French prophets
Wendy Radmacher-Willis
Last night, I settled into the bath with The Atlantic Monthly (which was dated October 2005 and reached my desk last week) to read the latest installment of the series by French philosopher Bernard-Henri Levy: “In the Footsteps of Tocqueville.”
While much of the series has been quaint and mildly insightful, the opening section of Part IV is chillingly prophetic. Entitled “On Feelings About Nature in America,” Levy reflects on the “extreme brutality” of the elements in the United States, “especially hurricanes and tornadoes.” Levy goes on to describe the American fascination with weather and the homespun names of cataclysmic storms – Andrew, Kate, Frances—without knowing that the most benign sounding of all—Katrina—was also to be the most devastating.
His foresight—and his timing—are heart-stopping:
“[T]he most striking aspect for a European when faced with this implacable recurrence of natural catastrophes, some of which (Hurricane Andrew; the Mississippi flood of 1927) have gone down in history and have shaped the construction of the American landscape—the most incomprehensible thing—is the relatively passive roles of politicians and citizens.”
He goes on to wonder at the nonchalance of Americans in rebuilding Homestead, Florida after Hurricane Andrew:
“The America that hasn’t ceased to dream of the Star Wars missile-defense shield has the most effective warning and prevention systems in the world. But, strangely enough, it doesn’t use even a tenth of its capacity to keep the inhabitants of Homestead out of danger by strengthening building and insurance codes.”
But, where Levy is truly remarkable in his description of Americans’ lackadaisical attitude toward natural disasters in view of what happened last week in New Orleans, his explanations ring less true.
After positing that our willingness to turn our back on the possibility of devastating natural events is due to the American culture of risk and the remnants of the pioneer spirit, he imagines that perhaps he has stumbled on the upper limit on American hubris:
But, there is also, anchored deep in the mentality of the country, a magical, semi-superstitious relationship to what Americans, even the secular ones, are prone to call Mother Nature. As if their omnipotence found its limits there, reached its rational confines there. As if the Promethean will to get the better of all things and all people imposed on itself a limit of principle and wisdom in this relationship to the elements. No pity for our enemies, the American of the twenty-first century seems to be saying; no mercy for terrorists, certainly, or even for opponents of the country’s economic supremacy. But we’ll let nature take her best shot.
This romantic vision of the American character appeals to me. I am drawn to the notion of a country that will ruthlessly protect its interests against interlopers and will tilt at windmills to defend its values in human endeavors but that will bow before the supremacy of nature and its fierce and indiscriminate will.
But, as much as I wish it were so, I think Levy imagines limits to American hubris where there are none. In fact, I fear it is the expansiveness of hubris that leads us to ignore the possibilities, indeed the probabilities, and leave ourselves vulnerable again and again to catastrophy. The original French observer of the American character, Alexis de Tocqueville, was the true oracle:
“Europeans think a lot about the wild, open spaces of America, but the Americans themselves hardly give them a thought. The wonders of inanimate nature leave them cold, and, one may almost say, they do not see the marvelous forests surrounding them until they begin to fall beneath the ax. What they see is something different. The American people see themselves marching through wildernesses, drying up marshes, diverting rivers, peopling the wilds, and subduing nature. It is not just occasionally that their imagination catches a glimpse of this magnificent vision. It is something which plays a real part in the least, as the most important, actions of every man, and it is always flitting before his mind.”
So, it is here that the American character resides. Bernard Henri-Levy is wrong. Our omnipotence has no confines. It is not because we so revere the force of nature that we fail to prepare for its violence; but, rather, it is because of our lack of reverence that we are persist in our belief that nature is ours to buy and sell.
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Sep 13, '05
I don't know about other people, but the thought of you in a bathtub with a magazine doesn't quite sit well. Couldn't have been you in a summer dress by the gazebo? Or you and Prof. Plum in the library with the book?
2:29 p.m.
Sep 13, '05
Comments like the last one reveal more about the commenter than the actual post, I think. But now back to Wendy's thesis...
Much of Holland (like Louisiana's Gulf Coast) lies below sea level, and yet the Dutch have a sophisticated system of flood control and we do not. And now word comes from the federal government that they will be rebuilding at least 30,000 homes on Lake Pontchartrain, ostensibly once again without any thought to flood control or future hurricanes.
Are Americans just idiotic optimists, who like ants rebuild without a thought to the future? Or are we gamblers, willing to risk life and limb that we won't be the ones flooded, or quaked, or burned?
Sep 13, '05
There is more than one kind of American. We have our nature lovers and our meek and humble, but overall, we are more optimistic, exploitative, and hubristic than Europeans.
Though I don't know Wendy, I rather enjoyed thinking of her in the bath tub with The Atlantic Monthly. That probably reveals something about me.
Sep 15, '05
I disagree with Lefty completely. I can think of nothing more appealing than a beatutiful and intelligent young woman reading the Atlantic in the bath. (And the blogger's head-shot is cute, I must say, although she's looking married.)
But I'm a Republican and I live in Massachusetts, so what do I know, right? Last week I was out in Oregon riding down the coast on my brother-in-law's motorcycle, and I wasn't alone. The Americans who "don't give it a thought" live on the East Coast. Those who do appreciate our spaces live out West, or want to live out West, or vacation out West...
Sep 15, '05
I'm hoping that others are also surprised at the semi-prurient comments that this post has garnered. The post sets up what seems to me to be an interesting thought about the "American" character as it relates to nature. And no one has anything to say about that? Bizarre.
Sep 15, '05
It's not just the bathtub, mate, it's the Atlantic. How many people find the Atlantic Monthly sexy other than me? I had to comment. Throw in the bathtub scene and it's complete. My girlfriend is Australian; it'll be a cold day in hell before I find her reading it in the bathtub.
I find your semi-puritanism surprising. I guess that, given the venue, it's not too surprising. The funniest characterization I've read of blueoregon was from a comment by Darth Hicks on myverybrain.blogspot.com. He likened the closed-minded uniformity of opinion on blueoregon to inadvertantly stumbling into an Amish community.
I would comment on the piece above but it's not that interesting. It reads like a freshman year book report at a pretty good school (Lewis and Clark).
Sep 15, '05
While I agree with Tom's assessment of our hubris, I'd offer a friendly amendment regarding optimism. I'd either modify it with "misplaced" or substitute "pollyanna". How else to explain our willful disregard for the physical limitations which geography, climate and ecology place upon us?
Our eagerness to manipulate and modify our surroundings in the pursuit of capital and convenience is near-universal. But, as my economics prof at OSU used to say "scarcity creates value".
I've generally found that those people who have extinguished or lost critical amounts of their natural infrastructure are the ones who appreciate and wish to preserve the remnant natural assets (Think Haiti or Bayonne, New Jersey). While returning from Ashland via Crater Lake last week, I met a couple of tourists from Connecticut who were here precisely because such places are scarce in the NE. Perhaps that's why urbanites and suburbanites tend to support and vote for more environmental positions and leaders while vast stretches of less populous America (Wyoming, Utah, Nevada, Idaho) tend to elect politicians who support more development and extraction.
Unfortunately, the marketplace's tendency to reward development, coupled with our own willingness to move on to "greener pastures", portends more of that scarcity. I'm heartened by the occasional outlier who, having experienced a loss of place, says "no more" and commits themselves to saving what's left.
Fortunately, but at far too slow a pace, there are more frequent examples of rural Americans, who recognizing the imminent destruction of a place they care about, organize to protect it. Recent opposition to factory farms in Klamath County and recent attempts by orchardists in the Hood River Valley to halt development of the NE side of Mount Hood are examples of that, far too occasional behavior.
Unfortunately it is often dismissed by opponents and bureaucrats as "Nimbyism".
Sep 15, '05
Sheesh. As the proprietor of My Very Brain, I figure I ought to jump in here (thanks, by the way, to C2TBF for alerting me as to its use). Second, having posted on Blue Oregon several times now, I know how quickly the comments tend to run from the intent of the post. What can I say? I can't control it and thus kind of get a kick out of it.
My main point here, apart from plugging Levy's series as a whole (I loved it; nice cultural study), was to take his side with regards to American hubris. We're not the greatest stewards of the environment, but nor are we the worst; on the upside, at least we're talking about it, right? I'd go so far as to say that it forms a major part of the political dialogue - not as much I would like, but that's why you fight and argue and quibble.
But one side of the "hubris" equation that I don't even think Levy dug into is this: the role outright poverty plays in building shanty after shanty down one Hurricane Alley after another. Those flimsy buildings keep going up for a simple reason: they're cheap. It's not a pretty process and they're ugly to look at, but they're what people can afford.
Right. All for now.
Oh, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with reading in the bath. I do it all the time and it's perfectly natural. This doesn't, however, require any of you to daydream about me in the tub?
Sep 15, '05
C2TBF -- Puritan? Do you mean that if the thought of someone reading in the bathtub is clearly not intended to be sexual, then I am puritanical to deride those who not only jump to that first in their mind, but then also comment about it? Hey, I read Wonkette every day, and love her everything-but-Puritanical style.
As for the content, you think it's a book report? Yeah, those New Yorker and NYT authors do "book reports" all the time, right? So what's your conclusion, are you with Levy, Tocqueville, somewhere in between? Or did you not really bother to think about it after you got all caught up with reading in the bathtub?
The comments and posts on this site are generally serious, not puritanical or single-minded. Pulling your head out to think is always at a premium.
Sep 15, '05
I can't read in the tub. I am afraid I would drop my laptop computer.
Sep 15, '05
Yes, that's what I mean.
I haven't read Levy but certainly shall when I get my hands on a free version (the Atlantic is tough that way).
But in case you hadn't noticed, you have yet to comment on the topic of the piece yourself, you silly person. I admit I am a regular reader of blueoregon for the entertainment value it brings me. It's priceless. Thank you, Jonathon.
Sep 15, '05
Jay,
Optimism is not necessarily a good thing. Fools are often optimistic.
Jonathan,
As a sexual being, I have learned to have more than one thing on my mind at a given time. If this were not so, I would think only about sex.
<h2>And...I swear that I closed the italics in my message, like this...</h2>