Wilderness and the American Mind

Chapter 7 provides an historical narrative of the first two acts of land preservation in the nation’s history: Yellowstone Park and the Adirondack Forest Preserve. Both are landmark acts in environmental protection; however, Nash probes the motivations behind each act and reveals that what really prompted the designation of these two regions was not so much the need to preserve wilderness for its own sake. Instead, financial considerations and interests helped provide the necessary momentum to grant these regions protected status. Though the appreciation for wilderness was growing, it was relatively small compared to what it became in the latter half of the 20th century. At the time of the Yellowstone Park designation in 1872, an adversarial outlook toward wilderness remained strong, as many still considered wilderness something that civilization must conquer and exploit for its own benefit.

The language written into the bill designating Yellowstone as a park is an example of the nation’s outlook on wilderness. It was purposefully ambiguous, and while it recognized the significance of protecting natural wonders, it did not fully close the door on future exploitation: “The strategy was not to justify the park positively as wilderness, but to demonstrate its uselessness to civilization” (112). Nash adds, “[I]t is clear that no intentional preservation of wild country occurred” (112) because the bill’s language did not even include the word “wilderness.” For entrepreneurs, especially those affiliated with the railroad industry, the park’s creation meant dollar signs, and they angled to provide easy access. Viewing Yellowstone’s potential as the next vacation hotspot, they had little, if any, concern for the park’s wilderness quality. A similar dynamic existed for the Adirondack Forest Preserve. Many who argued for its creation recognized that unregulated resource exploitation would create downstream problems for the topography of New York City, the financial capital of the US. The threat, specifically in the form of potential flooding, captured the attention of the city’s wealthiest residents. With significant financial backing and political support from the elite, the legislation to create the preserve passed; however, the economic interests of the downstate elite—rather than a true preservation ethic driven by a less self-interested motivation—provided the impetus.

What Nash demonstrates here is that the creation of Yellowstone and the Adirondack Forest Preserve signaled progress, but ulterior motives helped bring them about. While we now celebrate these monumental parks, their creation involved nuanced complexities, including economic speculation and possible exploitation. In later chapters, Nash discusses subsequent landmark legislation that sought to preserve wilderness for its own sake. The comparisons between these later legislative acts and the creation of Yellowstone illustrate America’s evolving relationship with wilderness.

Like the chapter on Thoreau, Chapter 8 is highly biographical. Nash provides brief sketches of John Muir’s life and how he became the leading preservationist of his time. On the heels of preservation victories at Yellowstone and the Adirondacks, Nash claims that “in each case wilderness preservation was almost accidental and certainly not the result of a national movement” (122). The movement needed a leading figure who intentionally advocated for purposeful preservation. Into that void stepped John Muir. After Nash details Muir’s youth and college experience, he delves into how Muir came to believe what he did. A major influence on Muir was American Transcendentalism, which informed his outlook more than anything else. Importantly, for Muir, nature gave humans the opportunity to experience God directly. Through nature, humans could find meaning and make sense of their place in the universe. However, the experience was available only to those who were open to it.

Compared to Transcendentalists before him, such as Ralph Waldo Emerson, Muir did not simply dip his toe into living in the wild. Unlike Emerson, living in the wilderness struck at the core of how Muir viewed his life. He insisted on living in the wilds of Yosemite, even against the advice of Emerson himself. Muir gave himself entirely to becoming one with nature. In this way, his experience was more than a theoretical experiment in the vein of Thoreau. Given his almost feverish approach and coexisting sense of urgency, wilderness was more like a religion for Muir. One identifying characteristic of John Muir’s prose, especially his early prose, is its florid nature. Nash provides examples, such as “Nature’s peace will flow into you as the sunshine into the trees. The winds will blow their freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop off like autumn leaves” (128). Muir’s extreme energy for wilderness preservation contributed to an authenticity that gained him respect and admiration from those who supported his causes. His enthusiasm and charisma were exactly what the national preservation movement needed to give it direction and a clear vision. Unlike those who fought to protect Yellowstone and the Adirondacks, Muir was a force for purposeful action that prioritized the protection of wilderness for its own sake, not as a secondary effect.

Chapter 9 begins with an anecdote, which is not the most common hook that Nash uses in the book. Nonetheless, the story of Joe Knowles is effective, as it enables Nash to highlight the chapter’s main idea that the American preoccupation with wilderness in the early 20th century was growing immensely. Knowles’s stunt involved him returning to the wild, without means of basic survival (including clothes), in a Primitivist attempt to show the American public a new representation of masculinity. The stunt lasted nearly three months, and when Knowles emerged from the woods, he was an instant celebrity. He subsequently embarked on a tour, a sideshow affair that attracted thousands. People flocked to see Knowles to get a glimpse of the “modern primitive man” (141). In addition to the moniker’s inherent contradiction, the machismo that Knowles affected transformed how some Americans viewed what being a “man” meant. Others speculated that the whole stunt was staged and fraudulent. Nevertheless, the American imagination generally viewed the idea that Knowles represented as favorable. This was a significant transformation from the turn of the previous century and before.

Nash writes, “At the end of the nineteenth century, cities were regarded with a hostility once reserved for wild forests” (143). The suspicion and disdain once directed at wilderness instead was directed at urban life. Nash explores how the attitude evolved and notes that it coincided with the 1890 conquest of the frontier. Since the pioneer spirit was part of the American character, loss of the frontier forced people to reckon with national identity. Industrialization and commerce only exacerbated the identity crisis. US citizens started asking whether the life lived in cities was who they really were. The romanticized version of the frontier’s unbounded freedom contrasted sharply with the claustrophobic existence of city life, and dreams of a return to the former provided an escape from the latter. Significant figures emerged, notably President Theodore Roosevelt, who ignited the American imagination for precisely this reason. The rugged, self-reliant public persona of figures like Roosevelt effectively mythologized and masculinized the American frontier, fusing it into the American character more robustly. A new ethic arose that valued wilderness more than ever.