Finding Truth in a False Idyll

nature: noun /ˈnāCHər/ a nebulous word that generations have struggled to adequately define.

The world's changing shape and humanity's increasingly complex relationship to it have only added to difficulty of this task. In this spirit of continuing the discussion, we're sharing our e-mails about False Idyll by J.B. MacKinnon.

from:		Nick
to:		Tina
date:		Sun, May 27, 2012 at 5:54 PM
subject:		False Idyll | J.B. MacKinnon | Orion Magazine

I thought I had found an interesting article for you but as it is from Orion I assume you beat me to it. What do you think of it? Come to Alaska. I can show you the not so nice part of nature.

from:		Tina
to:		Nick
date:		Thu, Jul 19, 2012 at 6:13 PM
subject:		Re: False Idyll | J.B. MacKinnon | Orion Magazine

"We have rendered nature an easy god to worship."

Toward the middle of this essay, I might have begun to understand the flush of anger Christians (or others) experience when their religion is rationally called into question. I feel uncomfortable reading something that criticizes the legitimacy of my personal spirituality. It's not my fault that I haven't been confronted by a bear, and I try to make the most of my nature experiences, as diminished as they are.  One of the things I love the most about nature is that duality of character, so to speak. That it can inspire, but also terrify.  We live with hot blood or cautious character or somewhere in between, but we live, always (or we should, in nature), on the edge of death, with uncertainty as certain as the seasons. One of my favorite things about hard hikes is the reliance we have to have on rocks and roots to hold steady. It's like nature is forcing us into submission, to be come reliant once again on a support system we did not create. When I took some MSA kids for a hike, we came upon a dead possum with flies buzzing around its gaping and ripped-apart orifices. It was as symbolic and meaningful to me as, say, skull symbolism in still life art. I want to be shocked, at least in theory. Maybe my dedication isn't strong enough. I haven't packed up for Alaska or the Andes or any other large natural challenge, but I can at least embrace these minor sad possums, vertical climbs, or whatever. And I feel outrage at biodiversity loss, but it's fucking hard to fight against the literal and metaphorical bulldozers. Is it that "but" that puts my spiritual pursuits at a fault?

By the end, though, I think I felt at peace with MacKinnon. I'm still not sure who his audience was supposed to be, or what exactly the point was. Perhaps it's just a reminder to the people who visit mediated landscapes periodically without giving it that extra thought.  What did you think?

Very best,
Tina

from:		Nick
to:		Tina
date:		Thu, Jul 19, 2012 at 11:25 PM
subject:		Re: False Idyll | J.B. MacKinnon | Orion Magazine

 Important mainly because it was sent directly to you.

Dear Tina,

I certainly make no claim of great insight into nature from my brief
and far from heroic interactions with bears or Alaska or anything else
for that matter. His post hit me too. Like you, It is that same aspect
of being in an environment that is not built to satisfy my every need
that makes me love time spent outdoors. Finding my own way into
canyons gives me much more satisfaction than hours spent on the trail.
It is knowing that the canyon is uncaring to my desire to spend time
in it and will kill me if I don't give it and the weather my absolute
attention that makes the hike so humbling. It says, "if you want this,
you must earn your way." I have never felt that more than in Denali.
No trails. Each step was a conscious choice. Bears were an
ever-present neighbor. I have spent some time lately thinking about
how different life could be had the bears made more defensive
decisions. If they had done what is part of their genetics and years
of evolution to do.  Even in these "wild"scenarios I likely benefited
from the habituation of the bears to people. Your experiences are as
real and valid as my own. If one of the three of us is likely
deceiving ourselves, my money is on MacKinnon's lost valley,
interestingly enough accessible by train and complete with a cabin. 

I think MacKinnon's point is that we cannot read Muir or comparable
authors and think we know all we need to know about nature. The idea
that it is a living painting for us to gasp at and then meander on is
certainly a false one. Life, which is basically the essence of what we
are talking about as nature in this context, is like a rock or a
glacier or a volcano. It continues reliably but not as what we project
onto it. It is not the eternal foe or friend but rather uncaring of
our presence on it. Which, sometimes, I find harder to take than
either of the other options. How does the inertness that nature shows
to life fit in with our own thoughts on what it means to us? I think
we are naturally unequipped to understand that.

In nature there has always been starvation, struggle and
suffering. Whatever beauty the presence of life has created on this
planet, it also contains these elements we find depressing.  Our
perception of what nature is or should be exists only in us and in the
park-like landscapes we have created. I have to wonder if it is really
all that surprising.

Even the areas we imagine are preserved beyond our influence are
scrubbed and cleaned and made presentable to us. Even the choice not
to use someplace is done for one's owns needs. We have done what any
other species would do, adapt the world to become a perfect habitat.
Place itself out of the loop of suffering and starvation. Plants alter their habitat
through generations and in turn fight off competing plants, promote
fire or poison the herbivores that eat their leaves. We were just
lucky enough to cross the threshold first.

Even with all of this, I don't see a reason to diminish one's love of
nature. Is the more complex nature, the one that involves death and
suffering, any less captivating? The uniqueness of it all and the
complete incomprehensibleness of the existence of any of this should
be enough. To me, these thoughts only balance my appreciation of both
living and inert material. It is all an unbelievable combination of
stardust.