[Note: This is the forty-seventh sample from my rough draft
of a far from finished new book, Wild, Free, & Happy. The Search field on the right side will find
words in the full contents of all rants and reviews. These samples are not freestanding
pieces. They will be easier to
understand if you start with sample 01, and follow the sequence listed HERE —
if you happen to have some free time. If
you prefer audiobooks, Michael Dowd is in the process of reading and recording
my book HERE.
PHASES
OF DEVELOPMENT
[Continued from #46]
Adulthood
The point where adolescence ends and adulthood begins is sort
of blurry. Colin
Turnbull noted that in Mbuti society, adulthood begins with marriage. It was a phase during which disputes and
conflicts were more common, so adults were involved less in decision making,
and more in the routines of daily life.
Turnbull thought that adulthood was a time for doing, and elderhood was
a time for being.
Wild cultures and modern cultures take a very different
approach to adulthood. In our culture, doing
implies working — activities that bring money into your life, so you can afford
the basic necessities of survival. For
many, “work” does not rhyme with “fun” or “joy.” Most consumers have peculiar illusions about the
difference between needs (essentials) and wants (desires). Their conception of needs is far more
expansive than other cultures — stuff like televisions, cell phones, computers,
automobiles, and all other impulsive cravings.
For several billion less affluent non-consumers, needs focus on today’s
sustenance.
When I contemplate the amount of all the stuff I’ve thrown
out in my life, it staggers me — many, many tons. Every week, garbage trucks rumble down the
alley, and it’s stunning to imagine how much crap this neighborhood discards,
or this city. It must end up in a
landfill as high as the Alps, constantly growing taller. Every other animal in the family of life leaves
the world in no worse condition than they found it. This is exactly what sustainability means.
Turnbull noted that in simpler cultures, “work” means no more
than what you happen to be doing in your life (assuming that it’s socially
acceptable). So, a child’s play is work,
and so is the adolescent’s exploration of sexuality. Work is reading a book, or gazing at the
stars, or making love, or singing and dancing.
The Mbuti have no need for money, because the forest provides all their
needs. For them, singing a honey song is
seen as essential for survival. For the
factory worker, installing windshields is essential for survival, because it is
rewarded with trade tokens.
In essence, unlike child’s play, Mbuti adulthood is about
playing a “constructive role in the furtherance of the social order,” and it is
“done with a conscious sense of social responsibility.” This is about cooperation, and consideration
for others. Importantly, the focus is on
WE, not ME. In their culture, being
independent and self-centered is irresponsible, obnoxious, and pathological.
In our culture, individualism and competition are promoted
“with a curious fanaticism,” and this results in a fiercely exploitive
crazy-making planet-thrashing nightmare world.
In our culture, ME trumps WE. To
us, absolute individual freedom is the Holy Grail — no responsibilities, no
bosses, no rules, no cops, no consequences.
I can do whatever I want. Stay
out of my way. Shut up! To wild folks, this is absolute insanity.
In our culture, adulthood takes different forms. Turnbull wrote, “We have all met many adults
in our lives who, without seeming to try, have shown us what a rich thing
adulthood can be. We have also met many
who have shown us what an empty thing it can be, sometimes by trying too hard
to be other than what they are. We have
also met all too many who neither try nor succeed, those who are frankly and
openly concerned only with their own immediate welfare…”
Old
Age
In Mbuti society, elders are honored in their golden
years. This phase of life is about being. Elders shift toward other important roles in
society — guarding the camp, playing with children, mediating conflicts, and
passing wisdom on to younger generations. They enjoy tremendous respect. While body and mind may have been stronger in
years past, they are more experienced than ever, and their heart and soul
continue getting stronger. They still
have important things to do.
Elders are relieved of adult responsibilities, withdrawing
from involvement in a future that is not theirs. These obligations are left to folks for whom
the future belongs. So, their social
horizons narrow, while their authority expands, as they approach their return
“to the source of Spirit.” Elderhood encourages
three paths: saints, witches, and wise ones.
It’s common for elders to engage in more than one role.
Saints are rare elders who are radiant with spirit energy,
aglow with a warm presence. They don’t
need to preach, “they just have to be.”
Their goodness can be especially beneficial to adolescents who travel on
a more slippery path.
“Witch” refers to the African sense of the word, not to the unfortunate
victims of the Christian Inquisition
(“demonic” women who must be tortured and burned alive). Mbuti witches (male and female) have acquired
excessive power, which is not under control, and can be used for good or ill,
deliberately or not. Elderly recluses can
provide an important service. They know
all the shady things happening in the village, and they enjoy the freedom to piss
off whoever they wish, and say exactly what they think. While this makes the offenders uncomfortable,
it encourages increased integrity in the community.
Wise elders are living treasure chests of important knowledge
and experience. They are the greatest
babysitters, because children trust them.
They can communicate in a special way, since kids are close to the
beginning of life, and elders are close to the end. Elders are outside of the parent-child
relationship, and its frictions, so things can be relaxed and open.
Of course, elders in modern cultures are a very different
story. Elderhood is often associated
with uselessness, decline, poor health, poverty, senility, death. Treating them as diminished beings results in
a serious loss to the community. We send
elders away to institutions for old folks, “a pre-death limbo” where they are
isolated from family and younger generations, and denied the joys of old age. They become an annoying obligation for their
children, who cherish their freedom and independence. For many, retirement can be painful and
traumatic, because folks no longer feel valued.
It can be a sad time of loneliness.
COHERENT
SOCIETIES
So, we’ve taken a peek at how wild and modern cultures attempt
to guide their people through the phases of the life cycle, and the different
outcomes they produce. Wild cultures
were far more likely to enjoy functional, coherent societies, because everyone
was on the same channel. Humankind has
generated a multitude of groups that invent unique cultural abstractions that
are fundamentally (sometimes violently) intolerant of the beliefs of outsiders. No other animal species does this. In The
Mountain People, Turnbull noted that the Mbuti enjoyed a society that was harmonized
by a common set of beliefs, values, lifestyles, and ethnicity. A beauty!
Our modern society is a boisterous mob of different cultures,
ethnicities, classes, crime gangs, hate groups, religious beliefs, and so on. When jolted, it can explode into a swarm of
furious hornets. Indeed, Turnbull would
not even call it a society. “In
larger-scale societies we are accustomed to diversity of belief, we even
applaud ourselves for our tolerance, not recognizing that a society not bound
together by a single powerful belief is not a society at all, but a political
association of individuals held together only by the presence of law and force
— the existence of which is a violence.” It’s a strong, wobbly, dimwitted Frankenstein,
a manmade monster that cannot be kept on a leash.
Turnbull wrote, “Hunters frequently display those
characteristics that we find so admirable in man: kindness, generosity,
consideration, affection, honesty, hospitality, compassion, charity, and
others.” These traits not rare and noble
virtues, they are fundamental to the survival of hunting cultures. The Taliban people are also apparently united
by a single powerful belief, but their culture is built on a different
foundation. They are civilized.
It’s important to pay attention to the core differences
between wild and modern cultures.
Hunting people lived in small groups, where everyone was family or
friends, and all were on the same channel.
They had an extremely intimate relationship with the lands they lived
in, and they fully understood the patterns of food availability. They followed their stomachs, as they roamed
across the land. For hunter-gatherers,
the wild menu was highly diverse. They
had many more dining options than the hungry dirty farmer with a cow and a
wheat field.
Earlier, I mentioned how the San people in Botswana were able
to survive in the Kalahari Desert through three years of extreme drought,
because they possessed time-proven knowledge of how to live there. The long drought killed 250,000 of the cattle
owned by their Bantu neighbors, of whom 180,000 were kept on life support by
U.N. famine relief projects.
The domestication of plants and animals was a clever
experiment. When conditions were
suitable, agriculture could feed a lot of people, and spawn civilizations. But good luck was never a faithful companion. Life was full of surprises. It’s not a pleasant surprise to wake up every
morning in a turbulent jam-packed world that is mercilessly pummeling the
planet. Alas, the clever experiment has turned
out to be perfectly un-clever.
Turnbull emphasized that the bottom line here is that a
farmer can lose a year’s work in one unfortunate day. All of his eggs are stored in one
basket. A Mbuti hunter can only lose a
day’s work when his luck takes a nap. He
has no need to hoard food, and constantly defend the stash. If one food source becomes scarce, he eats
something else. They periodically move
from place to place, as guided by their traditional wisdom, and shifting conditions.
Turnbull wrote, “The hunter and gatherer gives little thought
for the morrow, getting his feed fresh, from day to day, with the ready
assurance of someone who has come to terms with the world around him. He knows the world he lives in as few others
do, and he lives in sympathy with it, rather than trying to dominate it. He is the best of conservationists, knowing
exactly how much he can take from where at any given time.”
The farmer, on the other hand, is betting everything on a
narrow mix of food resources, which exist in a fixed location (his field and
pasture), and are entirely vulnerable to a wide variety of potential
threats. A ripe field could suddenly be
reduced to ashes. A swarm of locusts
might discover his delicious wheat crop.
Passing soldiers, friends or foes, could confiscate his livestock and stored
grain. A fungus could turn his bumper
crop of spuds into a field of stinky black slime overnight. His livestock could all drop dead when an
epidemic of rinderpest or anthrax paid a visit to his region. Drought, deluge, flood, heat wave, early
autumn frost, late springtime frost — farming was a risky business, not a
pleasant stroll down Easy Street.
Modern consumers are vulnerable to all of the above risks,
plus they are dependent on an extremely complex system of industrial
agriculture, food processing, distribution, retailing, and a functional
economic system. If the money in their
wallets becomes worthless during an economic meltdown, what’s for dinner? Will they get evicted? Will the bank foreclose on their
mortgage? The food system depends on the
fossil fuel industry to keep stuff moving on the farms, highways, railways, and
airlines. Refrigeration requires energy
to keep food from spoiling. Stoves and
ovens need power to cook meals.
Industrial civilization must remain on life support to keep all the
gears of the machine moving. An enormous
house of cards. What could possibly go
wrong?
CONNECTION
TO PLACE
In Encounters With Nature,
Paul Shepard wrote about how our lives can be shaped by animals and
places. For hundreds of thousands of
years, wild kids enjoyed childhoods in healthy lands where everything around
them, the entire landscape, was fully alive with their plant and animal
relatives. Animals were especially
fascinating. Three year olds take great
delight in learning the names of different animals, because they are so amazing. Children’s lives were warmly embraced by their
mothers, their family and neighbors, and by the land that fed them and
fascinated them.
In 1997, I was
living in the remains of a once prosperous copper mining district near Lake
Superior. I was able to spend a bit of
time with the Anishinabe activist Walter Bresette, a man who had a profound
spiritual connection to life. One day,
after lunch, I showed him a beautiful piece of copper that had been smoothed by
passing glaciers. To the Anishinabe, all
of Creation is alive, sacred, and related — everything in Creation is a being
with spiritual power. I learned that
copper rocks are especially sacred to the Anishinabe, and they affectionately
and respectfully refer to these ancient and powerful red metal spirit beings as
the copper people.
Walter took the
heavy green stone in his hands, and gasped with amazement and delight. The two of them went off, into the next room,
and sat down together by the wood stove.
Walter bowed his head, and he and the copper spirits spent a long time
in deep and sacred communication. It was
an awesome and moving experience to observe.
I will never forget it. He spent
a night in my house, to feel the strong presence of so many copper spirits.
Shepard said that a
child’s early homeland imprinted on its psyche, and remained a special and sacred
place for the rest of its life. Kids
soak in all that surrounds them. At
puberty, rites of initiation further strengthened the spiritual bonds to place,
via tests of endurance, vision quests, and so on. The person and the land were one. All beings on the land belonged there. None were pests or weeds that had to be
eliminated.
In the good old
days, before the plague of glowing screens, and the fear of perverts hiding
behind every bush, children were allowed to run free, unsupervised, explore
their home range, and get their hands dirty.
I was one of these, and I was lucky to live close to forests, lakes, and
wetlands. My imprint of this homeland
remains vivid. I still remember that
place in great detail. It played an
important role in shaping my identity. Most
of it has now been obliterated by sprawl.
I have no interest in returning, it’s too painful to see.
Jay Griffiths and her
brothers also spent much of their youth playing outdoors. Like me, they rarely watched television. She fears that her 1960s generation may be
the last to experience the remaining vestiges of a normal childhood.
John Livingston
lamented how being raised in a manmade reality deforms us. Like livestock, we become passive and
obedient servants. We learn to endure
the stress of living in dense populations of strangers, and spending most of
our time in enclosed climate controlled cubicles with artificial lighting. Our cubicles are located inside vast
concentration camps called cities. We
are likely to develop a high tolerance for abuse, filth, squalor, noise, and
intense pollution.
Richard Louv told a
touching story about a Girl Scout field trip.
Girls with AIDS from Los Angeles were taken to a camp in the
mountains. One night, a nine year old
girl woke up, and had to go to the bathroom.
Stepping outside, she looked up and gasped. Growing up in a sprawling megalopolis, she
had never seen stars before. “That
night, I saw the power of nature on a child.
She was a changed person. From
that moment on, she saw everything. She
used her senses. She was awake.”
Natalie Diaz, a Mojave
poet, noted that in her language, the same word is used to say both “body” and
“land.” The Mojave had no supermarkets,
malls, cities, or online shopping. So,
throughout their lives, their air, water, and food came from the land, their
home. They were at one with the land,
like a fetus in the womb.
There is a profound
difference between purchasing food-like substances at a shopping center, and
gathering nourishment from the land.
When the land feeds you, an intimate and reverent relationship is
born. I fished a lot in my boyhood
years. Later in life, I took great
pleasure in foraging in wild places, and on the recovering remains of abandoned
farms and mining settlements. Over the
years, I’ve gathered apples, pears, cherries, plums, blueberries, thimbleberries,
blackberries, strawberries, elderberries, grapes, figs, walnuts, hazelnuts,
almonds, acorns, mushrooms, asparagus, and so on. Joy!
Tom Brown was eight
years old when he met an elderly Indian in the woods. Stalking Wolf was a tracker raised in a wild,
free Apache community. He possessed vast
knowledge about the natural world, and how to survive in it. He spent nine years teaching Tom and his
buddy Rick. Tom grew up to establish a
school for trackers, and write 17 books.
I was lucky to spend
much of my childhood playing in the woods and swamps. I felt very at home in nature. Years later, a friend pointed me to Tom’s
books, and it was a mind-blowing experience — an adult who had profound
reverence and respect for the family of life.
Religion had given me years of painful headaches, because it was so
incoherent. Beliefs frequently seemed to
have little or no influence on behavior.
I finally found something that made sense, holiness was all around me. I could see it, hear it, touch it, smell it,
respect it.
Jon Young happened to
meet Tom Brown in 1971, when Tom was 18, and Jon was 10. Tom spent eight years teaching his young friend. When Jon later arrived at Rutgers University,
he had extensive knowledge of wild ecosystems, which made him a total freak
among his classmates, who seemed to be more than a little disconnected from
life — suburban zoo animals.
Young soon
discovered that he was the only person at Rutgers who understood bird
language. One day, on an outdoor field
trip, he heard a bird call. It was
announcing the approach of a Cooper’s hawk, warning nearby critters that a
predator was getting close. Pay
attention! Jon mentioned this to the
others. The professors gazed at the sky,
saw nothing. They proceeded to exclaim
that bird communication was impossible.
Then, the hawk came into view.
Wow! Jon’s classmates were
astonished that the professors, who were card-carrying bird experts, were
clueless about bird language.
Young clearly
understood that connection to nature was precious, necessary, and vital. Not forming that connection was a crippling
injury, one suffered by most folks in modern society. They have no hearts, because they are
“dis-placed,” said Okanagan elder Jeanette Armstrong. In Chief Seattle’s famous speech, he allegedly
said, “To us the ashes of our ancestors are sacred and their resting place is
hallowed ground. You wander far from the
graves of your ancestors and seemingly without regret.”
Jack Forbes, of Powhatan
and Delaware heritage, diagnosed disconnection as an epidemic of insanity,
which he called wétiko psychosis, the cannibal disease. It’s a spiritual illness that causes people
to become predators, and to relentlessly consume the lives of others. Wétiko was the essence of European culture, a
nightmare world of bloodthirsty vampires and werewolves. Their “religion” was something isolated from
everyday life, practiced indoors, away from the perfection of Creation.
Anyway, in 1979, Jon
Young asked a core question. Which
people are the most fully connected to the family of life? Why are some cultures deeply connected, and
others not? There are three components
here: connection to self, connection to others, and connection to nature. In Western societies, disconnection from
self, others, and nature (separation sickness) is at pandemic levels. Over time, Young learned that the San people
(“Bushmen”) of the Kalahari were among the most connected cultures still in
existence, so he spent time with them.
Being with the San,
you always feel safe. They are super
intelligent, super happy, super vital, and great problem solvers. You never feel competition. People are in love with every aspect of the
ecosystem around them, celebrating it with childlike wonder through all stages
of their life. Every person in that
community is committed to the flowering of every other person. They are incredibly aware of their
surroundings at all times, because a brief lapse of attention can kill you in
lion country.
When San children grow
up with nature in this way, they’re well-adjusted, healthier, happier, smarter,
spiritually grounded, and more creative.
By the time they are 12 to 15 years old, they have master tracker
skills. They are illiterate, but they
fully understand the language of the Kalahari.
They are better scientists than civilized scientists.
The San are
remarkably skilled at living like human beings.
They are wary of entering buildings, because folks who do this too often
become damaged, no longer human. They go
crazy. Today, using the techno-juju of
DNA mapping, it’s looking like the San are the common ancestors of all
humankind. For two million years, our hominin
ancestors lived like the San. We have
their genes and instincts, but our culture lost its connection centuries ago.
Louis Liebenberg
wrote two fantastic books about the tracking skills of San hunters on the
Kalahari. He and Young became
friends. San women were as good as men,
or better, at interpreting spoor. Everyone
in a band, even children, could observe human tracks, and accurately identify
the individual person who made them. One
time, Liebenberg asked some trackers if they could actually recognize the spoor
of an individual antelope. “They found
it very amusing that I should ask them such a stupid question. To them it is difficult to understand that
some people can not do it.”
Lame Deer was a
Lakota medicine man. His parents were
the last generation to be born wild and free.
His generation suffered from the relentless efforts of white people to
destroy the Lakota people, and he fiercely resented this. Whites had lost their connection to the
family of life, and were desperately in need of a big healing. Like their cattle, sheep, and lapdogs, their
wild power had been bred out of them.
Lame Deer shared a powerful story, in the hope of helping white folks
outgrow their bad trip, so their world-killing rampage would come to an end.
He told us that we
needed to experience nature in a good way, and become part of it. Let’s sit down and listen to the air. Let’s talk to the butterflies, owls, rivers,
and lakes. They are our relatives. Let’s become like stones, plants, and trees. Let us be animals, and think and feel like
animals. Even rocks are holy. Every man needs a stone to guide him. His story was painful and beautiful, but it failed
to inspire a miraculous healing among the palefaces.
Aldous Huxley wrote,
“A man must do more than indulge in introspection. If I would know myself I must know my
environment.” Prince Charles said it a
bit differently: “In so many ways we are
what we are surrounded by, in the same way as we are what we eat.” Carson McCullers said, “To know who you are,
you have to have a place to come from.” Paul
Shepard put it like this, “Knowing who you are is impossible without knowing
where you are.”
Every five years,
the average American moves to a different address in the same city, or another
county, state, or nation. We typically
spend 95 percent of our lives indoors. Someone
once realized that prisoners in maximum security prisons typically spend more
time outdoors than suburban kids do. We
have become space aliens, residents of no place, something like zoo animals.
CONNECTED
PEOPLE
Many of us have been taught ideas that echo Thomas Hobbes,
who declared that the lives of hunter-gatherers were “nasty, brutish, and
short.” Many folks who have had direct
experience would disagree. The wild
cultures that were less than mellow tended to be engaged in herding or
horticulture, situations in which it was more common to bump into neighbors in
an unpleasant manner.
Peter Freuchen spent a lot of time with the Eskimos, and
married into their culture. In Book of
the Eskimos, he wrote that “they always enjoy life with an enviable
intensity, and they believe themselves to be the happiest people on earth,
living in the most beautiful country there is.”
Colin Turnbull spent years with the Mbuti Pygmies, and
described them in The Forest
People. He was amazed by their
joyful way of living. He said that they
laugh until they can no longer stand, then they sit down and laugh.
In Original
Wisdom, Robert Wolff described the Sng’oi people of Malaysia. They knew each other’s unspoken thoughts, seeming
to communicate telepathically. “They had
an immense inner dignity, were happy, and content, and did not want
anything.” They loved to laugh and
joke. They were often singing and
smiling. Angry voices were never heard.
In The
People of the Polar North, Knud Rasmussen noted how the Eskimos pitied (and
giggled at) the Danes, because they suffered from hurricane minds — they never
stopped thinking. Knud once observed an
Eskimo who appeared to be deep in thought, and asked him what he was thinking
about. The man laughed. “Oh!
It is only you white men who go in so much for thinking; up here we only
think of our flesh-pits and of whether we have enough or not for the long Dark
of the winter. If we have meat enough,
then there is no need to think.” Their
language included no tools for discussing abstractions. Eskimos rarely made plans for tomorrow. “An irresponsible happiness at merely being
alive finds expression in their actions and conversation.”
In The
Continuum Concept, Jean Liedloff described the natives she met in South
America. The Tauripan people of
Venezuela were the happiest people she had ever met. All of their children were relaxed, joyful,
cooperative, and rarely cried — they were never bored, lonely, or
argumentative. The Yequana people seemed
unreal to Liedloff, because of their lack of unhappiness. As an expedition was moving up a challenging jungle
stream, she noticed that the Italians would get completely enraged at the
slightest mishap, while the Yequana just laughed the struggles away. Their daily life had a party mood to it.
In his book, In Search of the Primitive, Lewis Cotlow visited
Eskimos in arctic Canada. One night, he
spent several hours talking to local officers of the Royal Canadian Mounted
Police. They kept repeating one idea in
different ways: “The Eskimos are the happiest people in the world.”
In 1832, the artist George Catlin visited
Indian tribes in the Upper Missouri River region. He wrote, “They live in a country well
stocked with buffaloes and wild horses, which furnish them an excellent and
easy living; their atmosphere is pure, which produces good health and long
life, and they are the most independent and happiest race of Indians I have met
with: they are all entirely in a state of primitive rudeness and wildness, and
consequently are picturesque and handsome, almost beyond description. …In my travels I have more than realized my
former predictions that those Indians, who could be found almost entirely in a
state of nature, with the least knowledge of civilized society, would be found
the most cleanly in their persons, elegant in their dress and manners, and
enjoying life to the greatest perfection.”
Daniel L. Everett was sent to the Amazon to translate the
Bible into the language of the illiterate Pirahã hunter-gatherers. He described his efforts in Don’t Sleep,
There Are Snakes. He eventually
realized that it was pointless “to convince happy, satisfied people that they
are lost and need Jesus as their personal savior.” He became a devout atheist. “I would go so far as to suggest that the
Pirahãs are happier, fitter, and better adjusted to their environment than any
Christian or other religious person I have ever known.”
[Continued in sample #48]
3 comments:
Although not as sustainable as the wild cultures you describe, Hindu Brahman culture existed for three thousand years and would have continued for another thousand years if Europeans did not come to India with handful of coal. A mild climate combined with a fertile land with numerous rivers made life easy. Life was divided in to four stages. Childhood, Brahmacharya (living and learning with a Guru), Family life and Vanaprastha (philosophical inquiry). A few might reach final renunciation. That culture mastered astronomy, invented zero and produced a library of literary works.
My maternal grand father was very likely the last person in the Brahman lineage.
Just like you I can not go back to the village by the river where I grew. Just looking a satellite picture makes me cry. The river that used to flood periodically now hardly has any water.
Also city folks believe that ancients lived in constant fear of wild life. When I grew in a mud house with thatched roof, scorpions, centipedes were common. My mother was used to snakes and cheetahs. As long as you respect their territory they do not bother.
People like Hobbs confuse life expectancy at birth with human life span. At all times, leaving sick babies and weaklings, men lived at least seventy years.
<< Hindu Brahman culture existed for three thousand years and would have continued for another thousand years if Europeans did not come to India >>.
I suspect that if they had bypassed India, you’d still be screwed, as long as the Industrial Revolution and capitalism continued to spread like COVID. I just read a book by Abdullah Ocalan, a Kurd, who saw Sumer as the original birthplace of much mayhem — hierarchical society, slavery, patriarchy, monotheism, and irrigation agriculture. From Sumer the culture spread throughout the Middle East, then east into Asia, south to Egypt, west into Greece, then Rome, then Europe, then the world. Now it’s 2020, and the entire planet is in rough shape. Sad! Coal should have been left in the ground.
Dear Richard
Thanks for sharing all your amazing writing with the world, especially concerning the "wild, happy and free" life which is our birthright, but has been all but eradicated even from memory by the dominant necrophiliac civilization. It´s been a wonderful antidote to the depressing deep dive I´ve been taking into the science of ecological overshoot and collapse (starting with William Catton and continuing onto William Ophuls, John Michael Greer, Walter Younquist, John Perlin, et al)
However, I agree with Amaranth that a more nuanced understanding of world history would be beneficial. I just finished Anand Veeraj´s "Green History of Religion" (I wrote a very brief review here https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/3584820254), for example, which contrasts the dominator cultures of Sumerian imperialism with the relatively benevolent, egalitarian cultures of the earliest urban societies (many of which also first emerged in Sumer, and some of which, along the Indus river valley, may have been wiped out by the Aryan invasion), and the nature-positive civilization of ancient Egypt.
"Civilization" is an abstract category that serves as a catchall for a diverse array of social formations that can´t all be forced into the same box without doing violence to the historically and geographically specific context of the available evidence. It seems that not every society that "progressed" towards civilization did so at the expense of human self-alienation.
Similarly to Amaranth´s proposal that Hindu Brahman culture could have persisted for thousands more years if not for the intervention of outside forces, it seems that the same could be said of the cultures of the Americas, and that the notion that these were doomed due to inevitably destructive agricultural practices is an outdated understanding of native American agriculture.
According to recent discoveries presented in books such as "1491: The Untold Story of the Americas Before Columbus"
by Charles C. Mann (essential reading offering an incredible appreciation of how human presence shaped the Americas across two continents and over tens of thousands of years) and the more specialised "The Maya Forest Garden: Eight Millennia of Sustainable Cultivation of the Tropical Woodlands" by Anabel Ford and Ronald Nigh, this tired narrative (popularized by the likes of Jared Diamond´s Collapse) is in urgent need of updating in favour of a far more nuanced understanding.
The Native American enterprise persisted for 40 millenia or more, and had every prospect of continuing for just as long into the future, if not for the intervention of European colonists. The rise and fall of precolombian civilizations across the Americas seems to have been the result not of ecological destruction, but political strife. The land could have seen many more such civilizations rise and fall without much effect on ecosystem health.
The wilderness of discovered by the first colonists was a managed anthropogenic landscape. The wilderness celebrated generations later by conservationists was a just as much of anthropogenic landscape -- created by the fallout from the removal of its keystone species, native americans. I strongly encourage you to read the three abovementioned books and add them to your formidable list of reviews/summaries. They might change your opinion about the inevitably destructive nature of tool-making. And if they do not, I would be very interested to hear why!
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