Wilderness and the American Mind

The beginning of Chapter 13 and the derisive comments of Robert Wernick highlight the growing divide between the utilitarian and the preservationist. Nash quotes Wernick as saying, “they affect old rumpled clothes, unshaved jaws, salty language; they spit and sweat and boast of their friendship with aborigines” (248). This quote exemplifies the ad hominem fallacy, as it attacks the caricatured version of a preservationist rather than responding to the argument that preservationists were making. It also implies that to support the preservationist cause, a person must also support the uncivilized and uncouth. Also implicit in Wernick’s quote is classism, as it brings to the surface what constitutes civilized behavior, good manners, and proper etiquette by referencing examples of the opposite. In simple terms, Wernick said that those who wanted to be considered civilized members of society should not affiliate themselves with the likes he portrayed. Such mockery might provoke those with moderate views that recognize the validity of both sides of the argument to reconsider their views.

In response to such caricatures, preservationists began to realize the need for a coherent and unifying philosophy. According to Nash, the primary impetus was a need “for ideas that defend wilderness in general in the way that the philosophy of human freedom underlies the many specific defenses of civil liberty” (238). This strategy suggests an awareness that preservation as a movement needed to abandon its binary position as an opposing force for civilization. Rather than defending wilderness protection from Wernick and others, preservationists attempted to reconcile the civilization/wilderness divide by seeing in humanity a need for both. Benton MacKaye and John P. Milton, borrowing from Thoreau and Emerson, posited ideas suggesting that humanity’s ideal state was the ability to access both civilization and wilderness: “Milton felt that a way of life which alternated between wilderness and civilization was the solution to ambivalence” (246). Seen in this light, the issue did not have to be an either/or proposition; one did not have to choose between wilderness or civilization. In fact, access to both was better for a person’s emotional and mental state. For Milton, wilderness and civilization were not binary antonyms. From this baseline, the philosophy evolved by addressing opposing concerns. According to Nash, the movement began to directly address the perception that preservationists wanted a return to pre-civilization. Howard Zahniser claimed publicly that wilderness advocates “were not recommending a return to cave dwelling on a permanent basis” (247). Instead, Zahniser argued, wilderness allowed people a refuge “to get away from the technology that gives us the illusion of mastering rather than belonging to the environment” (254). Although the idea that we belong to the environment was not entirely novel at the time, it was not an accepted truth either. Statements like Zahniser’s were crucial to moving the debate away from the binary idea of wilderness protection and civilization being locked in an adversarial relationship.

Nash uses the National Interest Lands Conservation Act as a framing device for Chapter 14, which explores Alaska and the perception that at one time it represented a new frontier for the US. For preservationists, many of whom would never venture to Alaska, the way that American culture and government agencies responded to this was that “Alaska represented the nation’s last chance to do things right the first time” (272). On the heels of the conquest of the western frontier and the view of wilderness as an enemy, the reach into Alaska provided an opportunity to learn from past mistakes, notable among them the complete devastation of buffalo herds and consequential, lasting environmental devastation. After discussing the National Interest Lands Conservation Act of 1980, Nash rewinds the tape and provides an historical synopsis of the Alaskan frontier and the debates that inevitably arose as to the use of the wilderness there.

As Alaska gained statehood in 1959, most considered it too big and too rugged for civilization to overcome. Early settlers and residents thought that protecting the Alaskan wilderness was unnecessary because the environment was so brutal that it would be unconquerable: “Wilderness preservation simply did not make much sense to pioneers. They tended to be much more concerned about preserving themselves” (273). This calls to mind similar sentiments that earlier pioneers settling the West expressed about self-preservation in the face of the unknown threats that the wilderness posed. In Alaska, the threat to human life was even more pervasive because of its inhospitable climate. Nash chronicles some of the ways that harsh climates—including the Alaska’s relatively treeless landscape—make living difficult, even for non-human species.

Technological innovation enabled easier access to the Alaskan wilderness and increased the ability to civilize it. When Alaska was granted statehood, technological progress was far ahead of the original frontier days: “What required a decade in the West could be done in a few months in the North” (275). As an example, Nash discusses the bush plane. By the time of the 1980 legislation, many preservationists recognized the looming threat that civilization’s technological advancements posed to wilderness. While opponents still maintained that land protection was unnecessary, a cultural reckoning with the past spurred a new way of thinking: Because wilderness itself is a resource just as much as oil, timber, and water, it must be managed appropriately.

Chapter 15 examines the unintended consequences of the preservation movement’s growth. Nash mentions elsewhere that wealthy, elite members of society—beginning with Thoreau and Emerson—typically generated and maintained the movement. Preservation of wilderness was mostly a classist concern, and the impetus was not generally the betterment of all classes of society. The ability to travel and spend considerable time in the wilderness was then a luxury that required tremendous planning and financial resources. However, by the 1960s and 1970s, this dynamic had changed. Nash calls this a “revolution” and breaks it down into four components: intellectual, equipment, transportation, and information. Essentially, these components opened access to increasingly more people. Gradually, wilderness areas across the US saw tremendous increases in attendance over relatively few years. The sheer volume presented a new problem for the preservation movement, something unforeseen in John Muir’s time: Too many people were going to the woods.

In response, policymakers of the 1970s began to develop land management programs: “Wilderness management rests on the assumption that uncontrolled wilderness recreation is just as much a threat to wilderness qualities as economic development” (320). In essence, the question is what wilderness quality a place retains when thousands of people continuously visiting it. As he does throughout the book, Nash presents two ends of the spectrum and then shows how policies have fluctuated between biocentric and anthropocentric positions. He points to the Grand Canyon as a case study in how wilderness management has fluctuated between these ends. As access to the park became easier, more people flocked to it. Between 1960 and 1970, the park saw an increase of more than 9,000 visitors. It began to lose its wilderness quality and resemble a resort. Policy initiatives, such as “carrying capacity” and the banning of motorized boats, caused controversy that centered on the ongoing dilemma of how humans should use wilderness: “The Grand Canyon allocation controversy raised the deeper question of what kind of use is most appropriate in a federally managed wilderness” (338). Although the early preservationists did not foresee this issue, it remains a complicated question to answer, as Nash points out in the book’s Prologue.

The purpose of Chapter 16 is twofold. First, Nash attempts to define wilderness in economic terms. The import/export binary explains how economies around the world use wilderness as a commodity. He provides historical context as it applies to America and traces how the US transformed from an exporter to an importer of wilderness. Second, Nash illustrates the relationship between a society’s economic growth and the inevitably of it becoming an importer of wilderness. Nash points out that for the most part, historically and in modern times, the importing of wilderness was generally conducted by those who could afford it: “A social profile of their ranks would reveal an inordinately high proportion of scientists, writers, artists—people of quality and the affluence to pay for it” (343). This comment recalls notable figures, such as Thoreau and Robert Marshall, who themselves were of affluent backgrounds. Nash does not venture to study of the inequality of wilderness access across the ages; instead, he shows how the willingness of affluent people to spend money on a wilderness experience is an economic driver for nations where a true wilderness experience is available.

The desire among the elite of the early 1900s to hunt big game—a practice that many today would consider unethical—had a long-term positive impact on preservation. Nash does not gloss over the horrific devastation of North America’s buffalo herds but highlights it as a pivotal moment in the pursuit of better worldwide wildlife protection initiatives. Prominent people, such as Theodore Roosevelt, began to realize that big game was not a limitless resource and that unregulated hunting could lead to extinction. In some ways, the expansion into the American frontier provides valuable lessons on what not to do in terms of how humankind interacts with wild places. Other parts of the world could learn from where America went wrong in its own frontier. The importation of wilderness therefore led to growth in urgent preservation initiatives around the world. Of course, as in the past, tensions arose between Indigenous populations and outsiders who sought to impose their own brand of wilderness values. This calls into question many aspects of colonialism. However, in a world where wholesale subjugation of wilderness by civilization seemed certain, recognition by other countries of their own role in the preservation movement had a positive effect.

Nash wrote the Epilogue some 50 years after book’s original publication, and it has an important function. First, it adds relevance to the book’s content and primary ideas. With the Epilogue, the book seems far less dated. While the historical discussions end around 1980, the Epilogue allows current readers to realize that the cultural significance of the book’s central claims have only grown. Second, Nash changes his point of view in the Epilogue. Rather than continuing in the objective, third-person voice that he uses for the rest of the book, Nash asserts his own views through the first-person voice, which enables him to shift from a fact-based analysis of history to a speculative, theoretical discussion in which he shares his own visions for the future. Interestingly, Nash does not editorialize much on the historical evolution and ethics of humanity’s relationship with wilderness. He does not pass judgment or indict civilization’s need for progress. Instead, he assumes that the human need for progress will, by necessity, continue. This concession is important, as it endows his island civilization scenario with realism. The scenario is far less idealistic than if he had, for instance, called for a halt to progress and pleaded for a return to Primitivism.

Nash’s tone in the Epilogue is not alarmist, nor does it serve as a doomsday warning. It does not suggest that we must do something or else. If anything, it offers an optimistic view that attempts to reframe the argument out of its binary structure. The future of humanity’s relationship to wilderness does not have to be an either/or proposition; it need not be either a wasteland or a controlled paradise, both of which would depend on utter subjugation of nature to the will of humankind. His idea is creative. It shows how imagination can play a role in what the future should look like, and its premise is not complex. Today’s maps show areas bounded areas, usually in a shade of green, to indicate wilderness, parks, or preserves, which take up little space on a map. Nash’s idea asks us to imagine the map drawn the same way but inverted so that most of it is green and the civilized areas are bounded. By positing a broad idea outside the binary, Nash shows one way of securing a better future for humanity and wilderness.