by John Kurmann - Jan-Feb-2001
Now, now, save your rope—I haven’t gone over to “the other side” (whatever that might be), so there’s no need to string me up from the nearest old–growth tree (besides, the near ones ain’t that old and the old ones ain’t that near). I can’t be held responsible for destroying something that doesn’t exist, now can I (note the quotes)? Let’s go to the Webster’s Encyclopedic Unabridged Dictionary of the English Language (1989):
environment, n. 1. the aggregate of surrounding things, conditions, or influences, esp. as affecting the existence or development of someone or something. 2. the act of environing. 3. the state of being environed.
Okay, now, first of all, the term “environment,” as you can see from the definition above, can be applied in many different ways. You can speak of “a child’s home environment,” “a workplace environment,” and so on. Since this is the Ozark Sierran, however, “the environment” I referred to in the title is what is more specifically referred to as “the natural environment,” as in “the environment” that the Sierra Club claims to be “protecting...for our families, for our future.” So, where is this “environment”?
Well, if you’re like most people, you think of the environment as something “out there,” as “everything that surrounds people and the things people have made.” Which is understandable, based on the definition above, a short version of which has accurately been written as “that which surrounds.” I got a kweshchun for ya, tho’: Where exactly does “the environment” leave off and “the human world” begin?
The air that I breathe into my lungs to get the oxygen I need to live came from “out there,” of course. And when I breathe it back out, where does it go? Back “out there,” where the trees and other plants will take the carbon dioxide I’ve released and use it for their own life and growth. They will return oxygen to the atmosphere, which will be breathed in by many other kinds of animal life, who will then breathe back out carbon dioxide, which plants will take in again, all in a continual cycle.
We are all of one breath.
The water that I drink into my belly, the water that makes up the vast majority of my body, came from “out there,” of course, and when I pee and sweat, it returns. This same water has passed through untold other plants and animals since the beginning of life, and will continue to pass through other living creatures long after I live no more.
We all drink from the same cup.
The food that I take in to nourish myself, to provide the energy I need to walk, and drum, and dance, and that becomes my very self, came from “out there,” of course. It came from other living creatures in the community. I don’t have a permanent claim on it, however. I am always losing bits of it—shed skin, lost hair, and so on—which become the food of others in the community. Tiny creatures (and maybe some not–so–tiny) are making their living from my life right now, in my eyelashes, my intestines, and sometimes in my very cells. When I die, I will surrender the fire of my life back to the fire of all life and become food for whatever finds me. The organic molecules of life, too, are continually cycled from one life to the next—no one is untouched, no one above feeding and being fed upon (though we may try to deny this). The food chain is not a length with two ends, arranged hierarchically, the way it’s usually visualized—it’s not really like a chain at all. It is truly a web, where every creature’s life is intertwined with all the others, especially those it feeds upon and those that feed upon it.
We all eat from the same feast.
Where do I leave off—where does “the environment” begin? I can see no meaningful, definable point. The term “environment” assumes that I am in some way separate from “that which surrounds” me, but this is a delusion—and that delusion is what I want to destroy.
“The environment” doesn’t really exist as it’s been conceived, so it can’t be destroyed in any physical sense, but when we think in those terms—when we imagine ourselves somehow separate—we live as though we’re separate: We live what we think. And this false sense of separation makes it possible for us to destroy what does exist—the magnificent living world we are inextricably part of. In destroying it, we destroy ourselves.
Moreover, not only is “the environment” a dangerous, destructive delusion, it’s a drab and boring one. It’s no wonder we’ve failed to awaken the people of the world to saving the world—we’ve largely surrendered to the dry, heartless language of the regulation–writer, of the bureaucrat. If the world is saved, I think it will be because a great many of the people who are destroying the world (and please know that not all people are, though it can seem like it when you’re immersed in our culture) fall passionately in love with it.
Does “the environment” fire your passion? You may love that spot by the bend in the river, or the woods just beyond the reach of the suburbs, or even the park down the street where you take the kids, but can you muster much love for “the environment”? I can’t, and I think it’s clear most other people don’t, either.
I say it’s time for new language, language that truly conveys our place as part of the world, and that inspires us to save this awesome blue–and–white beauty from the war our growth–addicted culture has been waging on it for ten thousand years. It’s hard to learn new language when it challenges your conception of the world, but, in practicing to speak differently, I think we’ll learn to think—and therefore live—differently. Which just might make it possible to save the world.
If you love the world, please, join me in destroying “the environment.”
John Kurmann has an earnest desire to save the world, thinks of himself as a community (of life) activist, and has been a Sierra Club member for about four years. To contact him with any questions or comments about this article, please send an e–mail to dsdnt@kctera.net