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Environmental thought concerns reflections on nature, and related attitudes and intuitions. The vulnerability of natural systems to human destructiveness came to full awareness only in the nineteenth century, with the publication of George Perkins Marsh’s Man and Nature (1965 [1864]), and in the wake of the publication (in 1859) of Charles Darwin’s theory of evolution by natural selection, although some limited grasp of the impact of human interventions dates back to Theophrastus (371–287 BCE), one of Aristotle’s followers, in the ancient world (Glacken 1967: 129–30; see also Chapter 1), and to John Evelyn in the early modern period (Glacken 1967: 485–91; see also Chapter 2). Yet it took until the disclosures of Rachel Carson (1962) about emissions of DDT in Europe reaching the flesh of Antarctic penguins (see Chapter 6) for the urgency of redressing the impacts of human interventions to be taken seriously.

There have been many different conceptions of nature across the centuries. For some, nature is everything that is not supernatural, and in this sense humanity is generally regarded as part of nature. For others, the natural is everything that is not (or largely not) the result of human artifice or intervention, and in this sense humanity is often regarded as distinct from nature, since most people are formed by human nurturing and education. The parenthetic ‘or largely not’ is important, for the regions of Earth unaffected by humanity are diminishingly slight, and in some views nonexistent. Yet whole tracts are largely unaffected, and it is these tracts and their living inhabitants that are most often meant when people speak of ‘nature’.

There is, of course, another sense of nature, where a thing’s nature is its character or composition, as in the expression ‘the nature of the beast’. This is why it even makes sense to talk about ‘the nature of nature’. But that is not the sense of nature intended in this book, except where the context indicates otherwise. However, some people have regarded nature as an autonomous force, with laws (and in some views even purposes) of its own, and this sense survives into the present, as when Barry Commoner (1972) presented as one of his laws of ecology the suggested law that ‘Nature knows best’ (see Chapter 7). Aspects of this conception will be used here to the extent that there are laws of nature to which human beings – as well as everything else in creation – are subject, but the suggestion that nature is an autonomous force should not in my view be credited, let alone the view that it has knowledge or a will of its own. The related Gaia theory of James Lovelock (1979), according to which the Earth is a self-regulating system or superorganism, will also be discussed and sifted (see Chapter 8).

The recentness of the discovery that human action is affecting and sometimes undermining ecosystems worldwide may suggest that there is little to learn from pre-modern or early modern environmental thought. But here we should heed the warning of George Santayana (1863–1952): ‘Those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it.’ More positively, John Passmore has brought to light some environmentally promising stances which he finds in ancient literature, for one of which humanity is nature’s steward, answerable (whether to God or to posterity) for its care, and another for which the role of humanity is to complete, adorn or perfect nature, regarded as an incomplete creation (1974: 28–40). While Passmore claimed that these were minority stances that disappeared from view until the modern period, there is evidence that there was a continuity among their adherents across the Christian centuries, and that these approaches were in due course adopted by Jews and Muslims as well. Passmore considered these stances important as being seeds within the Western tradition on which contemporary environmentalism could be built; if he was right to this extent, then these ancient stances have great contemporary importance.

This suggestion, however, gives rise to a debate concerning whether ideas and thought are capable of exercising influence on the course of history as opposed to economic and related social factors. Many Marxists and others have regarded economic forces as the motors of history, and ideas as mere epiphenomena or by-products, with little or no influence of their own. It is not necessary to be a determinist to hold this, for economic factors could predispose people both to beliefs and forms of behaviour which they could have resisted but have lacked the determination to reject. Others, however, have held opposed positions, maintaining either that ideas are what shape the future more than anything else, or, more moderately, that beliefs, ideas and cultural factors exercise some degree of influence alongside economic forces and social and technological trends.

My own inclination coheres with this more moderate stance, evidence for which may be found in whichever passages in this book concerning thinking of the past ring bells with readers and stimulate environmental concern. (In particular, one cogent example, discussed in Chapter 1, is the influence of Plato’s Timaeus on centuries of subsequent thought, while an even clearer case may be found in the passage of Chapter 4 concerning the influence of the ideas of Henry David Thoreau and George Perkins Marsh on the inauguration of the Yellowstone National Park by President Ulysses Grant in 1872.) And if this more moderate stance is credible, then (for example) the ancient traditions of Passmore’s account remain worth considering, even if his account is open to qualification in detail. There again, other ancient and environmentally sensitive traditional schools of thought, such as Daoism, should not be forgotten, but taken into account when the prospects for contemporary environmentalism are being considered. If the West needs to build on its own ancient traditions, so does China, and so too does (for example) the world of Islam. Accordingly, some longstanding Daoist traditions will receive mention in Chapter 1, and, likewise, consideration will be given to some longstanding Islamic themes. Yet in the modern ‘global village’, historical attitudes of past centuries are the history of humanity as a whole, and none of these traditions can be regarded as irrelevant to any of us, however emancipated we may claim to be from the social constraints and narrow nationalisms of the past.

This granted, the scope of this book is perforce broader than that of ecological science and its origins, important as this science has been to environmental awareness. So, for example, I have not followed Frank N. Egerton in omitting the Bible and early Christianity as neglectful of science (2012: 17), in view of their profound environmental teachings, presuppositions and influence. Nor have I omitted the divergent stances of Reformers such as Luther and Calvin, together with their long-term impacts. At the same time, I have attempted to bring onto the stage significant literary and artistic works, from Hesiod and Virgil to Traherne, Wordsworth, Turner and Gerard Manley Hopkins.

But the major drawback of this inclusiveness of scope has perforce been the omission of much of the detail covered by authors with more specialist concerns (and with more space to deploy). Thus I have had to omit mention of many medieval Muslim scholars (while acknowledging the contribution of this period of Islam), and the many Renaissance scholars who revived the study of ancient botanists and zoologists, including their fascinating dispute of around 1500 about the vulnerability of Pliny and other ancient authorities to error (Egerton 2012: 33). My brief was in any case to focus largely on Darwin and the subsequent period, and that has required selectivity with respect to much of the detail of the preceding ages, including even the detail of the biological science of the modern world prior to Darwin. Readers intent on accessing this phase of the history of the science of biology are advised to read Egerton.

Similarly, this book does not seek to cover the scientific revolution of the early modern period, or its technocratic late modern counterpart, despite its discussion of the central advocates of mechanism in Chapter 2, and of Darwin and his successors in Chapter 3. A penetrating investigation into these aspects of the history of science can be found in Pepper (1984). There again, this book does not seek to depict in any detail the history of either landscape gardening in England or the related enclosure movement (except for the related protests of the poet John Clare: see Chapter 2). Readers wishing to study these movements are recommended to consult Coates (1998). Likewise, more detail is to be found about American environmentalists of the nineteenth century in the books of Nash (2014 [1967]; 1989) than in this one, although Chapter 4 presents the developing ideas both of the American Transcendentalists (including Marsh) and of the controversy about preservation between John Muir and Gifford Pinchot. There again, there is ampler detail to be found in Worster (1985 [1977]) about the origins and rise of ecological science, topics which the fifth chapter of this book re-examines with the aid of more contemporary sources.

Darwin and Darwinism are discussed in Chapter 3, with emphasis on Darwin’s own understanding of the ecological implications of his theory. Chapter 4 considers ‘The American Debate’, focusing on the writings and influence of Marsh and of John Muir, and the controversies about National Parks. Chapter 5 concerns the origins and development of the science of ecology on both sides of the Atlantic.

In Chapter 6, further sources of conservation are studied, including the poet Gerard Manley Hopkins, the forester and ecologist Aldo Leopold and the biologist Rachel Carson, whose Silent Spring (published 1962) ignited the ecological movement. Chapter 7 introduces a range of contributions to early environmentalism movements, from Blueprint for Survival (1972) to Our Common Future (1987). In Chapter 8, we encounter the pioneers and main schools of environmental philosophy; this discussion is continued in Chapter 9, where further schools are introduced, together with ecological issues and movements, including the Green movement. Chapter 10 presents the global environmental crisis of the twenty-first century, and the Conclusion brings together historical strands that have contributed to contemporary environmental thought and allow the crisis to be addressed.

The above-mentioned debate about the influence of beliefs and ideas can be illustrated by the discourse surrounding the thesis put forward by Lynn White Jr. in an article in Science in 1967. White maintained that the roots of our ecological (his word was ‘ecologic’) crisis lie in Judaeo-Christian theology, which makes Christianity, particularly in its Western version, ‘the most anthropocentric religion the world has seen’. White’s specialism was medieval technology, and he regarded the distinctive technological advances of Western Christendom during the Middle Ages as manifesting an aggressive form of belief in the human domination of nature. His thesis will be discussed more than once (in Chapters 1, 8 and 9), because of its interpretation of Christianity, as well as of the Middle Ages, and detailed discussion can be left for the relevant sections. However, it is worth remarking that among the many criticisms to which his stance has been subjected, no fewer than two forms of misguided determinism have been ascribed to him.

For example, in a review in Past and Present, R. H. Hilton and P. H. Sawyer (1963: 97) accused him of ‘technological determinism’, the suggestion that the shape of history and the structure of society were determined by technological innovations such as the new form of heavy ploughing of the early Middle Ages (on which White made human attitudes and behaviour towards nature turn), or later innovations such as clockwork and gunpowder. This approach clearly has its limits, since technology is itself heavily influenced both by economic factors and trends and sometimes by cultural factors (and even possibly ideas). There is a case for ascribing the intensity of some modern ecological problems to contemporary technology (carbon-based energy generation and the manufacture of plastics being leading examples), but once again the forces that drive this technology must also be taken into account.

However, this criticism of White is not consistent with another form of determinism often ascribed to him, the view that the roots of our problems lie in religious beliefs, and that their solution correspondingly lies in a change of religious beliefs, such as either the adoption of Zen Buddhism or reversion to the kind of Christianity advanced by St Francis of Assisi. Certainly, the suggestion that religious beliefs drive history to such a profound extent is implausible, particularly if the claim is that the conversion of the West (of Northern Europe) to Christianity in the centuries around 700 CE is what drove the industrial revolution of over a millennium later, or the subsequent industrial revolutions of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Critics have rightly commented that religious beliefs have often formed a rationalization of trends that were taking place already, themselves to be otherwise explained. Thus, even if White’s theory is held in a nondeterministic form, it can be criticized for exaggerating the formative influence of religious beliefs.

Yet the possibility remains that such beliefs are capable of making a difference, alongside many other factors. And this makes it important to consider whether, as many others have claimed, White mischaracterizes both Christianity and also characteristic medieval attitudes to nature. It also makes it important to consider religious stances like the stewardship approach, as identified by Passmore, since approaches of this kind may also make a difference, this time in the direction of motivating environmental concern. While there are undoubtedly other sources of environmental concern, such as recognition of the full implications of Darwinism, and of the ordered but vulnerable character of global ecological systems, attitudes such as these remain significant sources of potential motivation.

But so does simple love of nature and natural beauty. This can be acquired from direct experience (for example, through hiking, boating and field-trips), from films and television programmes, through appreciation of art, and by retrieving the love of nature and landscape found in ancient thinkers such as Virgil and the author of the Song of Solomon, in patristic writers such as Basil the Great, in early modern poets such as Thomas Traherne and in modern thinkers such as Rachel Carson. Historical environmental thought, then, can influence contemporary agents not only through its teachings about ethical responsibilities, but also through renewing the jaded vision of the dwellers of modern cities, and opening or reopening our eyes and ears to the colours, sounds and variety of the world around us.

I would like to express thanks to my Cardiff colleague, Dr Hefin Jones, for checking an early draft of part of Chapter 5, to two anonymous referees for looking over Chapters 3 and 5 respectively, and to two others for reviewing a draft of all ten chapters. I am grateful to my colleagues at the Cardiff University Institute for Sustainable Places for inviting me to give a presentation there on ‘Myths about Darwin and Marsh’ (based on relevant sections of Chapters 3 and 4) and for their participation in that seminar, and to Steven Goundrey for much-needed technical assistance. Thanks are also due to Pascal Porcheron and Ellen MacDonald-Kramer of Polity Press for their longsuffering and constant helpfulness. Above all, I am particularly grateful to my wife, Leela Dutt Attfield, for encouragement, love and support throughout, and also for daily companionship as we shared together the COVID-19 lockdown during which the later stages of this book were completed. Without her, this book would not even be a dead letter; it would not exist.