Human Imperatives
Each March, perhaps sensing the longer hours of daylight or other, more subtle signs of spring in their tropical winter homes, chimney swifts are stirred to gorge themselves in preparation for their long migration from the jungles of Central America to summer homes far to the north. Leaving their hollow trees and haciendas, they wing their way northward in family groups, the males leaving well ahead of the females.
In late March or early April, one particular group arrives home to my tall chimney in central Florida. Whirling overhead in a chattering pinwheel of exuberance, they announce their arrival, and deftly dive into the small opening and the cool space within. Within a week or two, the females join them, and their combined chittering conversations enliven my early evenings. Soon new hatchlings add their voices, and we listen in the evenings to their faint cheeping that grows louder as the days pass. The adults seem to reply. Who knows what tales they may share in their complex, rapid-fire language.
Although my home is not so old, they have clearly established their proprietary summertime rights to my chimney, returning faithfully to their insect-consuming duties each year for more than two decades. No doubt the birds I watched those many years ago are long dead, having passed their genes and sense of direction to new generations, but their transmitted group knowledge has not let them down.
This migration is one tiny facet of a natural rhythm that governs the unimaginably vast biosphere of our planet, each species fulfilling their steps in a dance of magnificent proportions. The single spawning night of the corals releases hundreds of billions of potential new corals, which are eagerly consumed by the millions of gathered fish, somehow aware of the coming event. Like the salmon returning after years at sea, back to the very pools where they were hatched, becoming the bounty upon which dozens of other species survive the winter. Each species has imperatives that they are driven to fulfill.
For humans, as for every successful species, survival is priority one, and that requires the regular provision of basic needs, such as air, water, and food. Reproduction is the next powerful imperative, for without a new generation, the species ends. Beyond those, however, lie other drives. Humans are not alone in play, and ‘recreational’ activities are common among many other animals. Dolphins, whales, otters, dogs, primates, and many other mammalian species are well know for enjoying games. Several species of birds also exhibit playful actions, as do octopi, and even some fish.
Play can be very beneficial, relieving stress, and distracting the brain in ways that help it grow and become more creative. Experiential learning is one of the factors that stimulate brain activity. But play is sustainable only to the point that it does not distract from the other needs. Aesop’s fable of the ant and the grasshopper, in which the grasshopper fiddles while the ant works, is intended to call attention to the two instincts and their effects upon society.
Humans play, of course, but adult humans often choose play in the form of building. It is a fact of life: the human race creates. Our brain is wired in such a way that drives us to change our environment. One can scarcely imagine a person stranded on a desert island who would not quickly turn to building a shelter, finding food, then perhaps devising a plan to direct water to their needs.
From early constructs of sticks and straw, mankind has developed a myriad of materials for the purpose of shelters, and many other structures. Building is a part of the human instinct, and it has led us to build our defenses from wild animals, our stout castles, our shops and factories, and eventually cities, ships, planes, and rockets to space.
This is not to say that humans are born with the ability to build computers, skyscrapers, or even a backyard shed. Our human abilities come to us because of our larger brains, but in a more significant way because of the inventions and developments of others. We are taught to read, build, operate machinery, and thousands of other skills because the systems that make it all possible were developed by others. Left untaught and unequipped, humans would have no chainsaws, no trucks, no ability to destroy so much, for no single man could build such things without first building the tools, the design of which must take shape and be modified to perform the precise task alongside the thing to be built. Such systems evolve and develop over time, as much as the wings of birds or the tails of fish evolve.
Each successive generation advances the expanse of knowledge, and the refining of those skills. To a thinking person, the development of our systems might therefore appear to be little more than an evolutionary result of our racial imperative.
Nature itself is, of course, a system, having been developed by all species through the repeated and minutely modified actions and interactions of generations of our ancestors with each other and other species of animals and plants. The human system, being also a natural system, is therefore a natural outgrowth of the evolution of the other natural systems of the planet. In this view, the buildings, highways, aircraft, and dams we construct are as much a part of nature as a birds’ nest, or a beaver’s dam.
We have a right to be here. Our continued existence, however, is at risk because our own natural systems are no longer sustainable. Like any animal which has lost its habitat, we could easily be headed toward ultimate extinction.
We continue to follow the instinct to build, even though there is a looming body of evidence that it has fulfilled its biological purpose long ago, and has now become a flaw that will eventually lead to our downfall.
The idea of a species creating its own demise is not far-fetched in nature. Some species of birds, for example, developed such elaborate breeding plumage that they were hindered in flight, in feeding, and became easy targets for predators, including man.
The large human brain gives us an ability, perhaps unique among the animals of the Earth, to look ahead, to consider the future. We plan our families, our lives, and even our deaths. We consider those who will follow, creating documents to govern the distribution of our assets. We look to the ancient past for understanding, but can’t seem to see beyond the veil into the short-term future with any clarity.
Throughout natural history one can find examples of species that became very successful, but no longer exist. Some of them persisted for millions upon millions of years unchanged, almost perfectly attuned and adapted to the stable world in which they lived. Some other species multiplied, consumed the extent of their resources, and quickly became extinct.
Humans, too, have had both results in isolated parts of the Earth. Easter Island occupies a remote part of the Pacific Ocean. It once harbored a strong civilization as evidenced by the hundreds of enormous carved stone heads which remain on the island long after the extensive forests were cut down, the animals consumed, and the population extinguished by the collapse of the island environment.
The Easter Island civilization disappeared because the people used materials designed by others, and performed tasks they would never have undertaken but for the directions of others. Leadership allowed or ordered the destruction of the sustaining forests, just as has occurred in Haiti, Madagascar, Brazil, and numerous other places. Without forests, there was no game, and nothing to prevent the erosion of agricultural soils. The island was turned in a virtual desert, incapable of supporting humans.
Humans across the face of the globe are presently deeply involved in precisely the same sort of activities on a colossal scale. The difference is only the numbers of humans involved, and the terribly efficient tools with which they are performing the job.
One wonders if anyone among the thousands of people who participated in the decimation of the Easter Island environment realized that they were dooming their own civilization. Were voices raised in warning? Arguments made and discarded? Or was the entire process carried forward with an enthusiastic faith that their leaders, gods, or the seeming abundance of what they were destroying would ensure the future?
So our instincts to play and to build remain intact. What is also required is that, because we have become so numerous, we also consider our collective impact upon our island home. We must consider the numbers of people and the available natural resources with which to sustain ourselves. In this task we have failed miserably.
The process of environmental destruction is not limited to that island civilization, but applies equally to the island Earth we inhabit. There are no other handy islands to which we can migrate if things here become intolerable. We will fail along with our life-support systems. We have a well-developed system which is leading us rapidly toward that outcome.
A serious-minded minority of inhabitants are aware of the fact that our world is quickly exhausting its resources. Or, more correctly, that we are consuming the resources at a pace several times faster than can be sustained.
More than seven billion people now share resources that may capably support a billion indefinitely, but will be severely strained to supply the actual near-term future. Some predict resource demand to treble in the next 40 years. The present system will begin to fray, then disintegrate as critical shortages develop in a host of raw materials and food stocks.
In August, the World Bank stated that the world food reserves are already “in the danger zone.” According to climatologists, the recent pattern of crop-decimating weather events will continue or worsen, further straining shrinking reserves. Energy and fertilizer production will also hit limits. Governments have repeatedly destabilized in the face of growing pressures, and ‘failed states’ have become more and more common. If the condition affects more and more nations, trade is weakened, and civilization’s fragile fabric slowly begins to disintegrate. Urgent needs will likely go unmet.
Conditions today in mature industrial economies, due in large part to shortages of energy and raw materials, should be sufficient evidence that the path ahead is perilous. As in the Easter Island culture of hundreds of years ago, the outcome rests in the hand of our political leaders.