We
think, talk, write on cave walls and on LED screens, make art, make buildings,
make love without intending procreation, plant rows of food, consider our place
in the scheme of things, make tools, inspire, make metaphor, walk on the moon,
do something called “selflessness,” honor the “wilderness with parks,” sing,
whistle, spy on electrons, harness electrons, draw, garden, play, imagine,
imagine beyond imagining, laugh, and live on to laugh again when our loved ones
die.
We’re
so special. Relative to other organisms,
we are special. Yet the earth, as an ecosystem, doesn’t even
begin to privilege us over everything else.
We are not “remarkable” to the earth because the earth does not
remark. The earth has no consciousness
like a whale swimming next to our boat, seemingly curious about us.
We
just wrench and muscle and gerry-rig the earth into place for our
purposes. And sometimes we fail, but not
because the earth did or didn’t consider how special we are. The earth did not place an iceberg in the way
of the Titanic to teach us about hubris.
It didn’t need to. If Oedipus teaches us anything, it’s that
we learn about hubris without anyone’s help.
We
may believe there’s a god who
privileges us and won’t let the earth become uninhabitable because of our
mistakes. But even that god, at least if it’s one of the gods we study in the world’s
major religions, will surely make us pay for hubris; will surely let a whole
lot of us suffer and perish while the earth’s ecosystem flushes out the toxins
of our foolishness.
God
or no, the earth will not die because
of us. The earth will not lose its
purpose if we die out. It has no purpose.
It may become uninhabitable
for us. But it will live on until the
sun blows up and burns out. No god will
save us from ourselves. And the earth will take no notice of us at all.
