‘Night and Sleep’ — Evelyn De Morgan
So
you believe in something. Good for you. Makes life more manageable and
gives you something to focus upon, and when necessary, argue about. Beliefs
structure our culture and our world: political, religious, community, commercial.
Unfortunately, our beliefs, regardless of their context and foundations, are not ecological.
You read right. Our beliefs are not ecological. What does this even mean? Why is this even important, and what is the alternative to holding strong beliefs?
Beliefs
are a way of thinking that by nature have very little if any
room for movement. When I say: “I believe…”, I have drawn a line in the
wet cement, and while the setting cement is ‘going off’, I build
neurological structures to support the new belief making sure that it
stays in place. The cement goes off, and unless there is a significant
shift in the underlying foundations, the belief I have laboured over
stays put. Swapping metaphors for a moment; a coastal forest, whipped by
constant onshore winds, the belief will dig deeper. Extending its
roots, bending to give a little whenever there is a conflicting force
the forest will flex, not to change, but securing its future.
The
most durable wood will often grow from the tree weathering the harshest
winds. Excellent for trees and the cabinetmaker, and yet this is where
the analogy ends.
I am living in a world that is changing fast.
All around me, there are calamity and innovation, people scrambling to
make sense and to make a difference, and all of them holding firm to
their beliefs.
Climate change has to be the defining conversation
of our time. Every day we are greeted with yet another ‘catastrophic’
event. As I am writing, I am alerted to the bush fires in New South
Wales, Australia and the flooding in Venice, Italy. Venice, a beautiful
and quite unfathomable city that only months earlier I had visited with
my family. Nine years ago, New South Wales where fires now rage, our
home for two years. The homes we once stayed in are now either
underwater or threatened by the raging fire.
I feel concerned, so I
tune in to the discussions. My Twitter feed alerts me to shifts in
climate and possible solutions, and yet I notice division: division
based primarily upon beliefs.
Beliefs are lazy. There, I said it!
“I believe this…” is lazy. When I believe something, I can rest easy
knowing that I am right and, believing in something means I am not open
to the opposing viewpoint. Thinking that it is CO2 and ‘our fault’ for
example, says I am not open to any opposite view or query. If you force
your belief upon me, chances are I will dig deeper and strengthen my own
resolve. I may also resort to belittling you for holding the
alternative view — a standard part of life on social media.
Holding
a belief is easy and requires next to no effort other than fighting for
it when the opposition becomes fierce. We see this more and more. Hong
Kong and the months of rioting. The global climate change marches in
every major city. The constant and insufferable reminders of
governmental corruption in the American political system. It goes on.
Look in any direction and find examples of conflict solely based upon
differences in belief.
Belief is not an ecological way of thinking
because it is too inflexible. In a time when digging deep to find
solutions has become vital to the future of a significant proportion of
the world’s population, a lack of creative plasticity has no place.
I
have watched the shift of liability. It’s a human need. We require a
scapegoat, a place to lay the blame, a reason for the inconvenient
alteration in our way of life. Unless we have a culprit, we cannot make
the required changes; a solution becomes illusive. However, as soon as
the culprit has been named, we build a story. We engage the help of
science and develop a hypothesis. From there, we make a stronger belief
and arguments in defence; any other contributing factors are moved to
the side and considered superfluous.
We are talking about climate
and climate change. Climate change is an ecological discussion. It’s
about ecology, of which climate is a part. Global conversations are
fierce, and they are based on belief, inflexible and robust belief. In
this case, it’s CO2 that is the culprit, and CO2 levels are heavily
influenced by human activity. But like any global debate, pick your side
and dig deep.
On TED Talks, there is a story: ‘How to green the world’s deserts and reverse climate change’.
A talk presented by scientist Allan Savory. It tells the story of his
mistake. He thought that the desertification was caused by the large
numbers of elephants roaming and foraging, so he had 40,000 elephants
killed. The upshot: he was wrong. Desertification increased after the
‘scientific killing’ of thousands of elephants. It wasn’t the elephants
after all. The elephants, it was realised later, were stopping the
desertification from getting worse. But because the focus of blame had
been laid, a strong belief generated, ecology suffered. If you have the
time, watch the video, and you will notice how he describes his new
theory. Watch his body language. It’s fascinating to note his shift to a
new belief and how adamant he is about it.
Question: is it
ecological to selectively charge an aspect of ecology with the sole
responsibility for the health and wellbeing of that ecology?
And,
how useful or ecological is it to hold a belief about the ongoing health
of an environmental system when that system is ever-evolving?
What
if belief, in the context being discussed, took the shape of that
context, in this case, nature.? What if ‘belief’ was replaced by
decision making predicated by our collective values — a much higher
place of mutual connection to base decision making from? And what if
this decision making strategy was structured in such a way that it
considered other perspectives, not just our own?
Belief won’t do
this. It is too limited, and it does not know how to tune itself to an
ever-changing context. Decision making needs to more considered; taking
into account the multilayered nature of the environment.
The
challenge to this way of thinking is this: it’s too complicated. The
complexities of a natural system tend to mean that making decisions
about it and what to do when something appears to be going wrong,
becomes insurmountable.
In chaos theory, there is a term known as ‘Sensitive Dependence’ or ‘The Butterfly Effect’.
It essentially suggests that the smallest change in any given system
can cause significant developments in the future, within that system. To
choose one part of any ‘system’ to be the culprit or the fix
of the entire system is a recipe for disaster. It is similar to
suggesting: that to ensure our continued good health, simply put all
your attention on the little toe on your right foot.
Venice 2019
I
recently visited Venice. Walked the alleyways and crossed the canals.
Witnessed intense tourism and the massive floating cities being towed
through the central channel. Locals are screaming for justice: “stop the
boats!” Others are shouting: “build the barrier!” and more are
chanting: “reduce carbon”, or “stop oil”, and more. I was amazed that
this city still existed, considering it was built on a marshland
primarily consisting of sand. Was that a good idea? Maybe at the time.
Where
do we lay blame, and, who has a vested interest in where that blame is
laid? Will the result be attainable when the focus of our outrage and
concern is only a part of the complex system at play.
Why we won’t.
We
won’t change the way we approach these problems, and it’s because we
can’t. Not yet. We won’t do it because to do it, we would need to be a
part of the system. We would need to be connected to it, know the
language of communication that it uses. We would have to be fully aware
of our own intrinsic place within it, as an essential part of the whole.
We would have to hurt when it hurts — to feel and know it’s suffering.
We do not.
Somewhere along the way, our language of identity
shifted. We started to believe something about ourselves that separated
us from the very world we once relied upon, and depended upon us. Maybe
we began to think that we were better than it, or more intelligent than
it, or more able to wield ‘control’ over it. Regardless, we separated
from what many consider to be our mother.
Unlike a child, however,
who leaves the embrace of home, we disowned that home — our mother.
Over time we forgot our home and our mother. In that forgetting, our
original home became either a threat or a pool of resources. Today,
after who knows how many millennia, we still believe that we are
separate. We cannot make ecological decisions about our home when the
foundations of those decisions are beliefs which perpetuate separation.
Until we understand this as a ‘lived’ experience — removing the disconnect — we will always find ourselves lost for what to do.
Language
To me, there is only one place to begin this re-connect: language.
How
do we know ourselves within this place we call home, and how do we hold
that conversation? It may be as simple as changing our language: the
way we describe ourselves, and ourselves in this universe. Perhaps a
new, emergent conversation is required.
