How Literature Alters Climate Views

When reflecting on my last post, how can we make climate change interesting, I realised I was speaking from the perspective of someone who in fact does find it interesting, and was lamenting the fact that others did not.

I think a big part of that interest has come from the books we have studied on this course. Yet each book has taken such a different approach to nature and the environment that is seems this conglomeration of different voices shold only have added to my confusion. Instead I have reached a kind of mental clarity.

This weeks lecture from Terry Gifford explored different types of pastoral writing including:

– Pastoral

– Anti Pastoral

– Post Pastoral

The texts we have studied on this course have all incorporated elements of these. Some parts of The Living Mountain by Nan Shepherd paint an idealistic view on the Cairngorms in Scotland and I think it could be argued Ruth Ozeki’s depiction of nature in All Over Creation is overly idealistic, though this is parodied somewhat with the characters of the hippies, so this could be a post-pastoral text, or even anti-pastoral.

The point is though, I don’t believe that one particular pastoral approach to writing is sufficient for us to understand nature and why we should protect it. The pastoral shows us what we would miss if it were gone. Yet the pessimistic tones of books such as Atwood’s Oryx and Crake remind us that action is needed. Even books like State of Fear serve somewhat of a purpose, showing us the ignorance and opposition that is still needed to overcome.

To go back to my previous posts again, I discussed some attempts at climate change propaganda that still does not have the weight it needs to influence society into action. As proved with me a s a case study, literature can do this, just as it has the power to change many other things.

This is one thing that not just this module, but my entire study of English literature has taught me, and it’s this power that needs to be tapped into before we can move forward as a society in the climate change battle.

Is Climate Change Interesting?

Unlike some of the books studied on this course, Margaret Atwood’s Oryx and Crake lurks somewhere between the realms of fiction and non-fiction in the obscure purgatory known as ‘speculative fiction’. This allows a rare perspective as reality is presented through the thin glass of fiction, obscuring it in some places, in other illuminating parts of our society that in every day situations we may be blind to.

This is particularly true of Atwood’s novel, addressing one of the most pressing yet mysteriously inaccessible issues of modern times; global climate change.

It was pointed out to me the other day by a friend that most writers seem pessimistic because they notice things other people don’t. (I argued that whilst this may be true, they also notice the minute acts of human kindness that others don’t, so the two kind of even on another out.) Yet, unfortunately, to continue down the pessimistic road, Atwood does pick up on one of the more negative aspects of human nature.

In an interview with ‘Living on Earth’ magazine (an aptly named publication), Atwood was asked about the Crakers, the strange, demi-human beings that inhabit her post-apocalyptic world. When the interviewer referred to The Crakers as “fascinating”, Atwood’s reply was if not more so:

“Well, they’re not fascinating to the human beings who are living side-by-side with them because they don’t share some of our interests.”

I think the interviewer was right: The Crakers are indeed fascinating; yet Atwood hits upon the point that they are in fact different to humans and so we show no interest in them, at least, the characters in the book do not.

This is problematic when applied to Global Climate Change. Like The Crakers, as well as being a potentially catastrophic phenomenon, it is also a very interesting one. Yet the reason campaigners have had such difficulty pushing the seriousness of the situation onto the general public is that they have trouble making it interesting to them. (This is not helped by certain people/ books/ governmental bodies doing all they can to deny it *cough* Crichton *couch*). How can you make something that you can’t see, interesting to a public who have been instilled with an obsession with glitz and glamour? As you can see from the pictures below, many attempts have been made…

The fear factor, the shock factor, the weird factor and the satirical factor have all been pursued.

But should climate change need to be interesting for us to take an interest in it? The true answer is of course, no, but in these times of propaganda, television and celebrity there seems to be n other way for scientists to have their voices heard above the buzz of mindlessness.

But in among all the ignorance we see every day in the west, I’ve also seen things that make me think their is hope still. When I was travelling in Asia, Nepal I saw horrific poverty on a day to day basis. Yet one day I found myself walking in the foothills surrounding the Kathmandu valley, completely isolated, the only people around were the farmers in the rice paddy’s which went on for miles above and below me. These people spend every day of their lives in these fields struggling to make enough. Environmental activism could not have been further from my mind as I turned yet another corner upon which I saw a large metal box with the words hammered into it…. remember to recycle.

If these people can remember what is important for the world, and not just for their own lives, maybe we can too.

Environmentalism: The New Religion?

Michael Crichton is a controversial figure. Despite contributing Jurassic *life finds a way* Park to people’s lives, he’s still managed to piss off a large proportion of the scientific community, and not just by suggesting that dinosaurs could be reborn from DNA preserved in amber or whatever. Crichton’s 2004 novel ‘State of Fear’ was widely criticised by environmental scientists for “presenting an error filled and distorted version of the global warming science”. Although meant as a work of fiction, Crichton’s use of real life data, presented in graphs and tables throughout the novel, as well as extensive footnotes suggest that he wished the book to be viewed as a legitimate scientific source.

The problem with the book is that for the average reader, not clued up on all the latest scientific research in global warming, is that what Crichton talks about seems perfectly plausible. Some critics suggest that Peter Evans is representative of the reader, with limited knowledge of global warming, basing his knowledge mainly around what is presented by the media, as well as limited scientific knowledge. Personally, when reading the book, I found it was very convincing in it’s argument, which is the problem scientists have with it. Had I not had prior knowledge of the controversies surrounding the book, and the suggestions that Crichton had misrepresented much of the data he uses in the book, I feel I may well have been convinced by the book. It’s alarming to think then, that in America some politicians cite this book as evidence that global warming is, as Jim Inhofe put it, “the greatest hoax ever perpetrated by the American people.”

Upon further research into Crichton and his stance on the environmental crisis, it turns out his views are not as clear cut as his novel might make out. Whilst he does not actually deny that global warming is happening, what I found most interesting was his statement that he saw environmentalism as a religion. Crichton argues that from an anthropological point of view, a religion is a collected set of beliefs spread by one or more leaders which gives the followers their view of the world. Crichton further argues that environmentalism has aspects of Christianity in that it promotes a view that the earth used to be a kind of Eden, and it is humanities job to get back to this state.

Crichton’s seems to have a problem with the idea of blind masses being led by a limited number of people who claim to have superior knowledge. Put like this his concerns seem legitimate. But the fact is, environmental scientists are a very different sort to the vicars, popes and other religious leaders we are used to. The bible doesn’t have footnotes. Crichton’s claims are harmful, and his reasoning behind it seems to me malice towards anything posing as a religion, rather than genuine belief that global warming isn’t an issue. Besides, isn’t it rather hypocritical that he has now published a book, essentially telling people the right way to think?

All of this seems unforgivable, but unfortunately many people have been able to forgive Crichton, simply for the fact that he contributed to the career of Jeff Goldblum.

“What did you say about environmentalism?”

Does Richard Branson Own the Earth’s Core?

Now, in the opening of Ruth Ozeki’s novel All Over Creation , there appears a series of words in a certain order that renders them one of those things we call sentences, and it goes like this:

“But for one quick blip in the 5 billion years of life on this earth, that three thousand acres of potato-producing topsoil and debatably the slender cone of the planet that burned below, right down to the rigid center of its core, belonged to my father Lloyd Fuller.”

Why is this the opening of a blog post? Why indeed. But another, perhaps, perhaps, better question to ask, is whether people actually own the land below their houses. And what about the sky above? I’m sure legally the answer is no, par example, you couldn’t just dig a giant hole under your house, the planning permission would be outrageous, and you could find dinosaur bones which might be scary.

But the actual point is, to me, the inside of the earth seems so distant, so detached from the lives we live, creeping and blasting and staggering our way across our little thin section of crust, that the idea of anybody actually owning it seems ridiculous, some may say stupid, which allows me some excuse for 90% of these words also being stupid, because this is some kind of meta commentary on the very point I am trying to make, and because literary criticism.

The earth is basically a huge rock floating in infinite space. I’m sure this point has been made before, however, this does not detract from the truth of the situation. To me then, it seems kind of ridiculous that anybody should own any of it. But ownership is something born of an anthropocentric society (thanks Wordsworth), naming stuff etc.

It was pointed out to me during a conversation with an esteemed colleague (cough) about this very subject that if you owned the bit of the earth’s core that your house was above then Richard Branson would own a large part as “doesn’t he own an island or something”.

But we want our core back Branson. Stop hogging. Let’s just all share the core and maybe even the top bit where all the people live too, maybe then it wouldn’t matter where people come from, or ecocentrism, to make it sound nicer.

Nature, and Humanities Grounds for Divorce

In Betty and Theodore Roszak’s essay ‘Deep Form in Art and Nature’ they discuss what they call “the crisis of the modern world”: that we, as a species have become disengaged with nature to such an extent that we no longer feel a part of it. The fact that we no longer consider ourselves part of the natural world is a shocking one. Of course, biologically this is untrue. We are essentially intelligent apes who are extremely adept at manipulating our habitat to suit our own needs. But on a social and by association, mental state, we are not one with the natural world.
There is no telling how far back the beginnings of our estrangement from nature can be traced, but for me a good example can be seen in the poetry of Alexander Pope. Pope’s ‘Epistle IV, to Richard Boyle, Earl of Burlington’, is overtly critical of the landed gentry who landscape the land they own to such a state of symmetry, where “grove nods at grove, each alley has a brother”. Pope laments that through warping the wilderness to this extent the eye has “no pleasing intricacies intervene, no artful wildness to perplex the scene” and therefore create what he calls an “inverted nature”. The idea of man inverting nature is synonymous with the idea that we are separate from it, as the Roszak’s argue.
Since the early 18th century when Pope was writing, man’s manipulation has only increased. Even in cities the much heralded ‘green spaces’ offer a reminder of this. In Bath, I often walk the ‘two tunnels walk. Although the greenery is pleasant to walk through, the buildings pressing close just beyond the trees on either side is an obvious reminder that these trees are only here because we allow them to be. If they were in the way of something the council or the government deemed more important then they would be gone within a week.
Yet there are signs that man is rekindling it’s deeply ingrained link with nature. One example of this is the strides that Ayurvedic, or ‘alternative’ medicine has made over the last few years. Deepak Chopra, MD, writing in the American Medical Association Journal of Ethics talks of how traditional and modern medicine went through a divorce, but now he argues they have ” moved to the stage of wary mediation, and holds some prospects of reaching a shy courtship some day in the future”. Practitioners are now unable to disclaim the values of alternative medical practices such as acupuncture. Chopra also makes the point that the use of placebo drugs can cause the body to give the same response that administering the patient actual drugs would give, and in a much more natural way. And who can deny the restorative powers of a walk in the countryside or along the beach.
Carl Honore touches on the subject of people going back to natural forms of medicine towards the end of this Ted talk on how we should all slow down our life:

Essentially, as soon ago as the last five years, there has been a slowly dawning enlightenment in society that nature is not in fact some inferior concept to be conquered, but something that we should embrace as a part of ourselves. The only question left to answer now is whether it’s too late.

Nature and I

When the question is posed to me, ‘what does nature mean to you?’ the instant image conjured is one of a green field bordered by trees, perhaps a herd of cows carefully meandering their way through the long grass, flies buzzing about their eyes and ears. To me, that is nature. That is the quintessential example of nature. It is ‘nature’s nature’, if you will. And yet, when stepping back and considering the question further, it is quite obviously not all there is to it.

Nature, by definition is…

“…the phenomena of the physical world collectively, including plants, animals, the landscape, and other features and products of the earth, as opposed to humans or human creations…” (Source: Google)

It is an all encompassing phrase, and cannot simply be limited to a single field with one species of wildlife in it. Even if we confine the definition to just England, nature is still the furrowed moors with its pockets of ponies and deer. It’s still the forests and the streams and the hedgerows. And of course it’s still the miles and miles of coastline that stretch around “this sceptered isle”.

So why then, is it such a limited view of nature embedded in my head?

The answer, I think, lies in where is home. Coming from Devon, I grew up surrounded by fields. My dad, for example, grew up on a dairy farm, and I think it’s that link with home that brings forth this idyllic pastoral image when the subject of nature is touched upon.

This also bleeds into what is commonly know as our ‘inner nature’. People talk about getting ‘back to nature’, and although you can delineate between the nature that encompasses the physical world, and the nature that lies at the heart of people, however, for me the two seem to be one and the same. If I need a break from the stressful life of university, I’ll go home to Devon for the weekend, where I’ll sit by the lake and hear the wind through the trees, and my body will feel at balance once again.

The idea of balance is another important one when discussing nature. Traditional Chinese beliefs discuss the concept of ch’i, or in other words ‘natural energy’. This energy flow needs to be at balance to provide mental stability, and there is a sense of the natural balance of things being restored when I go home. It’s as though there is an intrinsic link between the concept of nature we have and our own nature. It would be interesting then, to discuss other peoples initial images when asked about nature. Somebody from a seaside town for example, would their immediate image of nature involve a beach scene?

The link between our idea of nature as an aesthetic concept, and our intrinsic nature is something I’d like to explore further this year.

 

 

Devon

(Source: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/travel/destination/uk/60529/Devon-travel-guide.html)