Tag: ethics

We need to update the epistemic sphere


We need to update the epistemic sphere to include the information that scientists have now provided that makes clear the human impact on the rest of the biosphere. Information that makes it clear that we have a shared global commons, shared not just with other humans, but with everything that exists on this planet. Denial, refusal to draw conclusions and accept whatever is going to happen as a direct result of our collective impact, is worth investigating, but it is nothing more sophisticated than denial, however well articulated. Of course, ideally we’d be doing something about it, but if we’re still in denial, let’s investigate the denial.

 

Humans are not exceptional on the planet. We are not in control of the biosphere and it does not, and never did, belong to us, as a species, and certainly not as nations. If we chose to continue to see ourselves in this relationship with what is around us, we are simply going to reap the harvest of such delusion. We do not own it. We do not control it. We can’t control it because we’re embedded in it (albeit at a very surface, late stage, and can easily, or fairly easily, be shrugged off). We depend on it. We are part of the very complex feedback systems and processes of the whole but it’s nought but arrogance to suggest that we will lead it to where we want it to go.

 

We are too many, a species in population explosion. We cannot be sustained by the systems upon which we depend at the population levels we currently exist in, and which projections indicate will rise further. We are rapacious, but we are not unlike other species in this regard. Numbers will fall. The population will crash. There’s no doubt about it.

 

We don’t have to just enjoy it while we can, though. We can also make the best of it that we can. If we can get a better perspective on our situation as a not particularly significant, though notably extravagant, and thus emergent, species then we can begin to approach the problem of continuing human survival and even ask whether or not this is something we want to pursue. When we actually get clear a perception of our relationship with the ecosphere, we will have a greater survival advantage. Whether or not this will be enough to ensure the survival of those aspects of our species that we have cultivated -linguistic artistry, art, culture, scientific, musical and even physical achievements about which we are so proud – is open to question. Whether or not the development of such extravagant emergence, considering its cost, was justified, is not something we can take responsibility for. Still, it might be a good question now that we have an awareness of it.

 

We’re odd creatures, really: abstract thinkers, wandering about extravagantly in our febrile imaginations, creating technologies that ultimately turned out to be the harbingers of our own destruction, fighting for different ideologies even as the globe groans under the weight of our overpopulous, overconsuming swarm. With all the tools – empathy, foresight, abstract thought, opposable thumbs – to get ourselves out of the crisis we’ve created, we nevertheless chose to focus on the trivia. Was it easier, somehow?

 

How does our human ability to cohere into groups and communities dictate what we believe, so we can make a mutual arrangement to understand a common meaning for ‘money’, or ‘justice’? Could we exploit this mutual mindplay so that a different set of common ‘wholes’ become commonly accepted, like understanding ourselves not as a species, but as a cluster of species (viral, bacterial, fungal, primate) within clusters of processes (ingestion, digestion, excretion, inhalation, exhalation) all of which affect us, and all of which we affect?

 

When whoever remains turns back to reexamine this period, if they still have the cultural skills (reading, the preservation of knowledge through the written word, the requisite leisure, education, and so on) will they wonder at the lack of effort made during our era to preserve those characteristics that count: generosity, patience, self-restraint? Will they forgive us? I don’t suppose they have much choice. But we do, don’t we? We can choose, now, simply through the practice of self-reflective awareness (as well as the continuing development of scientific knowledge, weighing its ecological impact and working towards cradle to cradle technologies) how to respond, even if the window of our options is growing smaller even as I write.

Schematic outline


It’s time to work on a new schematic. I seem to have an idea, now, thanks to WordPress and the feedback I’ve been getting online and elsewhere (OK, so I didn’t get much feedback online… never mind!) of how I can structure the thesis now that I have the focus as self respect and respect. I am still really uncomfortable about the gap that has developed between ‘ordinary language’ and the language I’m inclined to use when talking about the topics of the thesis. This is because it’s so important to be clear about what I’m trying to say, because the risks of being misinterpreted as some snake oil salesperson, or some jargon-laden pseud who’s saying nothing (yes, it was helpful to reread Orwell the other day) or even some frothing at the mouth ecowarrior, are considerable. The points I want to make, very simply, are:

1. that self-respect IS respect, and vice versa.

2. that perceiving the world primarily as boundaried entities rather than interacting relationships has created, among other things, the division between respect and self-respect.

3. that Dogen recognised the indivisibility of entities and the primacy of interactions, and therefore the importance of respect as an activity

4. that Darwin and the scientific understanding of evolution developed within a historical context and was understood as competitive and divisive, either/or development, until recently when more information allowed that evolution proceeds symbiotically and through the cooperative activity of systems

5. that our understanding of environmental ethics has been bound by our concern to show that we can locate qualitative measures for valuing within different loci, but that understanding ourselves as physical systems allows us to consider the environmental crisis and ourselves in terms of energy flows, facilitated or interrupted.

6. that the facilitation of energy flows facilitates the dissipation of energy whereas the reduction of flows, either through less biodiversity, or through the caught patterns of energy locked in plastics or radioactive waste, or even through the stuck patterns of reactions that fix us in resistance to relationships and create suffering, all interferes with it.

7. that this is not a moral problem: it is not right or wrong to live according to the Dao, or the Way. Suffering itself is not wrong. But if it is possible to ease suffering then it makes sense to do so, because our own suffering and the suffering of, or the locked patterns of, all existence, are interlinked, and our immediate patterns depend but also interact with larger ones. The only means we have to reduce suffering is through respecting ourselves, compassionately, and respecting the world, particularly the biodiverse world.

8. to say that we exploit the biodiverse world necessarily, and therefore cannot respect it, is to mistakenly liken ourselves to machines: we are not machines but responsive biofeedback systems that interact with ourselves and with the world around us. Respect itself creates space for compassionate, impartial activity that releases attachment.

9. So Dogen’s imagery and ideas illuminate those of science and vice versa. They are not saying the same thing and we need to contextualise and personalise our responses, so that we realise no principles can guide us. We can only practice respect and watch what happens, personally. We can actively speak about disrespect and its impact but without attachment, or emotional investment.

10. A critical mass can be created through this activity, but it can come about only through the elicitation of a response.

11. Humans can live with respect for themselves and the environment. It is not an easy way to live but it is possible. It is no more difficult than the way we live now, however.

12. This is not a choice, in the traditional sense of willing ourselves into a new understanding. It is the effort of practice-enlightenment, the willingness to become more aware of where respect is absent by drawing attention to it in ourselves.

Disclaimer


I notice that the ads, like some kind of aggressive invading force, have found my websites. I wonder, idly, whether or not there might be any point in moving the whole shebang since other than paying for the privilege of ad-freedom, I can only imagine the situation is going to get worse. Make no mistake: I do not judge Russian Girls for attempting to find Dates, or Mates, even, particuarly if their lives hold little hope for them as things stand. I’m also guilty of having clicked on a potential Amazon Affiliates programme. I’m a pragmatist when it comes to Amazon: I don’t like the model in principle, because it carries all the hallmarks of any organisation that swallows all its smaller potential rivals and closes down interesting little bookshops. Then it fronts the popular, the cheerful, the bright and the branded and allows the niche market, the poets and philosophers (yes, Hello), to wither. Or perhaps it was ever thus. Anyhow, I will not be signing as an affiliate yet. It is part of the condition of being overly thoughtful (a characteristic that combines ill with my other vulnerability – a lack of self-respect) that potential opportunities are prodded and poked and scoured for association with greed, pollution, slavery, explicit cruelty to animals, destruction of fragile habitats , and the like. Unfortunately, that doesn’t leave much for my ilk to be going along with. Luck has kept me afloat so far but I’m reasonably atraid. After all, even Peter Singer, a huge influence on my undergraduate thinking, has admitted that he does not live as frugally as his philosophy advises. I’m no ideologue, but walking the tightrope between despair and destitution is challenging, particularly when you have involuntary accomplices, dependents who did not have a say in living like this and don’t have any qualms about eating a Big Mac or subscribing to X-Box live. Ah, well. Sun’s out. Must run.

The Goulden Rule (arousing compassion for self, respect for natural others)


Natural biodiversity has, to date, been valued only to the extent that it provides a ‘resource service’ to humans, in other words, entirely instrumentally. However, a reflection on this view quickly allows us to understand that clusters of organisms act to achieve their own flourishing within naturally biodiverse systems and that this is entirely independent of whether or not humans value them. What, then, has valuing got to do with biodiversity?

We need to begin to develop a sense of intense curiosity about how the complex interplay of interests within naturally biodiverse systems plays out. In doing this we may, even if through the artifice of culture, come to a point where it becomes natural for our cultural understanding of nature to include an appreciation that it has its own rules of engagement that are not reliant upon human intervention in any sense. In face, deeper reflection still will show, on the contrary, that the whole edifice of human consciousness and human understanding is dependent on the functioning of biodiverse clusters of other organisms, and not the other way around.

Ronnie Hawkins commented that there is an unhealthy dependency within current predominant cultural forces in the centres of power, mainly in the global ‘North’, on ‘our left-hemispheric specialization in the abstract and the linguistic, and the signs of right-hemisphere disease (or atrophy?): neglect of a large part of perceptual space (we can plainly see our human takeover of the planet, but we look away from it), anosognosia (we deny that there’s a problem at all), and confabulation (let’s talk about the stock market!)”.

Every living organism lives as though the world centred, if not on itself, at least on its species. One fundamental difference between the human condition and that of other clusters of organisms, then, is that human are extravagant, in the original Latin sense of having wandered from the path of a pursuit of our own needs, to pursuing potential needs, or experimenting with what could become needs, with what are, essentially, ‘wants’ (again, I’m reminded of Larkin: this extravagance is not, in itself, either good or bad. It is simply a matter of fact. Larkin wrote a poem called, Wants which contains the line, ‘Beyond all this, the wish to be alone.’ Quite apart from the wonderful rhythm of the line, the essence of what it expresses is the tension that is brought about by being in one situation, and having the urge to occupy another space (solitude, in this case). This tension is itself a kind of dualism, an awareness of there being other possibilities, and a natural curiosity, developing into a yearning, to be elsewhere.

Paradoxically, it is this very ability to occupy two spaces at once – the present and the conditional, the potential, that gives us the opportunity to practice just those activities that have allowed us to come to exploit or dominate other species. Wendell Berry gives the example of the restraint required when waiting for crops to ripen. This, in turn, gave us myths and legends to explain our place in the world (think, for instance, of the story of Persephone and Ceres as an explanation of winter, and also of the necessity of restraint: what if she had eaten twelve pomegranate pips?) It is the tension between being, as John O’Donohue describes it, and longing to be, or, be-longing, the longing to be a part of a bigger whole. We cannot join this larger unity because we ate the fruit of knowledge, we tell ourselves. The gap between this existence and the tension pulling us towards some unknown future that we can, nevertheless imagine (dream about, or dread) is the emergency: the stem of our ecological crisis. Emergent consciousness has created a distance from which to view the place we occupy in space but that very distance gives us a sense of alienation. We are strangers trapped forever in the possibility that there is something ‘other’ about ourselves. We have called this something a soul to give it an identity, or a mind because we cannot really understand how consciousness could occupy the same space as the physical realm we can quite clearly grasp, and this has allowed us the space to segregate our set of responsibilities, elevating the spirit and denigrating the flesh.

Now, however, it is time to deal with the emergency for what it is, a chimera, a ghost that is not alien at all, but simply the projected emergence of electrico-chemical activity brought about as a result of the kind of response to the web of conditions and relations we have evolved into. The closest practices that this practice parallels is the observational techniques used by Zen practitioners, specifically those described by Dogen Zenji when writing about the practice-enlightenment that comes about in sitting meditation.

What this practice allows is a space in which we can observe the relationship between perceptions and actions. We could call this, with Wendell Berry, “the middle ground” (after all, Buddhism is often called, “the middle way”). Berry outlines six elements that are realised when we take this reflective attitude:

  • We are tiny in relation to the wilderness in which we live.

Zen, paradoxically, by the process of observing the nature of the boundaries between entities and considering them until they dissolve into relationships, concludes that we are not tiny at all: or rather, we are so tiny, that we do not have any meaningful identity at all, except as points of perception that shift and fluctuate in an ocean of arising and dissolving connections. So we are neither tiny, nor huge. We are simply froth on the surface, soon to be reabsorbed;

  • This wilderness is the universe. We depend on it, yet it will kill us at some point.

Yet this wilderness does not exist as a separate realm from us, as points of perception. We are involved in it completely and it is inside us as well as around us (the biomass of microorganisms that coexist within us make up more mass than the DNA of our nuclei which we consider to be the blueprint for our separate selves). It is true that we have a continuum of identity in this regard. I can only pass on my own DNA, or some of it, to another generation: yet the virally derived ancestral RNA that also occupies my genes shapes the primate-derived expression, and so even in this sense, I am not fully separable as a primate, and nor are my offspring, physical or, more complicatedly, the words or art that might postdate me. Can it kill me, then? Undoubtedly, this point of perception, mobile as it is during the course of my biological life, will disappear at the point of death (or as near as makes no difference, I hope). In that sense, I will die. What will kill me is the necessity for energy to disappate, a process that I am a part of as much as any other element in existence. So, yes, this point of view will disappear and the clusters of organisms that located, albeit in shimmering dynamism, never all the same cluster, and never in one place for more than a few microseconds, will fall apart. This point of perception will never exist as a continuum again. This is death, no doubt, and it is brought about by the unfolding of the universe, and so yes, the wilderness will kill me. But I hope that this rather more complex explanation shows that this is not a simple, “them and us” statement. There is more interchange than that. And Zen reflection gives us images and ideas through which we can conceive of the interchange centred on emptiness. The wilderness will also die, in the sense that all energy will eventually dissapate. Nothing about the universe is permanent. This does not create immortality for ourselves but it creates a more integrated sense of the unfolding as being a more intimate affair than if it were just about a struggle to accept death.

  • We cannot solve the ‘problem’ of our endangered state. It does not have a solution.

The acceptance of death is an enormous task. We are inclined to resist it as a matter of biological fact. Everything about it repels us. Zen practice is entirely engaged in reflecting on this repulsion, the urge to move away from its consideration. By gently pulling ourselves back to the centre of its awareness, we change the quality of our relationship with it: it becomes suitable matter for reflection. The whole illusion that we are permanent has become so pervasive that we have suppressed an engagement with acknowledgment of mortality. It is the most vital and vitalising force we can harness: the fear that threatens to overwhelm us is the very impetus that will drive us towards a more integrated relationship with ourselves and all around us while we have a point of perception.

  • But we can live in harmony, more or less, with our native wilderness. We cannot achieve this harmony simply or easily but it can become, indeed it is, our life’s work.

This follows, too, from Zen practice: there is no nihilism in the contemplation of death. Rather, it is the motivating factor that shows where and how the realm of action is defined. There is only this uncertain moment. No security for any kind of future. Only this space and place in which we can engage with whatever we can do to make the best of what there is. Reflecting on the kind of activity that is available to us within this space, we may come across the insight that there is little we could have done about the point that took us to where we are now. If we consider the image of emergence again, we can imagine ourselves as sleeping creatures, waking to consciousness, but not freed, by consciousness, from the chains of activity, the electro-chemical, the organic, reactions that are bound to operate according to natural laws and the chance encounters that send us on various tangents from the central aim: to keep away death as long as possible. We are not free in any traditional sense, then. That, fortunately or unfortunately, was an illusion (and this is another reason why an ethical approach demands too much of us: we simply don’t have that much freedom). Yet, as Zen itself has illustrated and as countless practitioners have experienced, the very act of reflection itself creates another layer of emergent possibility. The emergency holds within itself the potential for another layer of reflective emergence: the emergence of observation of the very processes that are acknowledged to be inevitable are loosened when we realise that the very act of observation itself creates space for possible responses to open in alternative ways. This process requires huge effort. It is fragile: there are more processes threatening to pull us back into strongly conditioned reactions than there are processes that support our experimenting with alternative responses. Yet these possibilities open with the realisation that reflection sheds light on our reactions to date, showing us how the chains of cause and effect have interacted. It is a fragile tool. Push observational effort too hard and it collapses back into frustration, envy, fear or any other conditioned realm. Fail to practice and the very possibilities are never given space for generation. But find that “middle ground”, and create a consistent effort, and the glimmerings of potential begin to appear.

  • It is not possible for humans to intend their own good specifically or exclusively: we cannot intend our own good, in the long run, without intending the good of the place

Berry seems in perfect accord with the Zen approach this time. Except that in Zen, it is not “good” that is intended. Compassion arises as a response to the realisation of the conditions we find ourselves in. Meditation on our condition develops the awareness that we are an element of biodiversity, just as biodiversity itself is an element of the energetic unfolding of the universe. Its unfolding is our unfolding. Recognising that we are a subsidiary of it is the agent’s step we must take in order to fulfil our own understanding, and in order to develop the impetus to act with enough richness of intent for the larger wholes: biodiversity, the ecology, Nature, community.

  • ‘To use or not to use nature is not a choice that is available to us; we can live only at the expense of other lives. Our choice has rather to do with how and how much to use. This is not a choice that can be decided satisfactorily in principle or in theory; it is a choice intransigently practical. That is, it must be worked out in local practice because, by necessity, the practice will vary somewhat from one locality to another. There is, thus, no practical way that we can intend the good of the world. Practice can only be local’.

The point that Berry makes here is that it is impossible to live without using energy. We are ourselves energetic processes and the requirement for our continuance is that we take in energy. However, the Zen practice of reflecting on cause and effect, of seeing the karmic chains of activity within which we are bound loosening as we watch them open into potentials, possibilities, shows that there are alternatives in how we act on this knowledge. We must eat, but even when the push towards utility is strong, reflection on our intricately bound relationships with what we eat can move us to consider the process of killing and eating as a practice of respect. Dogen writes of respecting even the tools used for eating. The food itself is not sacred in any religious sense, in the sense that it is imbued with any magical ‘otherworldly’ spirit. But it is as caught in the karmic web as we are ourselves, and this enlightened view arouses compassion. We can create the potential for compassion in how we grow and source and kill and prepare the food we eat, and we can extend this to how we relate to all our relationships.

Something else needs mentioning here: as I said above, the push to reduce potentials towards a single option is strong. One of the most severe constraints is judgment. However, there are many serious conditional constraints, for very many people, including hunger and extreme poverty. When these conditions constrain, judgments harden the options into narrower and narrower possibilities. As Caroline Lucas said, we have to find solutions individually and locally, and on a “case by case basis”. Again, without the prejudgments of ethical dictates, this is a more flexible, more fluid attitude. The effort required is all the effort we can give, no more or less. While this is not clear, in the sense that a rule is clear, nevertheless, it is very particular to our own conditions. The Golden Rule does not apply since your condition and mine are never parallel. Nevertheless the impetus remains to do as much as possible to create an enlarged frame of reference, as often as possible, and with a commitment to continue to practice the reflective, meditative state that creates the space for potential to open. We can adjust our activities as the balance shifts. Practice-enlightenment puts us in a position to realise our activities within the interconnections that contain and create us, using the lodestone of respect.

  • ‘If there is no escape from the human use of nature, then human good cannot be simply synonymous with natural good.’

Neither human good nor natural good are ideals we can strive towards. Instead, practice-enlightenment extravagantly enlarges the space within which we can imagine ways of living that allow us to encompass the human within the natural world, as both unfold.

We may need to work to repair relationships. In particular, there are biodiverse ecosystems that require our respect and active reparation even if our reliance as a species on their continuance is not clear. Biodiversity itself is part of the condition of our existence and any instance of it, particularly where it has evolved independently of human interference, indicates that we are ignorant of our connections and relationships, and so ought to pay particular attention to respecting it.

We and it – wilderness, nature, the other, the community – are not separate, nor are we entirely separable. Our systems depend upon and nuture other systems. An appreciation of our naturalness is a necessary part of any cultivation of the necessary attitude towards the environment which will allow us to emerge from this emergency mature enough to take responsibility for our role in the demise of natural biodiversity.

Fundamentally, as Stephen Jay Gould recognises, what we need to arouse in ourselves is a sense of compassion, but for our own state, and also for the relational state we are in with other species, and finally, for the fragile state in which the biodiverse systems are that have been affected by our impact:

Yet I also appreciate that we cannot win this battle to save species and environments without forging an emotional bond between ourselves and nature as well—for we will not fight to save what we do not love (but only appreciate in some abstract sense). So let them all continue—the films, the books, the television programs, the zoos, the little half acre of ecological preserve in any community, the primary school lessons, the museum demonstrations, even […] the 6:00 A.M. bird walks. Let them continue and expand because we must have visceral contact in order to love. We really must make room for nature in our hearts.

(S. J. Gould, Unenchanted Evening: 40).

I disagree with Gould about the Golden Rule, and I disagree that all depictions of nature, sentimentalised, anthropomorphised, treated with pornographic intimacy, on television programmes and in films, is either beneficial or justifiable or serves to create room for nature in human hearts that experience nature so vicariously. Yet the general point still stands: some sense of close connection of what we live within – the extraordinary abilities of plant roots to source nutrition in the soil, the lives of cells, the migratory patterns of birds – is the only impetus strong enough to motivate a change of heart. To hope that this could develop among human beings who are struggling for justice, against poverty, in slum conditions, where escapism through addiction or violence is the norm, may seem to be extraordinarily unrealistic. Yet, as I will propose below, the human animal is strongly predisposed to develop the capacity for love, of self or other, human and non-human. It is on this predisposition that the emergence from the ecological emergency can gain a foothold, given half a chance.