Demolished Light House

Julian E. Levi

U.S. 1900-1982

Demolished Light House

n.d.

Oil on canvas

WPA Collection 1942

Fred Jones Jr. Museum of Art, University of Oklahoma

The first thing to grab my attention when I looked upon this painting with fresh eyes was the dilapidated old light house. From there, my eyes were draw to the tallest of the two gnarled and twisted trees. At this point it became clear that my gaze was being drawn in clock-wise circular direction starting with the light house and ending on the debris in the bottom left forefront of the painting. This circular path is reinforced by the texture of the artist’s brushstrokes, particularly in the area surrounding the anchor. To my eyes, this circular rhythm gives the painting a certain symmetrical appeal. At first it seemed as if the red coloring of the light house contrasted sharply with the rest of the tones in the piece. However, upon closer inspection, I noticed that the red coloring of the light house was referenced subtly in the debris in the left forefront and in the earth surrounding the sunken anchor.

To me it seems that the forms within this painting combine to give the piece a general impression of loss. I find it telling that although the artist chose for the focal point of the piece to be a light house, the only visible piece of the ocean is inauspiciously peeking above a sand-dune on the right hand side of the painting. The destroyed light house, the sunken anchor, and the gnarled windswept trees give the impression that the surrounding area had witnessed some sort of biblical calamity. This piece was painted shortly after the Great Depression, and to me it is apparent that the artist bore the mental scars of that turbulent period. He presents a representation of the Earth that seems bleached and sun-scorched almost to the point of no recovery. I believe that this in some way represents a resigned and mistrustful view of the natural world. If I was forced to summarize in one sentence what the author was trying to say in this piece about the changing relationship between the Earth and humanity, it would read something like this: “We bit the Earth, and the Earth bit back”.

 

 

Are Humans Natural? Yes, and No.

It seems to me that one of the ethical themes which has permeateed the study of Anthropocene science is the question of whether or not humans are to be considered “natural”. However to my eyes, this question is fundamentally flawed due to the inherent ambiguity of the word natural. Hundreds of legitimate definitions exist in the English language for the word natural. So, it is no great surprise that such controversy arises from arguing about a word whose definition is so elusive to pin down. However, the thrust of this question seems to be whether or not there is something special about the human species which separates us from the rest of the animal kingdom. My answer to this is a resounding yes, and no. It takes little observation to see that humans utilize resources and behave in ways similar to those of other animals. Also, we can observe that humans have been engaging in activities which fall under the category of niche construction just like many other animals for millennia, at times the results of these activities are indistinguishable from what we used to consider pristine landscapes (Balee 2006). This shows that the human transformation of landscapes is not necessarily as destructive as we once thought. So, yes in a very clear sense humans are natural. Yet, I hold that it also takes little observation to see the gulf which exists between man and the beasts. Some attempt to understand the gulf which yawns between mankind and the beasts in religious or evolutionary terms. In the interest of brevity I won’t go into detail about the different ways in which people do this. Perhaps the easiest way to understand this gulf is in terms of rational capacity. However you wish to slice it, I believe that this difference is responsible for humans engaging in behaviors which have departed from what is “natural”. To my knowledge no other animal amasses wealth and other resources even close to the scale on which humans routinely do. So, in this sense I argue that humans are not natural. Although I’m sure that many will find this to be an unsatisfactory answer, I believe that humans in a sense are both natural and unnatural.

Conservation and the Anthropocentric Tendency

In 1633, the scientist Galileo Galilei was sentenced to house arrest for the remainder of his life for proposing that the Earth was not the center of the universe. In other words, Galileo was convicted for proposing that man was not the center of the universe. In Galileo’s time, many people believed that it was absurd to think of anything else but man occupying the center of the universe, given our special place within God’s creation. It was only through centuries of hardships that these anthropocentric biases were overturned in favor of the truth. Today, in the field of conservation biology, I fear that we are dangerously close to returning to our deep-seated anthropocentric biases. Since the conception of conservation biology, the notion that nature possess it’s own intrinsic value has been at its foundation. This idea is clearly laid-out as normative postulate in the seminal paper written by the father of conservation biology Michael Soulé: “Biotic diversity has intrinsic value, irrespective of its instrumental or utilitarian value” (Soule 1985 Link). This notion, that the intrinsic value of nature is the fundamental reason for conservation, has recently been challenged by a group of scientists from within the field of conservation biology. Marvier and Wong write that, “conservation messages should emphasize the value of protecting nature in terms of benefits to people rather than for its intrinsic value” (Marvier and Wong 2012 Link). I fear that this line of reasoning is a dangerous and slippery slope. Mankind often needs little prompting to place themselves at the center of the universe, often at the expense of the truth (and unfortunately the rest of the universe). To me it seems that placing man at the center of conservation, is (ethically speaking) tantamount to replacing man as the center of the universe; and as I attempted to illustrate by the case of Galileo, people like being the center of the universe and stringently resist any force which tries to usurp them from that position. With that being said, this new conservation movement headed in part by Dr. Marvier, brings to the table a well-spring of energy and fresh ideas, which if implemented with the right fundamental goals in mind could be of great benefit to conservation and to people as well. However, to my eyes it seems of the upmost importance that we protect the field of conservation biology from our own anthropocentric biases, and to keep in mind that the issue of conservation is fundamentally a moral and not economic issue.

On April 14th, 1935, my grandmother watched as a suffocating black cloud of dust enveloped her small hometown in western Oklahoma. That day, in which the cloud of black dust choked the daylight into darkness, became to be known as “Black Sunday”, and it was in the aftermath of that day that the term Dust Bowl was coined. Given that this is a blog about the Anthropocene, you might be wondering how this story relates to this concept. However, to me it seems that when considering the moral and ethical issues of Anthropocene science, the Dust Bowl presents perhaps the most vivid and poignant image of what is at stake. I was born 57 years after that fateful Sunday; and I believe that the scars caused by the trauma which occurred on that day and during the Dust Bowl in general are irrevocably burned into the collective consciousness which I share with everyone who resides in Oklahoma and the surrounding region. I feel this trauma as my own when my grandmother relates to me the story with a far-away look in her eyes, and with the memory of never-ceasing cough in the foremost of her mind. As I am sure most who grew up in this region are aware, the Dust Bowl was caused in large part by non-sustainable farming practices. In other words, humans played a large role in the degradation of the environment. As I have attempted to draw out, the effects of that degradation are still being felt by those born over a half century later. This to me gets at the heart of the moral and ethical issues of the Anthropocene: we are in large part responsible for the environment which our grandchildren will be forced to inhabit. It is of tremendous importance to note that when our recent ancestors plowed under the Great Plains, they did so in the name of progress, with good intentions in their hearts. The lesson to be draw from this is apparent: good intentions and the desire for progress aren’t always met with good results. So? Will we learn from our past, or am I doomed to tell my grandchildren about the results of our good intentions with the same distant look which I have seen painted on the face of my grandmother?