Paul Shepard was a pioneer in human ecology, a young field
that studies the relationship between humans and their habitats. The decades of his career were an exciting
time. New research was challenging myths
about low impact (“primitive”) cultures, and scholars were starting to contemplate
environmental ethics. He hoped that growing
awareness might end humankind’s war on the planet, but as his hair got grayer,
his disillusionment grew. Enlightenment
takes time.
Encounters
With Nature is a collection of Shepard’s essays, some of which
reveal his thinking near the end of his days.
It was compiled, edited, and published by his wife, Florence, after he
died. She summed up the book in one
sentence: “At the heart of our identity
is a fundamentally wild being, one who finds in the whole of wild nature all
that is true and beautiful in this world.”
The essays spin around two themes that shaped human development: animals
and place.
Our early pre-human ancestors lived in the trees of tropical
rainforests. Leaping quickly from limb
to limb through the canopy required far more brainpower than herbivores needed
to manufacture manure on the wide-open savannah. Our time in the trees provided us with sharp
minds, grasping hands, stereoscopic vision, and the ability to see in color.
Later, our ancestors moved to the ground, and became larger
and stronger. To defend themselves
against predators, they became socially organized. By and by, they came to walk erect. They were hunters, but lacked speed, fangs,
and claws. Instead, they became
long-distance runners. Many herbivores were
capable of amazing bursts of speed, but they couldn’t outrun hunters who
doggedly pursued them for hours. Some
think that we lost our body hair to stay cooler while chasing lunch. Our ancestors also evolved arms and shoulders
that were well suited for throwing sticks and stones.
Our culture takes great pride in the Industrial Revolution
and the Agricultural Revolution, but the most important revolution was the
Hunting Revolution. We moved onto the
savannah, and learned how to hunt in packs.
Our ancestors were hunters long before Homo sapiens first appeared. If you look in the mirror, you will observe
the body of a tropical omnivore, fine-tuned for running and throwing — a
hunter. Imagine what you would look like
if your ancestors had spent the last two million years on couches watching
television.
When civilized folks look in the mirror, they don’t see a
hunter; they see the crown of creation, God’s masterpiece. We are taught that every other species is
inferior and non-essential. Only humans
matter. A chimp looking in the mirror
sees a wild chimpanzee. They have not
lost their identity. Coyotes have never
forgotten how to be coyotes.
Shepard described three phases in the “identity formation” of
each individual. In the first phase, we
bond to our mother. In the second phase,
between learning to speak and puberty, we have about a decade to bond with the
living place we inhabit. All of us are
wild animals at birth, expecting to spend our lives in wild ecosystems.
Wild children are fascinated by other wild animals, which are
far more interesting than rubber ducks and teddy bears. Kids observe animals, learn their names,
categorize them, imitate them, and study their anatomy when butchered. They learn the daily and seasonal patterns of
the others. They watch the others
transform from youngsters to oldsters, and a strong feeling of kinship
develops. “It is a family tie and
carries responsibility.”
Shepard has little to say about the realm of plants, which is
equally alive and fascinating. Plants also
play a major role in our bonding to nature.
By puberty, wild children are well rooted in place, feeling at-one with
the flora and fauna of the family of life.
They have a profound sense of belonging that most modern tumbleweeds cannot
begin to imagine, and will never experience.
Our bodies are those of hunters. Likewise, our minds were formed and perfected
by two million years of hunting and foraging.
We do not thrive in McMansions, malls, or cubicle farms. We’re like zoo animals with rusty souls,
enduring a dreary existence so far from home.
Condors are at home soaring with great joy above the mountains. When imprisoned by humans, they become sad
biological specimens. A writer once
concluded that condorness consisted of 10 percent condor and 90 percent
place. The same is true for us.
The third phase is initiation, the transition into
adulthood. “The youth is ushered into
adult status by ceremonies that include separation from family, instruction by
elders, tests of endurance and pain, trials of solitude, visions, dreams, and
rituals of rebirth.”
What happens if the bond to mother is flawed? In her book, The
Continuum Concept, Jean Liedloff described how wild people raised happy
children, and how civilized folks often fail to.
What happens if we do not form a healthy bond to the family
of life? We become space aliens, and see
the natural world as static scenery, or something to plunder. Jay Griffiths described how wild children
bond, and modern kids suffer, in her book, Kith.
What happens when adolescents aren’t initiated into
adulthood? They can remain immature and
alienated, whirling in infantile anxieties, often for the rest of their lives. The natural identity-forming process fails,
and they assume a synthetic identity appropriate for the industrial culture.
For wild people, life was generous and giving. Food was acquired without regular hard
work. The fruit, nuts, roots, and meat they
got were gifts, for which they regularly expressed thanks and gratitude. Meat was always shared.
For farmers, food was not a gift, but a wage received for
months of
backbreaking work. If everything went
well, there would be food to harvest at summer’s end. Food could be stored and traded. It became private property, and a source of
wealth and power. For modern consumers,
food is not a gift, it’s a product sold at stores. Many do not comprehend the link between pizza
and the natural world.
The bottom line here is that we were normal and healthy at
birth. Evolution did not design us to be
Earth-wrecking savages. What turned us
into freaks was our humanistic culture, which elevates us above all other
animals, and celebrates our intelligence and technology. This illusion is certain to take a beating as
we move into the age of collapses, driven by peak energy, peak food, peak
humans, and peak everything else. Our crazy
way of life is running out of time.
Our descendants are not going to hold humanistic culture in high
regard, because its amazing bursts of cleverness could never outrun its
tireless dark shadow. It’s obviously a
suicidal culture, and this will encourage its abandonment. New and healthier modes of thinking are
emerging, but have yet to go viral.
Mainstream academia seems determined to cling to the cult of perpetual
growth as it swirls around the drain, lost in pipedreams of techno-utopia.
Shepard has sketched out suggestions of what needs to be nurtured,
and what needs to be dumped. This is
precious information for people with imagination, who reject the orders to shop
till they drop. Creative minds
understand that other cultures are possible, and that it’s time to envision
them. There is much to do before the
lights go out.
Shepard, Paul, Encounters
With Nature, Island Press, Washington, D. C., 1999.
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