Respecting Nature

X Gallery where the artists “seek not so much to record the appearance as to capture the spirit of the animals that they meet. They see themselves not as observers but as messengers. They adopt an almost shamanistic role.” And here we go, for one of those received opinions which really deserves to be buried:

This takes us back to a time when wild nature was not something to be exploited. It was to be wondered at and feared. This was the world in which our earliest ancestors lived. Just as African Bushmen once journeyed deep into haunted, underground darkness to paint animals on to cave walls, so, with something of the same sense of miraculous purpose, the Planet Earth filmmakers abseil into fissures to discover eerie, otherworldly creatures; so Olly and Suzi sink through holes in the ice to confront the predators of the abyss. Art becomes more than some detached commentary.

It becomes a matter of life and death. It tries to return us to the roots of our relationship with a living planet, to that primal wonder that breeds deep respect.

Our ancestors “wondered at and feared” nature because they had no bloody choice. It wasn’t out of a respect for nature so much as a respect for their skins, in a world where they were soft and defenceless and toothsome and there were lots of nasty big animals out there with sharp teeth and claws. Exploit nature? They’d have loved to. That’s what all the magic and religion and shamans and all the rest was about – trying to gain some power – any power – over a harsh hostile world. Go back in time and and hand some stone-age hunter a rifle. Would he have sneered at the sudden advantage he’d been given? – launch into some proto-green mystical crap about respecting the spirit of the antelope and not wishing to spoil the bond of respect between hunter and hunted? No chance. He’d have grabbed it, shouted “yeah, who’s the boss man now?” and started blasting away at anything that moved. Whenever these one-with-the-earth primitives found themselves in a new continent where the animals hadn’t learned to be scared of humans – America, Australia – there was a sudden surge in the number of species that went extinct. When the Maoris reached New Zealand and found all these huge moas wandering around unfazed by their presence, they didn’t worry about disrupting the careful balance of the eco-system: they went up to the dozy birds, clubbed them, and gorged themselves on easy meals until there weren’t any more of the buggers left. That’s how much they respected the glories of nature.

In fact if anything it’s surely the other way round. No doubt it’s something of an over-simplification to say that before the Romantics people used to shun mountains and wild nature as ugly and frightening, but there’s surely some truth in it. Only we moderns go off in search of the world’s most desolate places, and only we moderns spend vast amounts of time and effort setting up national parks, trying to preserve endangered species, making films about the beauty of our world – and then build up decadent romantic fantasies about how nasty modern life is, and how our noble ancestors used to live in harmony with nature.