Environmentalism

Where There Is Life by Paul B. Sears (1952), an introduction to ecology, was prominent on the reading list for a freshman interdisciplinary course at Ohio Wesleyan in 1965 called “Conflict and the Human Condition: Man in Nature.” I don’t have my original marked-up copy of the book so will have to rely on memory to recover something of its personal impact at the time.

I was familiar with the pollution Sears described. I grew up in a small industrial town in the 50’s and 60’s where most wage earners worked either at the Ferro-alloy or power plants. Both places paid good wages, and both provided a healthy tax base, which made our tax-financed public school system one of the best in the county. No one in the area seemed to bother about the pollution: the plumes of chemical-filled air that blew through the town as the wind changed directions; the hot, dirty water dumped back again into the river that ran past the town so that no one could swim there or even eat fish that was caught. So accustomed was I to the pollution that I didn’t give much thought to the black soot that settled on laundry hung outside, eating holes in the bed sheets.  Nor did anyone seem to connect the pollution with health problems, like my mother’s life-long struggle with lung disease. As for the land itself, we were near enough to Appalachia to suffer the scourge of strip-mining.

 I don’t remember much public discussion about these degradations, let alone anything that resembled an environmental movement. Our town had no newspaper. (Well, many people subscribed to one that never got printed because the scam-artist “editor” left town with the paid-up-front subscription money.) The local minister who devoted a Sunday sermon to Silent Spring was forced to find another church. The small professional class included teachers, a doctor, a nurse, a couple of lawyers, and a handful of plant managers. Since the town was incorporated, there was a mayor and a town council, but if any of them felt concern, they did not voice it publically. And who am I to judge them? They thought they were civic-minded public servants. After all, the plants provided good-paying jobs, and because our schools benefitted from the strong tax base, we had good teachers and champion sports teams, always good for public morale. The reigning philosophy seemed to be, as my mother would put it, “you’ve got to go along to get along.” 

So the Sears book must have been a real eye-opener, and I do remember some heated arguments during school breaks with my parents and others about what industry had done to our once-attractive little town, with its rolling hillside and river views. However, I could never get past the “it could be worse; at least there are jobs” counter-argument. Indeed, I was later to see what joblessness would do when both plants shut down, and our town, like much of the industrial mid-West, was absorbed into the “rust belt,” a desolation from which it has yet to recover. Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring may have spearheaded an environmental movement, but our town was not part of it, nor was I. As one privileged to get a good education, including the science of ecology, I should have worked harder at “consciousness raising.”  Instead, I did everything I could to escape and get on with my own life in some more desirable location, and I regret that.

Spiritual Exercise

     I've been thinking about the process of  dialoguing with a younger self as a spiritual exercise. A friend who is a psychiatrist talks about opening up various files in the brain. My paper file from the 60's is starting to deteriorate; the aging process is probably doing the same thing with my brain file. Before time's passing takes its toll, I want to study nature/nurture with myself  as chief specimen. I also want to look back at my spiritual path to understand where God might be leading me.

     I don't think I kept any diaries in the 60's, at least I haven't found any among the papers and books that surfaced as we sorted things after my mother's death. But these classnotes do start to create a kind of simulacrum. So far, there are few signs of activities, ideas, or even the craziness associated with the 60's to be found, even in margin jottings or doodling. Instead, what emerges is a serious, very hard-working young woman on a scholarship, trying to absorb as much as possible from all the new ideas and life styles she is experiencing and feeling like a poor relation invited to a major dinner party. My first college room-mate had shoes to match every outfit. My suite-mates went skiing on breaks. They gave me a pair of winter gloves (which I still have) as a Christmas present. What is so touching as I think back on this is their effort to show charity without making the recipient feel poor.


    But I'm getting off the subject now --  the 18-year-old I'm trying to channel. There is an undercurrent of sadness, even hopelessness, running through my notes. Were the professors signalling these emotions? The readings? Perhaps it was the zeitgeist. We were in a period marked by war, assassinations, and the threat of annihilation -- if not by nuclear exchange with the USSR, then by over-population. Women's liberation made some of us feel uncertain about self-images and personal values we had once held. The death of God had been proclaimed. 

    I did not know any hippies my freshman year. OWU students seemed more interested in sorority-fraternity life, dressing well, even steak night in dorm cafeterias. But surely ideas were starting to take root from the excellent education we were getting. I met my first hippie in 1967 when she came through the dorm asking for donations to buy a bus ticket for Washington D.C. where an anti-war demonstration was scheduled. Her appearance certainly made an impression. I was sympathetic, but my background made it hard to support her position on the war. I had  high-school classmates who were serving in Viet Nam, and I felt, however faulty the reasoning, that protesting the war in such a public way would hurt their morale. And as for the way the young woman was dressed -- well, I was still hoping for a time when I could buy decent clothes and not feel so out-of-place.

Corrections to Last Post

In my last post I said I had not been able to find a copy of  Where There Is Life. Well, I have done so, and it's in the mail. (The wonders of online old book dealers.) I also said that Sears et.al. were among the first ecologists. That, too, was incorrect. It seems ecology has been around for a while, picking up steam in the 19th century with the work of Darwin. The authors we read first in the OWU course "Conflict and the Human Condition" were helping to increase public awareness of the degradation of the planet by over-population and other processes. Environmentalism, if not ecology, was a household word in the 60's, at the heart of which was the best-seller Silent Spring by Rachel Carson.

Early Ecology

The majority of that first-term OWU course – “Man and Nature” -- was taught by Dr. J.N. Chase, Associate Professor of Biology, and by Dr. J.G. Ogden, III, Professor of Botany.  We also benefitted from presentations by Dr. P.B. Burnside, Associate Professor of Physics; Dr. L.D. Easton, Professor of Philosophy; and Dr. B.A. Jones, Professor of Sociology. With this kind of professor-power, you can imagine that class discussions were wide-ranging and often impassioned. At least that’s how I remember them.

The first announced topic was “a review of contemporary man, with all his technological and scientific advances.”  Having no textbook as such, we were given a suggested reading list. I don’t know how many got through the whole thing; it looks like I did not (nor do I think I could manage it in similar circumstances even today.  And we were freshmen!)  A primary reading was Paul B. Sears’ Where There Is Life.  Unfortunately, this book has disappeared from my own library, and I have not been able to locate another copy, but I do still have some articles. One by the early ecologist Lawrence B. Slobodkin uses game theory analogies to take a critical look at various theories about who or what directs evolution.  In his article “The Strategy of Evolution,” he asserts that

the absence of morally and philosophically satisfying conclusions about the ultimate meaning of evolutionary history are not weaknesses of biological theory nor are they due to a shortage of biological facts. They are simply wrong [my italics]. Evolution, in fact, is simply a consequence of the general homeostatic ability of organisms combined with the bio-chemical properties of genetic material.

So, I extrapolate from this that, in Slobodkin’s view, human organisms move toward internal equilibrium by self-adjusting physiological processes. Evolution can occur when this ability to adjust is turned on by the activity of genetic material.  Such a pattern of events could be seen as conflict that moves toward resolution that leads to new conflict and then to new resolution, ad infinitum. We also looked at complex interactions in nature, or ecosystems, in  Marston Bates’s The Forest and the Sea. Here he compares, based on first-hand knowledge, the biological systems of a tropical sea and a rain forest. (It should be noted that Slobodkin and Bates were among the earliest ecologists – before ecology  had become a household word).

Becoming De-churchified

Ohio Wesleyan, as the name suggests, was begun by the Methodist Church, a mainline Protestant institution. Perhaps that was one reason why my freshman year in 1965-66 played out in such a disciplined, regulated environment. There were complex rules about “late hours”; one had to dress for dinner and sit at tables where food was passed family-style; each woman ‘s dorm was tenderly – and sometimes not so tenderly – guarded by resident dorm mothers, single women of a certain age who always wore skirts and  those “old-lady” shoes. (Maybe some readers of a certain age will remember what they looked like.)  Of course, fraternity and sorority life added opportunities for mischief and mayhem. I was amazed to see the first panty raid of the year (there would be several), led by the Sigma Chi’s, who stayed o to serenade us from the dormitory courtyard with their “sweetheart” song. The dorm mothers scurried about, trying in vain to get us away from the windows.

And there was compulsory chapel three days a week.  This requirement fell away by my sophomore year, but before it did, we were privileged to have guest speakers like Charles Schultz of “Peanuts” fame, who told us that many of his cartoons reflected biblical characters and teachings, and Yale Chaplain William Sloane Coffin, who urged us out into the streets of our small college town to protest war, racism, and poverty.

They were heady times, especially for someone who had grown up very near the poverty line and who had met exactly two Afro-Americans in her entire lifetime.  Then there was the focus on evolution and the human being[1] as scientist in Term One of the “Conflict and the Human Condition” course. I had faithfully attended, for as long as I could remember, a church so conservative that the congregation pressured one young pastor to leave after he delivered a “radical” sermon on Rachel Carson’s newly published “Silent Spring.” (At least that was the public reason, although I suspect his inauguration of a sex education class for teenage church members also played a role.)

 The first handout for the OWU Conflict course fired some volleys across a conservative Christian’s bow, and I began to take satisfaction in my newfound freedom to challenge some old ideas as I delved into material like this:

                For all his uniqueness, man is part of nature and subject to his biological and evolutionary heritage.  Even as he increasingly manipulates and directs natural processes to his own ends, man is in turn dependent on these processes. It is obvious to the educated mind that man will continue as a successful species only as he achieves understanding of, and respect for, the world in which he lives, biologically and physically as well as socially.  One aspect of man’s culture, his interaction with his natural environment, is embodied in the scientific approach.  Science is not an entity separate from all other aspects of man’s existence; it is an integral part of man’s culture, whose impact on man, his understanding of himself and his future is of the highest order. (From the “Introduction to Term One”)

As you see, there is no mention of God or a divine plan for nature. (That would come later as we tackled “human conflict” from a sociological perspective).  Human beings both direct natural processes and are dependent upon them.  Yes, that made sense, as I remembered our high school course on how to survive a nuclear attack and the night I couldn’t decide whether to bother with homework since the Cuban missile crisis would soon precipitate nuclear war with the USSR. And if human beings control and are controlled by natural processes, what good is prayer? Why bother? Heady stuff, as I noted earlier, but disconcerting and soon to be downright depressing. One personal outcome: I stopped going to the local Delaware church that had been so welcoming when I first arrived on campus and dropped out of its choir. I realize this often happens among the college cohort, but I did it with sadness and disappointment.  Truth to tell, I actually missed it, and Sunday mornings seemed lonely indeed.

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[1]As mentioned earlier, the idea of “inclusive” language had not yet dawned in the mid-60’s. To respect this cultural development, I am substituting “human being” for “man” wherever possible in my own commentary while leaving the original course materials unchanged..

Blog Intro to "Conflict and the Human Condition" Course

As I remember, the course “Conflict and the Human Condition" was an experiment. All involved, teachers and students, were guinea pigs. The course consisted of three parts and ran an entire academic year. It was team-taught.

 I was excited to be invited to take part but also apprehensive. Would I, a green 18-year-old from a small town in the rust belt, who was lacking in sophistication and wide exposure to the world outside my growing-up place, be able to keep up, let alone make a contribution? (In my naiveté, I assumed all my classmates were rich geniuses; as it turns out, some were, some weren't.)

But now, reading old papers and notes from the course, I am surprised by the "young me." I was an assiduous note taker with a sponge-like willingness to absorb everything I read or heard; I wrote fairly well about some challenging topics; and I made it through the year without "being found out" as the student who had, by some careless registrar’s error, been assigned to a class way over her head!

But getting through this class, even learning what I could, owes much to the professors -- they were outstanding.  A total of 15 or so took part, all males but one. Preparing this class must have been a challenge, involving careful planning, development of three separate but interrelated and progressive course outlines, and a gathering of material from a variety of sources. (And this before Google and laser printing.)

 I wonder if the students responded as the professors had hoped. I understand now, as I didn't then, that the course was meant to provide several tools or approaches to analysis and problem-solving for use not only during our formal education at Ohio Wesleyan but for a life-time. The underlying themes – the relationship between conflict and the human condition and the spectrum of possible resolutions -- continues to ground much of my thinking and approach to life. I suspect that might also be true for others who took the course.

It would be gratifying to meet up with those professors again, not only to thank them but also to benefit from their analysis of what the past thirty-some years have wrought. America, the world, and --I suspect -- Ohio Wesleyan have changed dramatically.  Those academicians would need to use more "inclusive" language and be prepared for many more female and minority colleagues.  They would inevitably compare and contrast our actions in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Libya with the Vietnam War, shaking their heads that we have advanced so slowly in finding alternatives to violence and terror and ways to combat them. 

Today's students might appear less strident, less willing to strike or take over administration buildings, but also less inclined to love reading or learning for its own sake.  Above all, they would find themselves in "The Age of Information" and astonished by dizzying advances in the sciences and the world's interconnectedness. TV coverage of the Vietnam War made protesters out of many at the time, but the professors would be astounded by the power of the internet and social media to bring pressure on non-democratic regimes in the Middle East.

So, have the assumptions and conclusions of "Conflict and the Human Condition" stood the test of time -- at least three decades' worth?  Why or why not? (Sounds like an exam question!). That's what I hope to write about in future blogs.

Why?

     Why blog about a college course  taken some thirty years ago? Perhaps I should just keep these observations to myself or simply toss the yellowing pages of notes carried with me half way around the world and back several times.

      But when you come to that point in life when you have more years behind than you have ahead, you tend to look back in order to make sense of who you have become and, possibly, what you should aim for in the time that remains. Those persons who have made a fundamental difference in your life appear in ever sharper focus, and you hate to think of their gifts going insufficiently recognized.

     If reading this prompts others to remember professor-heroes with gratitude or to seek out such professors today, it will have been worth the blog.