In her seminal work Silent Spring, environmental conservationist Rachel Carson writes, “Man is a part of nature, and his war against nature is inevitably a war against himself.”
The understanding that we are nature, however separate we may seem, should foster a fair amount of existential dread. To say that we exist at odds with nature is to say, in a sense, that we exist at odds with ourselves, or some part of ourselves. According to Carson, we are at war with ourselves because of our impact on the natural world. And this is certainly true. But the tension that defines the current state of humanity is not one that exists only out there, in the space between us and the world, or between us and nature. It also exists within us, stirring deep in the space between us and ourselves, and between us and one another.
Today’s world is one characterized by rising tensions. Egotism, selfishness, and apathy are all on the rise, according to research. So is individualism, as people see themselves more as separate individuals and less as parts of a larger whole. Considered alongside other trends of increasing loneliness, anxiety, and depression, we are left with a vision of the world that is certainly not as psychologically and socially attuned as we might have hoped it to be.
To the contrary, we live in a world that is now incredibly divided, and this division permeates all facets of life. We are divided politically, and this is true in both the United States and Canada as it is true throughout much of Europe, Africa, Asia, and South America. In the United States, which so often epitomizes the division and unrest that plague the modern world, gun violence persists at astronomical rates as the gap between the rich and the poor widens and concerted efforts aim to restrict or remove the rights of many—fuelled by a narcissistic leader who knows neither restraint nor decency. Globally, there are over 40 armed conflicts underway, from Africa and Asia to Europe and the Middle East. Some have escalated while others have endured for decades and continue to cause catastrophic losses of life and culture. Indeed, trauma continues to afflict the world over as peace takes a backseat to the wills of terrorists, far-right leaders, and aspiring dictators. There are signs today that democracy is declining around the world as autocracy and authoritarianism gain support, with a new variety of strongmen who are redefining notions of despotism and populism in this age of social media and artificial intelligence. And, all the while, our relationship with the Earth is only becoming more tenuous as we confront the realities of wide-scale and irreversible climate disruption. According to recent reports, major climate catastrophes are now unavoidable in the coming decades; should we wish to change our current course, it will only be to prevent unimaginable loss of life.
Indeed, today’s world is one in a state of crisis. Yet each of the challenges we face appears void of the very same thing: balance, peace, or, perhaps, an appreciation for the connections that exist in the space between; and in those connections, the importance of harmony and communion. This is true for problems both big and small, and for our species collectively just as it is for each of us as individuals.
But what does it mean to commune with oneself? What does it mean to overcome the internal tension that arises from our nature as human beings—and, by extension, the capacity for power bestowed upon us by the very world with which it conflicts?
Somewhat paradoxically, we have all benefited greatly from the agency of our ancestors, however destructive their acts, and this too must stir conflict within. In consideration of the positive aspects of our existence, as well as the many great things we have made for ourselves, we are undeniably indebted to the often unmitigated and destructive acts of those who came before us, whether human agency is considered within the context of modern medicine, technology, or the myriad physical comforts that have been acquired through acts of environmental exploitation and the like. As individuals, how can we resolve such existential conflict within? How can we move forward, knowing this to be true of our past?
An existential crisis is a time in which an individual is overwhelmed—and distressed—by a perceived lack of meaning and purpose in their life. Words like neurosis, angst, and dread have all been used to further underscore the feelings of anguish and torment that characterize this long-studied psychological condition. But what is meaning in the absence of connection, anyway? What is purpose if one is not in a state of harmony and communion with the world, so as to permit themselves a healthy expression of that very purpose? And what good are values if they do not support balance and reciprocity in one’s relationships?
What is an existential crisis at all if not the absence of connection with nature, and with other people and other life, in the first place?
What I propose to you now is that the modern human’s existential crisis is a crisis of connection. It is a manifestation of the tension produced by the agency we inherited from those who came before us, and an indication, in one of the most profound and personal ways, of what we long for most in this world—what we have longed for since the first tree was cut down by human hands in a forest seen apart; since the first Homo sapiens stared at their reflections in a pool of water and saw not a single tribe, but a collection of individuals. What we have always longed for is to commune, despite our agency.
And yet we find ourselves here, in a world that tells us we must be agents first; a world of eight billion people, all clamouring to find a voice and make it heard; a world in which any true sense of personal agency is ever more difficult to come by despite its growing demand. As the tension unfolds in the space between us and nature, so too does it arise from our relentless and insatiable thirst for more.
The separation of Homo sapiens from nature is a trauma in its own right, one that plagues our collective psyche as much as it does that of the individual. It has broken us, however unavoidable the break may have been, and in so doing ushered in a new age—one defined by an inner conflict, an enduring tension of the last hominin left standing. It is a trauma so deep that we have come to know it for who we are, as much a part of us now as the very brains that caused the fracture in the first place. And in our misattribution, we have forgotten where we came from. As a species, we struggle to know true peace because of it. As individuals, we suffer in anger and despair though we do not know it by name. It is the original trauma, suffered at birth and unresolved in death, affecting the lifetime of the mind in ways unbeknown to most.
Whether or not we are capable of overcoming this tension and the crisis to which it is bound should concern us all, for it could be said that here and now, it’s all on the line. Today we find ourselves at a number of crossroads, each a product of the agency that brought us here. But resolving the tension within ourselves may serve to resolve it in others and, by extension, humanity at large. But this is no easy feat, for it requires a series of fundamental changes to our way of life and, critically, our orientation to the world around us. What we should do, what we must do, is resolve the tension within and learn to use our agency for the purpose of a new kind of communion, one in which we know ourselves as the parts of nature that we are—and in so doing, transcend the boundaries we have created between ourselves and the natural world, and between ourselves and each other.