell to friends, family, acquaintances, strangers, and enemies; to sea and land, sky and fire, concrete and asphalt, and life; I want to wish mortality farewell in true mortal fashion, with the pains and joys of life in my mind and heart. If Emerson is right, all I will ever know afterwards is perfection. Infinity. All sadness, all glory, all at once. I will miss this mortal coil, which presents me with pieces of an infinite puzzle one at a time (and in a space). Constructing meaning in this manner is a beautiful process, and one that I will not be capable of missing when I return to pure being in the Oversoul. Until that time, I hope I can live in a manner that spurs me to remember that, in this life, “there is no screen or ceiling between our heads and the infinite heavens, so is there no bar or wall in the soul where man, the effect, ceases, and God, the cause, begins.”

Entry 9

From a journal kept while at the Whistling Duck Organic Farm (July-November 2007)

7/11/2007

Today was planting. One of those jobs that seems fun until you realize how much lies ahead of you. The blocks, which I so expertly prepared, are ready for planting. This means throwing each cube like a dart in 6, 8, or 12 inch increments, depending on the plant. Step two is burial, and finally, covering with a special fabric to keep out varmint. When we finished, I grabbed my book to sit outside the Airstream and unwind. Within two minutes, though, a storm of biblical proportions came out of absolutely nowhere. Crazy. Lightning every second, stinging rain, and wind strong enough to rock my poor little trailer. I couldn't even close the windows much because each one is inhabited by wasps. Pretty sketchy, I know, but we coexist peacefully so far. In fact, as sad as it sounds, the wasps inhabiting my trailer and the earwigs that I rescue from the tub we rinse salad in are my "pets". That may be changing soon, though. If I ever get a day off, I'm going to check out a local wolf sanctuary! Volenteers are welcome, from what I hear. Wolfs, wasps, and earwigs. Oh my. Anyway, journal time must end. The power is out and it's getting dark. That means bedtime when you live on a farm.

Entry 10

A poem I wrote upon leaving the Whistling Duck:

Where part 1 ends

part 2 begins

when the crop's been brought in

when the row has been gleaned

Oscarde weeps when I say goodbye

my eyes are dry

Mizuna bids me sayonara

New Red Fire, adeiu

Through translucent walls I see

all day rides

bucket seat nights

Don't worry I'm not alone

these yellowed pages make this home

These Escarole and beets

have been bitter and sweet

Whistling Duck, you were my home