Update:
An offshore oil rig exploded in the Gulf of Mexico on Thursday, Sept. 2, west of the site of the April blast that caused the massive oil spill mentioned in the article below. For more information, go here.
Images of oil-drenched pelicans, vacant tar strewn beaches, and closed for business signs from the gulf oil spill this summer left no doubt that we human beings are not set apart from nature; like it or not, we are embedded within the ecological web of relationships along with all living creatures.
In his 1952 novella, the Old Man and the Sea, Ernest Hemingway effectively portrayed both the predator-prey violence inherent in nature’s food chains as well as our universal interdependence.
Far out in the Gulf Stream, Santiago, an old Cuban fisherman, considers his plight: “I do not understand these things, he thought. But it is good that we do not have to try to kill the sun or the moon or the stars. It is enough to live on the sea and kill our true brothers.”
Relationships are a dominant theme in The Old Man and the Sea, a literary work some have described as religious. Consider the tenderness between the boy, Manolin, and Santiago, his mentor. Manolin scolds himself, “Why am I so thoughtless? I must get him another shirt and a jacket for the winter and some sort of shoes and another blanket.”
Alone in his skiff, Santiago reflects, “There is only the boy to worry, of course. But I am sure he would have confidence. Many of the older fishermen will worry. Many others, too, he thought. I live in a good town.”
Santiago kills the magnificent marlin because fishing is his livelihood, but as noted above, he recognizes the big fish as his true brother. Sharks devour Santiago’s catch, and he reaches shore with only the skeleton lashed to his skiff. The old man is sustained in defeat through his relationships with the boy, the townspeople, and the natural world.
Ecology is the study of relationships of organisms to one another and to our physical surroundings. In 1970, nearly 20 years after Hemingway wrote The Old Man and the Sea, we Americans celebrated our first Earth Day.
For a time, we seemed to recognize that depleting nonrenewable resources and desecrating the planet was not in humanity’s best interests.
To conserve energy, we bought fuel-efficient cars. Highway speeds were reduced to 55 miles per hour. Sheldahl, Inc., a manufacturing company based in Northfield, Minn., developed a solar heating system for large public buildings.
Adopt-a-highway programs flourished, and we began cleaning up our streams, rivers, and lakes. Later on, recycling bins for paper, metal, and glass appeared throughout our communities.
We protested excess packaging and thought “small is better” had superseded “conspicuous consumption.” My family did our bit by adding insulation to the attic of our older, two-story house.
Then came the Rip Van Winkle effect: I’m not sure when I first felt as if I’d awakened from a 20-year nap. “Small is better” seemed forgotten as new developments of huge single-family houses soared above the modest homes in older neighborhoods.
Gas guzzling SUVs surrounded my sedan on the highway and blocked my view in every direction. Speed limits were ratcheted up to 65 miles per hour on selected highways and although 55 miles per hour is still posted on I-94 heading into St. Paul, commuters probably average 75 miles per hour.
And that’s with a cell phone glued to one ear; we’re most often connected to each other these days by electronic gadgetry.
Out on the Gulf Stream, Santiago listened to his own thoughts and feelings as he talked to the birds, the fish, the sea, and the sky. Imagine how the old man would grieve today at the sight of one of those oil-drenched pelicans.
Process theologian Bruce Epperly addresses our interdependence, jarringly brought home by the ongoing tragedy of the gulf oil spill:
“Interdependence characterizes the world in which we live… We are all part of communities, and our greatest happiness comes from our contribution to the well-being of the many human and non-human communities that support us. Accordingly, what happens in the Gulf of Mexico shapes the whole earth…Process theology reminds us that we are all connected in an intricate web of relationships. Our survival depends on one another's well-being and the well-being of the good earth.”
To put it simply, preserving and protecting what’s left of our shared native habitat is no less than a sacred trust.
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