Читать книгу Harmony: A New Way of Looking at Our World - Tony Juniper - Страница 6

As I first struggled to understand what age-old thinking like this could teach us, I began to notice a curious connection between the many problems our modern world view had created and a subject that increasingly fascinated me.

The five-petalled rose pattern traced over 8 years in the skies above Earth by our nearest neighbour, Venus, depicted 400 years ago by the German astronomer, Johannes Kepler. It is the source of the familiar fivepointed star found in many natural forms and in the world’s sacred architecture.

It was a surprising subject. It was the design and symbolism of the architecture of the temples, mosques, and cathedrals of the world. The more I learned about it, the more I became aware that there was a similarity between the way ancient civilizations built their sacred structures and the way the natural world itself is structured and behaves. The ratios and proportions that define the way natural organisms grow and unfold are the same as those that underpin the structure of the most famous ancient buildings. I was among a number of people who began to piece together a great jigsaw which revealed, much to my surprise, a profound insight into what really lay at the heart of ancient thinking. I shall explain this with lots of images in the section called ‘The Grammar of Harmony’ in Chapter 3, which gives context to the history of modernity, simply because there is a direct relationship between the patterns that inspired the builders of all those great masterpieces of sacred architecture and the way the natural world operates when it is in a healthy state of balance. The two speak with the same ‘grammar’.

Seeing this, I began to realize that the great juggernaut of industrialization relies upon a somewhat aberrant kind of language – a man-made one – which articulates a world view that ignores Nature’s grammar. Much of the syntax of this synthetic language is out of synchrony with Nature’s patterns and proportions and this is why it so often jars with the language of Nature. This is why so many Modernist buildings don’t feel ‘right’ to so many people, even though they may find them clever; or perhaps why we feel uncomfortable with factory farming, even though it makes economic sense because it supplies such a lot of food at such low prices; or why we feel something is missing from a form of medicine that treats the body like a machine and does not accommodate the needs of the mind or the spirit.

I find, by contrast, that if people are encouraged to immerse themselves in Nature’s grammar and geometry – discovering how it works, how it controls life on Earth, and how humanity has expressed it in so many great works of art and architecture – they are often led to acquire some remarkably deep philosophical insights into the meaning and purpose of Nature and into what it means to be aware and alive in this extraordinary Universe. This is particularly so in young people and the results of such immersion are as heartening as they are surprising. They help to point to the changes in thinking that we need to make to achieve the wider vision of a Sustainability Revolution.

Essentially it is the spiritual dimension to our existence that has been dangerously neglected during the modern era – the dimension which is related to our intuitive feelings about things. The increasing tendency in mainstream Western thinking to ignore this spiritual dimension comes from a combination of the growth in cynicism during the latter half of the twentieth century and the wholesale dismissal of the big philosophical questions about our existence. The dominant world view only accepts as fact what it sees in material terms and this opens us up to a very dangerous state of affairs, not least because the more extreme this approach becomes, the more extreme the reaction tends to be at the other end of the scale, so we end up with two fundamentalist, reductionist camps that oppose each other. On the one side, a fundamentalist secularism and on the other, fundamentalist religions. This seems to happen in Christianity as it does in Islam and, wherever it happens, the more puritanical and literal the religious interpretation becomes, the more a culture abandons and then even attacks the age-old, symbolic interpretations of its own tradition – those teachings which actually emphasize the necessary limits to our behaviour. With so much emphasis on the historical accuracy of the origins of a religion, the search for mystery appears to give way to a vain search for certainty. What was a traditional attitude becomes a ‘modern’ and ‘progressive’ one, all too intolerant of restraint, and so the limits – Nature’s necessary limits – end up being overshadowed by dogma.

Has this come about as a result of one dimension of our outlook becoming too dominant in our thinking? And if so, what is the nature of that outlook? Having considered these questions long and hard, my view is that our outlook in the Westernized world has become far too firmly framed by a mechanistic approach to science, the one that has increasingly prevailed in the West for the past four hundred years. This approach is entirely based upon the gathering of the results that come from subjecting physical phenomena to scientific experiment. It is called ‘empiricism’ and it is, if you like, a kind of language. It is a very fine one, but it is a language not able to fathom experiences like faith and the meaning of things. Nor can it articulate matters of the soul. It is now the only popularly trusted level of language we may use to articulate our understanding of the world. Don’t get me wrong, it has a very valuable role to play, but the trouble is, empiricism now assumes authority beyond the area it is capable of considering and, consequently, it excludes the voices of those other levels of language that once played their rightful part in giving humanity a comprehensive view of reality – that is, the philosophical and the spiritual levels of language. This is why it conveniently elbows the soul out of the picture.

Think of something as basic as the conversation that might take place in a biology lesson where a science teacher is called upon by pupils to address the moral and ethical questions of whether or not it is a good thing to manipulate genes. At that point, does the teacher act as a philosopher or remain a science teacher? I am pretty sure that the majority of teachers would certainly feel very uncomfortable about assuming the role of spiritual guide when such questions arise. The essential point here is, how far our empirical knowledge can go before it begins to encroach on territory it is not qualified to discuss. Let me be clear about it. Science can tell us how things work, but it is not equipped to tell us what they mean. That is the domain of philosophy and religion and spirituality.

Let me say again – empiricism has its part to play, but it cannot play all of the parts. And yet, because it tries to, we end up with the general outlook that now prevails. The language of empiricism is now so much in the ascendant that it has authority over any other way of looking at the world. It decides whether those other ways of looking at things stand up to its tests and therefore whether they are right or wrong.

This has not always been the case. A specifically mechanistic science has only recently assumed a position of such authority in the world and I want to show how this came to be: how its influence from the seventeenth century onwards spread, and slowly but surely excluded those other levels of language that were once much more a part of the conversation. For not only has it prevented us from considering the world philosophically any more, our predominantly mechanistic way of looking at the world has also excluded our spiritual relationship with Nature. Any such concerns get short shrift in the mainstream debate about what we do to the Earth. They are dismissed as outdated and irrelevant because a thing does not exist if it cannot be weighed or measured. And so we live in an age which claims not to believe in the soul. Empiricism has proved to us how the world really fits together and how it really works and, on its terms, this has nothing to do with God. There is no empirical evidence for the existence of God, so therefore God does not exist. That seems a very reasonable, rational argument, so long as you go along with the empirical definition of God as a ‘thing’. I presume the same argument can also be applied to the existence of thought. After all, no brain-scanner has ever managed to photograph a thought, nor a piece of love for that matter, and it never will, so, by the same terms, thought and love do not exist either.

Behind the familiar images of sacred sites like this figure of Christ on Canterbury Cathedral in England, is a symbolism that goes beyond the particular culture and time in which it was created.

That may appear flippant, but my point is that this is the consequence of doggedly following Galileo’s line that there is nothing in Nature but quantity and motion. Over time it has added up to a serious situation where we are no longer able to view the world much beyond its surface and its appearance. We are persuaded, instead, to follow a way of being that denies the non-material side to our humanity even though, contrary to what is supposed to be a growing popular belief, this other half of ourselves is actually just as important as our rational side, if not more so. It is our means of relating to the rest of the natural world and this is why I have long felt so alarmed that our collective thinking and predominant way of doing things are so dangerously out of balance with Nature. We have come to function with a one-sided, materialistic approach that is defined not by its inclusiveness, but by its dismissal of those things that cannot be measured in material terms.

At work at Highgrove, my home in Gloucestershire, England, laying hedges using age-old traditional techniques. Hedgerows are not only long-lasting, sturdy ways of keeping stock in fields, they are havens for wildlife and are a time-honoured way of stopping the erosion of top soil.

This is peculiar to the history of the West. In general, people from else-where in the world do not understand how Nature has become so secularized. Even many people in the West fail to recognize that so much modern science is not simply an ‘objective’ knowledge of Nature, but is based upon a particular way of thinking about existence and geared to the ambition to gain dominion over Nature. The way in which this has happened has a lot to do with the numbing of our vital inborn or ‘inner tutor’, the so-called human ‘intuition’.

Our intuition is deeply rooted in the natural order. It is ‘the sacred gift’, as Einstein called it. Many sacred traditions refer to it as the voice of the soul: the link between the body and mind and therefore the link between the particular and the universal. If we were to recognize this, we would perhaps once again begin to see our existence in its proper place within creation and not in some specially protected and privileged category of our own making. That is hardly likely to happen as long as scientific rationalism continues to turn people away from any form of spiritual practice or reflection by perpetuating what seems to me to be a widespread confusion. It often comes to light during one of those typical interrogations of a person who experiences faith. They are expected to give empirical proof that God exists. As I hope will become clear later, this question can only be taken seriously when faith and the Divine are regarded as material objects.

A much more integrated view of the world and our relationship with it existed throughout ancient history and right up to that critical period in seventeenth-century Europe when Western thinking began to take a more fragmented view of things. It is not so much the fragmentation, but its causes that I have come to see are the linchpins of the problem and that is why I feel it necessary to explore, in the lightest way possible, how the modern world was born and how we came to regard the world in the overtly ‘mechanistic’ way we do today. By persisting in this view, we ignore, abandon and waste the wisdom, knowledge and skills that have been built up over the entire course of human history. It is, perhaps, not so understood as it should be that so much of the wisdom I am referring to came to humanity from revelation. Revelation is not deemed possible from an empirical point of view. It comes about when a person practises great humility and achieves a mastery over the ego so that ‘the knower and the known’ effectively become one. And from this union flows an understanding of ‘the mind of God’. I cannot stress it firmly enough: by dismissing such a process and discarding what it offers to humankind, we throw away a lifebelt for the future.

If people are encouraged to immerse

themselves in Nature’s grammar and geometry

they are often led to acquire some remarkably

deep philosophical insights.

I was born in 1948, right in the middle of the twentieth century, which had dawned amid the gleaming Age of the Machine, the very engine of colossal change in the Western world. By the 1920s the overriding desire in every leading nation was for the new and the modern: perhaps a natural reaction as people struggled to recover amid the debris of a shattered world after the Great War. The same thing happened in the wake of the unimaginable horrors of the Second World War as, once again, industrialized nations had to find their feet, and quickly. Such was the sense of a fresh start that, by the mid-1950s, a frenzy of change was sweeping the world in a wave of post-war Modernism, and that created a new age of radical experimentation in every major field of human endeavour. By the 1960s the industrialized countries were well on their way to creating what many imagined would be a limitless Age of Convenience. For those who found themselves riding the juggernaut, life became more comfortable, less painful, and lasted longer.

I remember that period in the 1960s only too well and even as a teenager I felt deeply disturbed by what seemed to have become a dangerously short-sighted approach. I could not help feeling that in whichever field these changes were taking hold, with industrialized techniques replacing traditional practices, something very precious was being lost. In many cases it was not so much being lost as wilfully destroyed. I also recall the gleeful, fashionable cries of ‘God is dead’, perhaps the epitome of this short-sightedness. It certainly offered an early clue as to what had happened to our collective view of the natural world.

Such was the dogma of the day that when eventually, in the 1970s, I began to raise these concerns publicly, I had to face an avalanche of criticism that was nearly all based on a very basic misunderstanding. Most critics imagined that I somehow wanted to turn the clock back to some mythical Golden Age when all was a perfect rural idyll. But nothing could be further from the truth.

My concern from the very start was that Western culture was accelerating away from values and a perspective that had, up until then, been embedded in its traditional roots. The industrialization of life was becoming comprehensive and Nature had become ‘secularized’. I could see very clearly that we were growing numb to the sacred presence that all traditional societies still feel very deeply. In the West that sense of the sacred was one of the values that had stood the test of time and had helped to guide countless generations to understand the significance of Nature’s processes and to live by her cyclical economy. But, like the children who followed the Pied Piper, it was as if our beguiling machines, not to say four centuries of increasingly being dependent upon a very narrow form of scientific rationalism, had led us along a new but dangerously unknown road – and a dance that has been so merry that we failed to notice how far we were being taken from our rightful home. The net result was that our culture seemed to be paying less and less heed to what had always been understood about the way Nature worked and the limits of her benevolence, and to how, as a consequence, the subtle balance in many areas of human endeavour was being destroyed. What I could see then was that without those traditional ‘anchors’ our civilization would find itself in an increasingly difficult and exposed position. And, regrettably, that is what has happened.

This is why, ever since those disturbing days, I have expended vast amounts of energy to help save what remains of those traditional approaches. I knew they would be needed for a ‘rainy day’ which I fear is now close by. However, back then I realized that what mattered was to prove their worth. It was no use arguing about the theory or trying to persuade people that so many of these traditional ways are rooted in a deep-seated ancient, philosophical outlook. That would have to come later, when the world was more sensitive to what had so swiftly been consigned to the shadows. No, the point was to emphasize the principles of harmony that we had lost sight of. I wanted to do this in a contemporary way – to find as many ways as possible of reintegrating traditional wisdom with the best of what we can do now so as to demonstrate how we might make this age fit for a sustainable future.

It is probably inevitable that if you challenge the bastions of conventional thinking you will find yourself accused of naivety. And all the more so if you challenge the current world view in all of the important areas of human activity – in agriculture and architecture, education, healthcare, in science, business, and economics. In those early years I was described as old-fashioned, out of touch and anti-science; a dreamer in a modern world that clearly thought itself too sophisticated for ‘obsolete’ ideas and techniques, but I could see the stakes were already far too high in all of these areas. Even back at the end of the ‘swinging sixties’ the damage was showing through, and I felt it my duty to warn of the consequences of ignoring Nature’s intrinsic tendency towards harmony and balance before it was all too late. What spurred me on was an essential fact of life, an undeniable law: that if we ignore Nature, everything starts to unravel. This is why, from the very beginning, I kept pointing out that it is vital we seek ways of putting Nature back in her rightful place – that is, at the centre of things, and that includes in our imagination as well as in the way we do things.

So what are these timeless ‘principles’? Fashions may change, ideologies may come and go, but what remains certain is that Nature works as she has always done, according to principles that we are all familiar with. Nutrients in soils are recycled, rain is generated by forests, and life is sustained by the annual cycles of death and rebirth. Every dead animal becomes food for other organisms. Rotting and decaying twigs and leaves enrich soils and enable plants to grow, while animal waste is processed by microbes and fungi that transform it into yet more vital nutrients. And so Nature replaces and replenishes herself in a completely efficient manner, all without creating great piles of waste.

This entire magical process is achieved through cycles. We all know how the seasons follow one another, but there are many more cycles within those overarching ones and so many of them are interrelated so that the life cycles of many animals and plants dovetail with one another to keep the bigger cycles moving. For instance, in Spring some songbirds time the hatching of their eggs to coincide with a population explosion in the caterpillars that they feed to their chicks. Built into these many cycles are self-correcting checks and balances whereby the relationships between predators and prey, the rate of tree growth, and the replenishment of soil fertility are all subject to factors that facilitate orderly change and progress through the seasons and keep everything in balance. No single aspect of the natural world runs out of proportion with the others – or at least not for long.

What is more, Nature embraces diversity. The health of each element is enhanced by there being great diversity or, as is now commonly called today, ‘biological diversity’ or ‘biodiversity’ for short. The result is a complex web made up of many forms of life. For this web to work best there is a tendency towards variety and away from uniformity and, crucially, no one element can survive for long in isolation. There is a deep mutual interdependence within the system which is active at all levels, sustaining the individual components so that the great diversity of life can flourish within the controlling limits of the whole. In this way, Nature is rooted in wholeness.

There is one other principle or quality I would draw attention to. I will refer to it a lot throughout this book because, in my view, it is extremely important. It is the quality of beauty, which has inspired countless generations of artists and craftsmen. ‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder’, it is said, but I have always felt that, because people are as much a part of the whole system of life as every other living thing and because beauty is to be found in the fabric of all that we are, the truth is the other way around. Our ability to see beauty in Nature is entirely consequential on our being a part of Nature Herself. In other words, Nature is the source, not us. In this way, if we do not value beauty then we ignore a vital ingredient in the well-being of the world. This is just as important to recognize as the other elements in my proposition because none of us can survive for very long if the underlying well-being of the planet is destroyed.

Late Spider Orchid. This rare plant flowers in England during June and July.

I find that the world view which prevails today in Western societies, and in an increasing number of others who are following its flawed logic, pursues priorities that are almost diametrically opposite to those I have just described. There is an emphasis on linear thinking rather than seeing the world in terms of cycles, loops and systems, and the intention is to master Nature and control her, rather than act in partnership. Our ambition is to seek ever more specialized knowledge rather than take a broad or ‘whole-istic’ view. Nearly all we do generates masses of waste almost as if it is an automatic consequence of how we have to live. Monocultures of crops, of brands, and ideas have come to dominate and crush diversity in our farming, in our culture – and in our business too. Instead of a large number of small actors, we have a small number of huge organizations that now dominate many parts of our economic activity. And, in all we do, we load the atmosphere with those gases that build up a kind of insulating blanket around the Earth, so-called ‘greenhouse’ gases which accumulate in entirely unnatural quantities which then makes the world ever warmer, thus disturbing the balance that the Earth seeks to maintain. We carry on doing this as if we are immune to the consequences – as if somehow we have isolated ourselves from the inevitable checks that in the end govern all life on Earth.

When I began pointing all this out in those early years when there was not quite so much scientific evidence to back up what my intuition was telling me, it proved a particularly unrewarding occupation. I am relieved to say that now the story is a little different. For one thing, I no longer have to theorize. Now I can point, not only to a vast body of evidence that describes the consequences of our behaviour, but also to an array of successful practical examples of how better to approach matters. These examples, relating to everything from farming to town-planning, are healthier, more beautiful, more human-centred and much more ‘sustainable’ – although I prefer the word ‘durable’. It is these that I plan to explain.

Having also travelled widely in those years and been fortunate to meet and discuss these issues with a large number of people, many of them leading experts in their field, from whose wisdom and knowledge I have benefitted, I also want to share the achievements I have witnessed. We will discover great work being done all over the world, from the UK and the United States to Australia and China, and my hope is that in so many vivid ways it will become clear just what goes wrong if we abandon traditional knowledge and practices and turn away from how Nature behaves.

Knowledge is power’ is a dictum behind much science and experimentation, but is there value in widening the scope of science teaching so that it seeks a deeper understanding of the wholeness of Nature?

The contrast between the way these more harmonious approaches work and the way things are done in the mainstream will, I hope, reveal the many deep cracks in the veneer of our Age of Convenience. These are already becoming more obvious, exposing just how flimsy its foundations really are. We may still enjoy plenty of convenience for now and, of course, it would be marvellous if we could somehow maintain the whole edifice without suffering the eventual consequences of deliberately excluding Nature from the equation in every field known to humankind, but the costs to both the natural world and our own inner world are very severe. We are beginning to recognize the outline of what we have really engineered for ourselves. Not an age of limitless convenience after all, but a much more disturbing ‘Age of Disconnection’. That is to say, we have systematically severed ourselves from Nature and the importance to us, as to everything else on Earth, of her processes and cyclical economy. As a result, we are beginning to fall seriously out of joint with the natural order. And there is order. Whether we choose to be part of the process or not, everything in truth depends upon everything else. Whether it is the bee to the flower, the bird to the fruit tree, or the man to the soil, we depend upon them all – and we neglect this simple principle at our peril. It stands to reason: take away the bee and there can be no flower; without the bird there will be less fruit; deplete the soil and very soon people will begin to starve.

Such obvious relationships are taught in these simple terms to small children in primary schools and yet, by the time they reach adulthood, a strange transformation appears to have taken place. It is almost as if they have gone through a subtle brainwashing that encourages them to follow the rest of the merry throng and dance without question to the Pied Piper’s tune. Like everyone else they become persuaded to think that we can do without everything else and that we can ignore the essential rhythms and patterns of Nature; that, indeed, nothing is sacred any more, not even that mysterious ordered harmony which ultimately sustains us.

There is little question in my mind now that this is a dangerous course. And that we no longer have a choice. If we could exist independently of Nature and her underlying principles, that would be splendid, but we can’t – certainly not if we retain a modicum of interest in our children’s and grandchildren’s future on this threatened planet. The thought of them has been, for me, the main driving force for this book, regardless of how it may be greeted, and if it moves others to reflection, then let this book be a means of exploring what has caused us to think that we can abandon Nature’s rhythmic patterns. We have done so, not just in the mechanized processes we use to grow our food and treat our farm animals, or the way in which we design and build our homes, towns and cities, or the way in which we deny the crucial relationship between mind, body and spirit in healthcare. We have also done so in the way we fail in our systems of economics to measure and put a proper value on Nature’s vital services, and even in the manner we teach out a proper whole-istic understanding of the fact that we are a part of Nature not apart from Her when it comes to our children’s education. For they all follow an approach to life that places the greatest value on a mechanistic way of thinking and a linear kind of logic. But carrying on in this way as if, fundamentally, it is ‘business as usual’ is no longer an option. We cannot solve the problems of the twenty-first century with the world view of the twentieth century.