Nature and Man, or Man and Nature?: An October Question
What is man’s relationship with nature, as distinguished from man’s nuanced ability to consider survivalist possibilities? There are a multitude of ways of approaching this question, although few of them adequately define the crux of this golden fleece. In one lesser-known, but popularly understood approach, man is thought to be a settlement on a high plain, perhaps in some remote region, such as the Scottish Highlands or any other godforsaken, scrubby locale, and man’s consciousness is the grass which grows on this plain. As the settlement grows and shrinks with caloric and other energy fluctuations, the grass is increasingly trampled upon, which gives the species an opportunity to die off and reproduce at an advanced rate. As Darwinian reachers like to state, situations like this tend to accelerate a plant or animal’s evolution; and in this metaphor, man’s brain is a true keeper of sorts, in addition to its innate capacity to survive. Now, this tyrannical review is never said to be efficient, nor is it considered to be a great contribution to its intended field; however, this failure has uncovered a thematic history of greater importance.
The more we express Earth numbers, the less extinction by habitation usually occurs. Exclusive solar inputs into a system have been proven to be similar to Henry Bouchants’ datasets; on the other hand, they are instances of isolation, and on top of that, are few and far between. Kepler’s sun and Bouchants’ sun are nearly the same, but without a bit of butter, neither slid down the populace’s throat with any degree of ease. Given this, the question must be asked in such a way as to potentially prevent discoveries of mis-lesions, hence, the advent of the Purple Wheel, wood crucifixes, and the denouncement of darkened spirits. I need not outline much on the latter, as we all know the outcome of that. Thus, tricks of Roman emperors can simultaneously enhance and diminish the sense-perception of its citizens, and without their knowledge or consent. Support of delusions ran rampant in ancient Rome, and those who suffered most were the system’s greatest demeanors. Protracted cult-characters’ recitations are still echoing off the walls of the ruins to this day, as I sit in my cozy Virginian home and grin over a bowl of chowdery oatmeal. Hoorah, hoorah, they cry, as callers themselves lie silently in the sullen ashes of Pompeii, their dogs still chained to the doorways, noses filled.
Man’s thought is said to progressively understand delusion, but dodges witticism, literature, and the precedents of doom. How can this be? How can this be true, when erroneous conclusions propose Empires of good will, migration, and ill-placed recognition? Most notably, philosophers distinguish between this and Occam’s razor, which often cuts through the truth itself, leaving it in two pieces on the floor, and not necessarily in halves. On one piece, a masterpiece consummates truth; on the other, a planet is depicted, spinning in the remnants of yet another planet. Didn’t you know? Or, did you?