Wonder why the world is going to hell in a hand-basket? It could be a memory problem—not something we have forgotten, but rather, something we are failing to remember.
The tiny ant has no memory problem. Like all other insects, it knows a lot, even without being taught. It comes into this world, and, as if by magic, knows how to build a nest, gather food, reproduce, communicate with other ants, and many other things necessary for survival.
The ant’s behaviour is hard-wired into its brain, an organ about the size of a pin head. Everything the little creature needs to know has been passed down genetically from generation to generation over tens of millions of years.
Humans, although lacking the instincts of an ant, have a brain thousands of times larger and a history on the Earth just about as long (if you include our primate years). There is little doubt that we, too, have ancient memories, and, given the size of our brain, vastly more knowledge than the ant.
Sigmund Freud, using the famous iceberg metaphor, was the first to posit the theory that humans are about 10% conscious (above the surface) and 90% unconscious (below the surface). Karl Jung went further by identifying a collective unconscious, a gene pool containing all the thoughts, memories, and experiences of every human who has ever lived. He developed his theory in part by observing that people from different cultures, who have never met, often have the same dreams.
Thanks to Freud and Jung, there was now a world of the subconscious to explore, a world of dreams, intuition and irrationality. It became a wonderful mine for painters, poets, musicians and other artists. Dylan Thomas, whose lyrics are among the most powerful and captivating in modern poetry, acknowledged his debt to Freud, saying it was the poet’s challenge to drag as much as possible from the subconscious “into the clear nakedness of light.”
It is well known that most of the world’s great music arises from the subconscious. Beethoven’s masterpieces, for example, are often recognized as having a primeval quality that echoes the beginning of man’s existence. More recent examples include Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody, a rock opera with a haunting quality that touches something deep and timeless in the listener and continues to attract millions of hits on youtube.
What artists have in common is an ability to summon images, emotions and rhythms from distant epochs when man lived in close-knit social groups, struggled daily for survival, and had direct contact with the forces of nature. In other words, the greatest art comes from the Earth itself, and its power is due to the fact that it resonates with something deep in the subconscious. We appreciate the music of the universe because we recognize it in ourselves.
But artists are not the only ones who plumb the depths of the human psyche. Ecologists, particularly those involved in deep ecology, believe nothing is more important than emotions and the subconscious when it comes to our interaction with nature. Reason can help explain some of the intricacies of the natural world, but it tends to reduce complex, living systems to the level of machines, and, worst of all, portray the web of life as a “natural resource” that exists for human consumption. This type of anthropocentrism or human-centeredness is seen as the root cause of today’s environmental crisis.
In deep ecology, ecosystems are regarded as having intrinsic rather than economic value. Nature becomes the focus of one’s deepest spiritual feelings, and environmental destruction strikes like a blow to the core of one’s being. Humans do, of course, need raw materials to live, but these must be extracted with love, compassion and intelligence so ecosystems remain healthy and intact.
Scientists have only just begun to identify the incredible complexity and interconnectedness of Earth’s living systems. Some even suspect the Earth is a self-regulating organism that strives to maintain a stable condition hospitable to life forms, including humans.
Unfortunately, the sacred balance is being upset as man continues his consumer binge and dead zones spread across the surface of the globe. We destroy even before we understand what is being destroyed. But that is only partly true, for we really do understand, if not objectively and rationally, then intuitively and emotionally.
If we want to stop the destruction, we must first reach far back within ourselves to our biological origins. In the deep recesses of our subconscious we will discover what we have known all along—that the ultimate mystery of life is impenetrable, and always will be. We will also recall, with awe and humility, our place in nature, and perhaps start thinking how we can save this miracle planet—our one and only home and the closest thing to paradise we shall ever see.
Frants Attorp is an educator and environmental writer who lives in Victoria.
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