Paradise Found: Nature in America at the Time of Discovery by Steve Nicholls
459 pages
Published 2009
Read from July 1 to July 9
Rating: ★★★★ out of 5
When
I'm feeling bored or uncomfortable during semi-mandatory social
occasions, I like to read. This is apparently considered rude, though as
I've never grasped (even in the slightest) why this should be so, I
tend to forget that. And I tend to be surprised every time by other
people's reactions when I read. At the very least, I can expect to
process no more than two or three sentences at a time before some
nincompoop interrupts me to ask what I'm reading, as if the presence of
an actual book is a marvel that must be investigated. Foolishly, I
brought this book to a gathering of Jen's white trash family in a trashy
gated community in rural Pennsylvania, a veritable halcyon for the
sorts of people who think Obama is a Muslim socialist out to take all
their guns, so I should have expected much worse than that.
I was
sitting on the deserted back deck of this rickety McMansion when some
older guy I didn't know stopped to ask what I was reading. Annoyed by
the interruptions, I mumbled "Ecology," let him look at the cover (which
is apparently a deep-seated need among the "What're you reading?" crowd), and hoped he would go away.
Instead he mused, "Ecology. Niiice. You know there are a lot of opinions in that, right?"
I
do this snotty Internet Atheist thing where I cock my eyebrow at idiots
and I'm not even aware of it half the time, it's so automatic. But he
went away and, thinking no more of him, I stuck my nose back into the
book.
He stumped back out onto the deck with a drink in his hand,
though, and inched a meaty paw toward my shoulder. Bear in mind he
hadn't so much as introduced himself, and here he was, standing over me
inside my personal space. "I saw you givin' me a quizzical look when I
said ecology had a lot of opinions."
I stared at him, half
uncomprehending, half frozen by my social awkwardness, entirely hoping
he would simply go away again. He seemed to expect some kind of
response, though, so I mumbled something really kind of stupid: "Oh,
your degree is in ecology?"
He snorted in disbelief and drew himself into a truculent stance over me. "Waw, I worked thirty years in it. So you're saying you believe there's only one way to do ecology?"
My
brain does not work well when I'm accosted by idiots before I even get a
chance to prepare. My strength has always been in the written word. Ask
me to verbalize a cogent defense of something so fundamental as
rationality, and I freeze up. I stared at him like I was bluescreening,
then finally managed to snarl, "I didn't come here to interrupt you," or something similarly stupid and childish.
"Oh, excuse me," he said, backing away as if I were a delicate child, making exaggerated careful motions with his hands.
That was on July 4. That encounter has yet to stop rankling me.
One
thing that bothers me is that I was such a terrible, absolutely
terrible, ambassador of science and reality. For days now I've been
coming up with snappy comebacks: "Ecology is a science. In science, opinions
don't matter until they've been tested and peer-reviewed." Or "'We all
have opinions' is the refuge of those whose worldview is incompatible
with reality." Or, when he made the leap to broad generalizations about
my "beliefs," I could have calmly stated, "Ah, you're already
strawmanning me. Lovely. I'm done with this." Anything but my mumbled hostility. L'esprit d'escalier is forever the bane of the socially awkward.
But
on another level, I'm extremely bothered by the mindset that anonymous
tool represented. Not just "my opinions are just as good as your
science," though that's a big part of it. It's the idea that nature,
ecology, the environment, the history of life on Earth, complex
feedbacks and interactions, the web and beauty of life -- that none of
that matters, not when there's a little bit of money to be made
somewhere by some good ol' boys. Yeah, I'm reading a whole lot into that
man's remarks, but it's hard to imagine any other worldview that would
prompt his eye-rolling over the silly enterprise called "ecology." Such
people (and they do exist, regardless of my anonymous interlocutor's
sympathies) absolutely baffle me. I just do not understand how someone,
anyone, could not be moved by the sheer grandeur of life on this planet,
if only they took the time to become informed about it. And there are
many people who disdain the mere thought of becoming informed.
This
very book I was reading, if approached with an open heart and an open
mind, could have illustrated why I find that attitude so
incomprehensible. Nicholls approaches his subject fairly and openly,
cautioning about the complexity of interpretation and the paucity and
possible bias of historical sources, yet no fair account of the
diversity and fecundity of North American ecology during the early
period of the Columbian Exchange can fail to elicit wonder and awe. The
idea that so many Americans embrace an impoverished worldview devoid of
such natural wonder is, frankly, depressing as hell. The fact that they
tend vote more enthusiastically than the rest of us is worse. Books like
this are necessary to help educate, but sadly, only those of us already
inclined to listen to its message are likely to pick it up.
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