Is Ecology the Issue?

by John Cobb, excerpted from the 1972 book "Is It Too Late: A Theology of Ecology"

The ravages committed by man subvert the relations and destroy the balance which nature has established; …and she avenges herself upon the intruder by letting loose upon her defaced provinces her destructive energies…When the forest is gone, the great reservoir of moisture stored up  in its vegetable mold is evaporated.... The well wooded and humid hills are turned to ridges of dry rock…and… the whole earth, unless rescued by human art from the physical degradation to which it tends, becomes an assemblage of bald mountains, of barren, turfless  hills,  and  of swampy and malarious plains. There are parts of Asia Minor, of Northern Africa, of Greece, and even of Al­pine Europe, where the operation of causes set in ac­tion by man has brought the face of the earth to a des­olation almost as complete as that of the moon. . .. The earth is fast becoming an unfit home for its no­blest inhabitant, and another era of equal human crime and human improvidence . . . would reduce it to such a condition of impoverished  productiveness, of shattered surface, of climatic excess, as to threaten the depravation, barbarism, and perhaps even extinction of the species.1

These words, which were written over a hundred years ago by George Perkins Marsh, today ring with re­newed urgency. America finally heeded the warning of Marsh and saved some of its great forests from irreversible destruction. But new means of destroying the en­vironment, unforeseen   by Marsh,   threaten   now   to realize  his  worst  fears.   Irven Devore  and  Richard  B, Lee write  that  "it  is still  an  open question  whether man will be able to survive the exceedingly complex and unstable conditions he has created for himself." 2 And  David  Lyle  suggests  that  "the human race  has, maybe, thirty-five years left." 3

If the threat to survival is as serious as these sci­entists  suggest,   then   suitable  adjustment  of our  na­tional priorities is the most urgent business of the sev­enties. The   United States   cannot   solve  the   world's problems alone, but without American leadership the problems cannot be solved. We are the world's greatest consumers and polluters. We have done more than any­one else to release radiation and new chemicals into our environment. We have the resources to do some­thing about  the  new  problems.  Other issues are ur­gent, but this one is imperative.

The danger in focusing attention on a single issue and raising it as one of supreme importance is that it might seem to detract from the importance of other issues. Those who are struggling for the rights of blacks, or browns, or reds, or students, or women; or for freedom in Brazil, or Greece, or the Soviet Union; or for the survival of Israel or justice for Arab refu­gees; or for peace in Southeast Asia, feel abandoned and cheated when their erstwhile allies move on to another cause while these battles are far from won.

An   allegory   will   give   perspective.   Picture   the world as a ship on a long voyage.  The ship has first
class and steerage accommodations. The crew directs it’s attention to the comforts of the first class passengers, who have plenty of space, luxurious accomodations, and superabundandant food of great delicacy and richness. In steerage men and women are crowded and uncomfortable. The food is tasteless and poorly cooked.  Some suffer malnutrition. Contagious diseases break out, and medical help is inadequate. Tempers are high, and fights occur. First class passengers occasionally look down on the steerage deck below with amusement and even with pity, but for the most part they prefer to forget the existence of these other passengers and to enjoy the gracious living for which they have paid. The fact that most of the steerage passengers are of other cultures and races makes this easier.  

Many of the steerage passengers dream of someday transferring to first class and a few even succeed in doing so. But most resign themselves  to the impossibility of such a move. They live in impotent envy, taking out their anger on each other. Finally, a few among them begin whispering that this is unnecessary. Why should they be crowded and poorly fed when there is so much space and food wasted on other decks? Why not share all the space and food equally?

Many ridicule the idea as impossible, but others listen. Of these, some want to seize by force the space and food they need, while others propose appealing to the innate sense of fair play on the part of the first-class passengers. At first these win out, and a few changes result from their humble and modest requests. The food supply and medical attention are improved. The first-class passengers expect gratitude, hut in fact the slight success only intensifies the demands for an equal share.

I will not detail the struggle as it grows bloodier and more bitter. The crew is called in by the first-class passengers   to   maintain   order   and   guarantee   their privileges—for which, after all. they have paid.  And the crew obliges with all too little reluctance. The few first-class   passengers   who   sympathize   with   those   in  steerage  are  increasingly ostracized.  More  important, many of the children of the first class passengers believe in the cause of the steerage passengers and try to help them. Some of these also fall victim to the crew, while   the   parents  generally  think   they   have  gotten what they deserve.
Several   times   during   the   struggle   the   news   is heard that the boat has sprung a leak. A few members of the crew are dispatched to see about it. They report that it is not too large a leak yet, although it is grow­ing. Most suppose that the captain will see to it and go on about their business and pleasure. But the cap­tain is too busy trying to keep order, and the few who continue inquiring about the leak are ignored.

The untended leak becomes larger. Some of the ship's supplies  are  soaked  in  salt water  and  ruined. Even the boat's speed is slightly affected. New leaks begin to appear. Although life continues luxurious in first class, some notice that the ship lists a little. Some of the shipboard games are adversely affected. Shuffle-board is abandoned. More voices are raised about the urgency of action, but when the crew shoot some of the children, a new controversy breaks out which dis­tracts attention.

The first-class passengers feel guilty about the kill­ing of these children, but they cannot bring them­selves to admit that they are in the wrong. They devote their energies to self-justification. The children are deeply hurt by this attitude on their parents' part. Until now they have felt that the ideals on which they have acted were those of their parents as well and that if only the parents saw the situation clearly the would aid the steerage passengers instead of using force against them. With far less confidence, the steerage passengers have shared this hope. But the willingness of the parents to kill their own children in order to maintain their privileges, and the subsequent justification of this act,.is profoundly disillusioning. A  few turn to unalloyed violence. Most relapse into angry but lethargic resignation.

The ship continues to list. Almost everyone recognizes it now. But in the aftermath of the intense emotions generated by the other conflicts, no one seems to care very much. Leaders vie with each other to announce their concern, but not one dares to  speak realistically of the risk or of the vast cost of dealing with it. The people have no stomach for great sacrifices. Their idealism is spent.

This is where we are now. What happens next is still unsettled. We may continue to fragment into disgruntled minorities while frantic efforts on the part of our leaders to hold us together leave little energy to deal with the spreading leaks. Only when the water covers the lower decks will the passengers turn their attention, too late, to the problems of a sinking ship. With bluer mutual recriminations they will struggle for places in the inadequate lifeboats, while the sinking ship carries most to their death. Another possibility is that the crew and first class passengers will wall off part of the ship in such a way that although the lower decks fill with water, the steer­age passengers drown, and most of the supplies are low, the ship can stay just barely afloat. In this way many of the first-class passengers can survive, although at a level of subsistence inferior even to that of the steerage passengers when the boat was intact.

A third possibility is that the ship’s captain, as a man of wisdom and courage, will persuade  all the passengers of the necessity of immediate massive action.  Unnecessary supplies are then quickly thrown overboard, including many of the weapons used by the crew to control the steerage passengers. All able-bod­ied men join together in a massive effort to pump out the water and repair the leaks. In the process, the mu­tual antagonisms subside. New leadership patterns are established. All the passengers and the crew, as well, become a single community living frugally but harmo­niously together.
Granted,  only  a   miracle  could   realize   this  third possibility.    Politicians   would   have   to   refrain   from playing upon the mutual antagonisms of our polarized society and challenge us to extremely unpopular sacri­fices.   Masses of people would  have  to vote  for and follow these politicians. Business and industry would have   to   adopt   new   criteria   by   which   to   measure achievements, and all of us who are dependent on the present system for our luxuries would have to accept a simpler style of life. Is all that really possible?

No one knows; but the unforeseen and the unex­pected do occur.  Indeed, the rise to consciousness of the    ecology/population    crisis   itself   illustrates    the openness of the future, the occurrence of the unpre­dictable,  the surprising fruition of forgotten seeds.  I myself have  been  aware of its seriousness only since the summer of 1969. Yet even in that summer and fall one who was concerned felt like a voice crying in the wilderness. No popular national magazine had taken up the issue.  The Church seemed silent.  Politicians avoided the question. Only a few weary ecologists, na­ture lovers, and demographers kept up the apparently fruitless struggle to alert the nation before it was too late. The very word ecology was hardly known.

As late as February of 1970, Richard Register could point out the frightening analogy between the human reaction to ecological deterioration and a frog's reaction to the heating of his watery environment:
There is an experiment well known among biologists in which a frog is placed in a large container of water And the temperature is slowly raised. The change is so gradual that the frog shows almost no sign of realizing what’s happening. Then, almost peacefully, in temperatures approaching the boiling point, the frog dies—not with a bang, not with a whimper, but in pathetic ignorance.

There is another experiment well known among the inhabitants of Los Angeles in which several million people are placed in a large flat basin bordered by an inversion layer at the desert fringes of that basin. Millions of cars and millions of tons of asphalt and cement are slowly added. The change is so gradual that the population shows almost no sign of realizing what’s happening…4

But Register’s own article was a part of an upsurge of interest. The news media widely took up the new cause. New organizations arose and others gained fresh momentum and vitality. Politicians vied with each other in showing their concern. Ecologists and naturalists were in great demand. Ecology became a household word, and cars sprouted bumper stickers urging people to "control your local stork.”
But there are already signs of waning interest! One hears flippant talk of someone having taken his eco-trip and being ready for something else. The events in Cambodia and at Kent State displaced eco­logical concerns on the college campuses.

At a superficial level this is inevitable. As soon as we move from description of the problem to proposals for action, we lose much of our confidence and convic­tion. No one really knows enough to answer our ques­tions. Economists and ecologists often speak at cross-purposes, and we must listen to both. The issue is tied up  with  every  other   issue,   and   any   step   we   take toward its solution  has  ramifications   in   other   areas that are often bitter indeed. Many leftists are resentful about the emergence of this concern, since it distracts attention from their call for a social revolution. Right­ists regard it all as a Communist plot, since the prob­lems cannot be solved without radical changes in our way of life.

It is profoundly unfortunate for our national health that our attention span is so limited. The prob­lems of crime, race, and violence do not disappear when we turn to something else. Similarly, our envi­ronment will not recover from our assault upon it when we stop thinking about it.

For a while at least, our new attention to the en­vironment will probably generate new interests. Now that we notice such matters, we find ever new indica­tions of the seriousness of the situation. The recent discovery of mercury in our rivers is a case in point. The disappearance of various species of wildlife will not now go unheralded. We will be observant of our weather to see how it is being affected by our actions. The attention of the world focuses on the army as it dumps nerve gases into the ocean. If supersonic trans­ports are as destructive as many expect, that destruc­tion will not go unnoticed. There will be more public clamor against the commercialization of our remaining wilderness.  Industry will have to consider more care­fully how it disposes of its wastes.

But the question remains whether all this will lead only to a series of ad hoc measures designed to meet particular emergencies when public opinion de­mands it, or whether it will lead to careful planning and rethinking of our national life. The latter can occur only if a new vision of man and his place in re­lation to nature comes into being, a vision that would naturally express itself in a changed style of life.

From "Is It Too Late? A Theology of Ecology," By John B. Cobb, Jr., 1972
Revised, 1994:
http://www.cep.unt.edu/eebooks.html#send1
http://www.amazon.com/too-late-theology-ecology/dp/0962680737

1. George Perkins Marsh, Man and Nature, ed. David Lowenthall (Cambridge, Mass.: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1965), pp. 42-43.
2. Esguire, LXVIII, September 1967, pp. 116-18 ff.
3. Brookhaven Biology Symposium, 1969.