Evelyn Lambeth
Trigger/Content Warning
This essay discusses rape, domestic violence, and incest. The research process for this piece was informed by taking a creative approach to anthropocentric dynamics. I engage with temporality, sociocultural differences in climate change, and Indigenous ontologies around the sociality of the environment. The first resource grappled with was Wendell Berry’s The World-Ending Fire, which relates the agriculturally induced climate crisis to rape.[1] The profound privilege of a cis-white man using this metaphor irks me deeply, and yet, I respect his ethics and writing. Rather than bury these emotions, I creatively use them to localize and personalize the effects of time, climate, and extinction. If rape can be metaphorically used to represent our treatment of the effeminate Earth mother, then the literal, and my personal, connection to the term should also be allowed. Any form of rape is catastrophic, and because my father was the predator, my sense of being and relation to the spatial and temporal world is forever warped. These underpinnings led me to engage with philosophers of phenomenology such as Edmund Husserl and Alfred Schütz. Husserl was critical of philosophers who offered “criticism on high instead of studying and understanding things from within.”[2] Similarly, Schütz interrogated pluperfect actions and people’s conceptions of them as “genuine because-motives.”[3] Actions, motivations, and engagements in this more-than-human world emerge from past actions that persist into the present. I write this warning to both apologize for any undue stress this essay may cause and to establish my authority to reclaim this taboo concept of violence within an academic setting.
“The inability to distinguish between a farm and any farm is a condition predisposing to abuse, and abuse has been the result. Rape, indeed, has been the result, and we have seen that we are not exempt from the damage we have inflicted.”[4]
What if the first time a child was raped was not the last time? What if the knowledge accrued between the first day of kindergarten and the last day of twelfth grade was not sufficient to explain the difference between right and wrong? How was the child’s curiosity affected when their dreams evolved into nightmares, making their time on earth revolve around fear? How does the use of time, individual action, lead some to freedom and others to prison? How does freedom feel if the prison is literal versus metaphorical? These questions suggest that people experience time differently. We are complex individuals with unique identities, projecting different expectations and imaginings onto the world around us.[5] Wendell Berry’s use of rape perpetuates the idea that the current climate crisis is a burden created by a collective ‘we’ and that ‘trigger words’ can be used to galvanise collective action to make change. Statistics show that 91 percent of rape and sexual assault victims are female, while 91 percent of perpetrators are male.[6] Actions are embedded with intention and all acts have consequences, but the effects of sexualized violence, like the effects of the agriculturally-induced-climate-crisis are not experienced equally. Power differentials inevitably leave the victim to endure the consequences of non-consensual acts. The human-centric use of time drastically affects the effeminate Earth, and our relation to feminine beings.
“When I was little, I had expectations of the seasons. Summer was for joy. I lived surrounded by a fence made up of trust, one I’d assumed couldn’t be knocked down…this was the barrier separating my childhood from some other place. I wasn’t yet an adult, but my childhood was gone forever.”[7]
Time is the medium of historians, flowing steadily, dictating chronology, and lazily supplying causation.[8] Historians embody time machines, able to be anywhere, everywhere, and nowhere, all at once.[9] Absolute time, that is measurable and quantifiable time, is juxtaposed against relative time, or the immeasurable and subjective time that is experiential.[10] This binary limits time to a human-centric modality, unable to extend past the present. Scientists reject human-centric conceptions of time, pointing out the inherent error in this definitive endpoint. Hans Reichenbach’s seminal Direction of Time confused the binary narrative between relative and absolute time, which argued that the empirically grounded past-to-future conception of time may be convenient, but the laws of physics illustrate that time is multi-directional.[11] “Time arrows,” whether cosmological, electromagnetic, gravitational, or thermodynamic, coexist in the present and future, shaped by the past and influencing futures.[12] Humans, however, think in linear time. Though we cannot remember the future, this does not deny its existence.[13] Afterall, memory cannot recall how our actions can impact someone else’s future.
“In the first century AD, when methods of recording information were limited, the Roman philosopher Pliny the Elder described memory as the “greatest gift of nature, and most necessary of all others for this life… when memory is lost, the essence of the individual also seems lost.”[14]
The economist Daniel Kahneman argues that the mind is good with stories, but poorly designed for processing time.[15] Memory is multi-directional and strange, often placed in “hard-to-find areas of the body and brain.”[16] Time is both familiar and elusive. We do not like to be kept waiting, yet we can’t keep time.[17] Our perceptions of time are wounded by our pasts and the actions of those around us. The philosopher Timothy Morton coined the term “hyperobject” to describe things that are massively distributed in time and space relative to humans.[18] Industrialization, capitalism, colonialism, racism, and sexism are all ‘hyperobjects,’ around and within every being.[19] These multidirectional events manifest in uneven power exchanges across social stratifications that were introduced and are reinforced by an uneven distribution of resources. The historian Grace Karskens argues that “in settler history we seem to be constantly searching for beginnings…but in Aboriginal history of the colonial period so often the search is for endings.”[20] Colonialism is an ongoing, structural form of violence that compounds the intergenerational consequences of extractive settler-economies. Post-colonial ideologies maintain the legacies of invasion; because they are defined by and continue to amplify the voices of the colonizers and their descendants, those who initiated the initial traumas. The beneficiaries of colonial wealth continue to experience time through gold-framed lenses, reaping the gains of their handed-down capital gains, land, and resources. Time is not universally experienced; it is textured, coloured, and constrained. There are rough times, blue times, and deep times coexisting with high times, good times, and precious moments. For some, time is relished and free, while others chase time as it rolls, flies, and slips away. While clocks have replaced the sun to measure days for some, for others, the ticking serves as a constant reminder of the time they have lost.
“Narcissus is unconscious of the cruelty that, by his thoughtlessness and selfishness, he is daily inflicting upon others. He recognizes no obligation to introduce into his sphere of action the broad principles of universal justice and humanity . . . [today] Narcissus is a too familiar character everywhere.”[21]
Narcissism, coined by the psychiatrist Joseph Guislain in 1852, is embodied in individual self-interest, making up a collective “culture of narcissism.”[22]Anthropocentric modes of thinking are unable to recognize time outside of the finiteness of human experience, where ecological and geological time are abstractions.[23] Capitalism perpetuates this inability to conceptualize long term ecological change, where success is measured by limits in terms of surplus exploitation. The carrying capacity of the planet drives the comparative engine of a Gross Domestic Product as the ultimate measure of success.[24] Would the world look differently if we focused on increasing Gross International Happiness?[25] The search for efficient capitalism is an endless pursuit, and the health of nature, or biological diversity, stands in contrast to a system that thrives in homogeneity.[26] Through industrialization modern capitalism has consequentially “altered the power of the sun, changed the patterns of moisture and dryness, bred storms in new places and birthed deserts.”[27] Industrializing was meant to create more time, through efficiency, but is this true or have lost touch with our sense of meaning and a life worth living? We have cultivated an enterprise of self-destruction.[28] Our time would be better spent developing a new collective conscience that seeks to understand what the earth offers and what it requires of us to maintain abundance.
“The bells which toll for mankind are – most of them anyway – like the bells on Alpine cattle; they are attached to our own necks, and it must be our fault if they do not make a cheerful and harmonious sound.”[29]
Capitalism is a catalyst of destruction, turning time into a commodity. The clock provides a constant reminder of its limited availability.[30] Photography and cinema allow us to experience past moments, to witness genocide, and slavery, and the effects of mass incarceration in a two-hour capsule. Violence, destruction, and extreme loss flash by as we contemplate the amount of butter on our popped corn. The privilege of certain individuals to witness injustice while seemingly removed from the visceral effects of destruction reinforces the experience of diverse temporalities, which coexist in real time as unequal parallel realities. Death and extinction are extrapolated as timeless projections. We condemn necrophilia, yet we fill our cars with oil, the ancient, fossilized remains of species past, which gets cheaper as the years go by.[31] Planetary boundaries and conceptions of degrowth remain unfeasible plots for future cinematography as we offshore industrial emissions to obfuscate our metabolic profiles.[32] We shift tipping points to facilitate our current needs as we collectively enter the emotional substratum of “environmental melancholia,” “solastalgia,” and “eco-anxiety.”[33] Mothers in Lutruwita try to explain the concept of extinction and the lost thylacine to their children, while listening to stories of US presidents artificially chilling the room so they can enjoy the warmth of a fire.[34] Inmates and prisoners of war remain stuck in time, experiencing the long durée prescribed by the clang of a sentence, the weaponized version of time.[35] Nations use their citizens as resources, chasing fossil fuels with guns and “greening the cage” as they use forced prison labour to produce food for the masses.[36] Prisoners subside on nostalgia, aching for a world that will be wholly changed by the time they are freed. We manipulate time and seasons to suit the desires of capitalism.
“Our model citizen is a sophisticate who before puberty understands how to produce a baby, but who at the age of thirty will not know how to produce a potato.”[37]
Humans busy themselves to survive. There is “so much going on in the brain that nothing gains attention unless it triggers an affect.”[38] So, if rape is Wendell Berry’s trigger for climate action, then he should fully embrace the metaphor in his writing. We must reflect on our privilege and positionality before critically engaging with the victims of capitalist agricultural production, both human and more-than-human in a collective effort of empathy. By utilizing a critical, post-human approach to plan forward-thinking multispecies justice, we can start to untangle some of the anthropocentric, human-centered thinking that has proven unsustainable. This would allow us to heal human injustices, as well as natural ecosystem scars that deeply impact the daily existence of too many. We must consider the pain of forced tillage and penetration, the beat down and compaction of tractors, the burn of ropes and saws. The perpetrators ejaculate pesticides in the fields while rivers, streams, and tears try to wash away the leached toxins. We both act and are acted on and we must utilize multidirectional memory to recognize past violence and consider its present perpetuations.[39] We must realize that climate trauma is not experienced equally. Homogenizing the effects of climate change as a ‘collective burden’ force those who have not had time to reap the benefits of capitalist production to be complicit in its undoing. We must remain critical in our positionality and approaches to making change within these complex systems, so we do not retraumatize anyone in the healing process. In this way, using rape as an analogy for the agriculturally-induced-climate-crisis offers more considered restitution. Healing past trauma becomes a collective burden, but with the caveat that for certain demographics, part of this work involves rectifying the legacies and privilege that must be undone to mitigate lasting, equitable change.
“Things don’t always change for the better, but they change, and we can play a role in that change if we act. Which is where hope comes in, and memory, the collective memory we call history.”[40]
Unfortunately, the climate is not bound to the human experience of its existence. Climate change does not easily fit into a jar labelled ‘deal with it later’ or ‘consider at your convenience.’ The negative effects of greenhouse gas emissions are not easily contained. They are multifaceted and compounding. As we consider human error and the Anthropocene, we must not let shame, guilt, or fear drive inaction.[41] We can recognize past violence without letting it impair our ability to enact positive change moving forward.[42] By divesting from human-centered thinking, our ability to heal earth systems as caretakers of the land becomes altruistic and meaningful. Collective action toward climate justice requires inclusive frameworks of justice, equity, diversity. We can learn to respect boundaries and be critically hopeful as we repair the trust that has been broken between minorities and those in positions of power.[43] Fragility and resilience can coexist within wounded, empathetic humans.[44] We can “defuture” our current trajectory.[45] Consensual action is more pleasurable for every being in this more-than-human world.
Bibliography
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Griffiths, Tom. The Art of Time Travel: Historians and Their Craft (Carlton VIC: Black Inc, 2016).
Hazelett, Evan, ‘Greening the Cage: Exploitation and Resistance in the (Un)Sustainable Prison Garden,’ Antipode, 55.2 (2023), 436–57.
Holland, Steven M. ‘The Stratigraphy of Mass Extinctions and Recoveries,’ Annual Review of Earth and Planetary Sciences, 48.1 (2020), 75–97.
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———- ‘The Annihilation of Time and Space,’ In River of Shadow: Eadweard Muybridge and the Technological Wild West (New York: Penguin, 2004), 5-19.
Souza, Lynn Mario T. Menezes de, and Walkyria Monte Mor. ‘Afterwords: Hope and Education in Dystopic Times: Thinking about the Present as If from the Future,’ Revista Brasileira de Linguística Aplicada, 21.2 (2021), 657–70.
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[1] Wendell Berry, The World-Ending Fire: The Essential Wendell Berry, ed. by Paul Kingsnorth, Penguin Environment (London: Penguin Books, 2018), p. 65.
[2] Husserl, Edmund, Husserl, Shorter Works, ed. By Peter McCormick and Frederick A. Elliston (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1981), p. 208.
[3] Alfred Schütz, The Phenomenology of the Social World, Northwestern University Studies in Phenomenology & Existential Philosophy, 1st paperback ed (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1972).
[4] Wendell Berry, The World-Ending Fire, p. 65.
[5] Rachel Pain et al., Introducing Social Geographies (New York: Oxford University Press Inc., 2001), p. 190.
[6] “Sexualized Violence Statistics,” Supporting Survivors: CalPoly Humboldt, accessed 14 Dec. 2023, https://supportingsurvivors.humboldt.edu/statistics.
[7] Honorée Fanonne Jeffers, The Love Songs of W.E.B. Du Bois (London: 4th Estate, 2021), p. 145.
[8] Tom Griffiths, The Art of Time Travel: Historians and Their Craft (Carlton VIC: Black Inc, 2016), p. 7.
[9] Gaddis, The Landscape of History, p. 22 cited in Tom Griffiths, The Art of Time Travel, p. 11.
[10] Adam B, Time and Social Theory (Cambridge: Polity, 1990) and Adam B, “Briefing 4: Towards a New Sociology of the Future”, Briefing from ESRC Professorial Fellowship ‘In Pursuit of the Future,’ 2004 cited in Anna Kotova, ‘“Time … Lost Time”: Exploring How Partners of Long-Term Prisoners Experience the Temporal Pains of Imprisonment’, Time & Society, 28.2 (2019), p. 480.
[11] Matt Farr, ‘Conventionalism about Time Direction,’ Synthese, 200.1/23 (2022), p. 2, 21; see also A. Y. Klimenko, ‘The Direction of Time and Boltzmann’s Time Hypothesis’, Physica Scripta, 94.3 (2019), 1-16.
[12] Adam B, “Briefing 4: Towards a New Sociology of the Future”, Briefing from ESRC Professorial Fellowship ‘In Pursuit of the Future,’ 2004 cited in Anna Kotova, ‘Time … Lost Time,’ p. 481.
[13] Stephen Hawking, A Brief History of Time (London: Bantam, 1988), pp. 37-39 cited in Tom Griffiths, The Art of Time Travel, p. 9.
[14] Pliny the Elder, Natural History, Book 7(79) cited in Noah P. Young and Karl Deisseroth, ‘In Search of Lost Time,’ Nature, 542 (2017), p. 173.
[15] Daniel Kahneman, Thinking, Fast and Slow, Penguin Psychology (London: Penguin Books, 2012), p. 407.
[16] Rosanna Kennedy, ‘Multidirectional Eco-Memory in an Era of Extinction: Colonial Whaling and Indigenous Dispossession in Kim Scott’s That Deadman Dance In Ursula K. Heise, Jon Christensen, and Michelle Niemann, eds., The Routledge Companion to the Environmental Humanities (London: Routledge, Taylor & Francis Group, 2017), p. 268.
See also Elspeth Probyn, ‘Everyday Shame,’ Cultural Studies, 18.2–3 (2004), pp. 345-346.
[17] Jacqueline Lonsdale Cuerton, ‘Keeping Time’ In Megan Schaffner, ed., Keeping Time: Essays, Articles and Sketches by Tasmanian Writers (Hobart: Fellowship of Australian Writers Tasmania Inc., 2014), p. 47.
[18]Timothy Morton, Hyperobjects: Philosophy and Ecology after the End of the World. Minneapolis: (University of Minnesota Press, 2013), p. 1 cited in Michael Richardson, ‘Climate Trauma, or the Affects of the Catastrophe to Come,’ Environmental Humanities, 10.1 (2018), p. 2.
[19] Bill McKibben, The End of Nature, London: Penguin Random House, 2022, originally published 1989, p. 4; see also Michael Richardson, ‘Climate Trauma, or the Affects of the Catastrophe to Come,’ p. 4.
[20] Karskens, The Colony, pp. 422, 425 cited in Eleanor Dark, ‘The Timeless Land’ In Tom Griffiths, The Art of Time Travel, p. 40; see also Kate Wright, ‘Rhythms of Law: Aboriginal Jurisprudence and the Anthropocene’, Law and Critique, 31.3 (2020), pp. 293–308.
[21] Alan Logan and Susan Prescott, ‘Planetary Health: We Need to Talk about Narcissism’, Challenges, 13.1 (2022), p. 4.
[22] C. Lasch, Culture of Narcissism: American Life in an Age of Diminishing Expectations (W.W. Norton: New York, NY, USA, 1979) cited in Alan Logan and Susan Prescott, ‘Planetary Health,’ p. 1-4.
[23] Claire Colebrook, Essays on Extinction. Vol. 2: Sex after Life, Critical Climate Change, First edition (Ann Arbor, Michigan: Open Humanities Press, with Michigan Publishing, University of Michigan Library, 2014), p. 127.
[24] Wendell Berry, The World-Ending Fire, p. 124.
[25] Erik Gómez-Baggethun and José Manuel Naredo, ‘In Search of Lost Time: The Rise and Fall of Limits to Growth in International Sustainability Policy,’ Sustainability Science, 10.3 (2015), p. 388.
[26] Anna Lowenhaupt Tsing, The Mushroom at the End of the World: On the Possibility of Life in Capitalist Ruins (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2015), p. 131.
[27] Richard Seymour, The Disenchanted Earth: Reflections on Ecosocialism and Barbarism (London: The Indigo Press, 2022), p. 40.
[28] Wendell Berry, The World-Ending Fire, p. 60.
[29] Peter Medawar, The Future of Man (1959), cited in Martin Rees, On the Future: Prospects for Humanity (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2021), p. 227.
[30] Rebecca Solnit, ‘The Annihilation of Time and Space,’ in River of Shadow: Eadweard Muybridge and the Technological Wild West (New York: Penguin, 2004), p. 18.
[31] Richard Seymour, The Disenchanted Earth, p. 90; see also Bill McKibben, The End of Nature, p. 18; see also Steven M. Holland, ‘The Stratigraphy of Mass Extinctions and Recoveries’, Annual Review of Earth and Planetary Sciences, 48.1 (2020), p. 75.
[32] Richard Seymour, The Disenchanted Earth, p. 149; see also Erik Gómez-Baggethun and José Manuel Naredo, ‘In Search of Lost Time,’ p. 386.
[33] Glenn Albrecht, ‘Solastalgia,’ Alternative Journal, 32.4/5 (2006), p. 35; see also Richard Seymour, The Disenchanted Earth, pp. 16-20; see also Clara de Massol de Rebetz, ‘Remembrance Day for Lost Species: Remembering and Mourning Extinction in the Anthropocene,’ Memory Studies, 13.5 (2020), p. 877.
[34] Greg Garrard, Ecocriticism, The New Critical Idiom, 2nd ed (New York: Routledge, 2012), p. 78; see also Wendell Berry, The World-Ending Fire, p. 56.
[35] Fernand Braudel, ‘History and the Social Sciences: The Long Durée,’ in his On History trans. Sarah Matthews, (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1980, pp. 25-54 cited in Tom Griffiths, The Art of Time Travel, p. 6. See also Anna Kotova, ‘Time … Lost Time,’ p. 480.
[36] Evan Hazelett, ‘Greening the Cage: Exploitation and Resistance in the (Un)Sustainable Prison Garden,’ Antipode, 55.2 (2023), pp. 436–57.
[37] Wendell Berry, The World-Ending Fire, p. 52.
[38] Basch (n.d) cited in D. L. Nathanson (ed.) (1996) Knowing Feeling: Affect, Script and Psychotherapy (New York: Norton, 1996), p. 13 Cited in Elspeth Probyn, ‘Everyday Shame,’ p. 342.
[39] Clara de Massol de Rebetz, ‘Remembrance Day for Lost Species,’ p. 883.
[40] Rebecca Solnit, ‘Grounds for Hope’, Tikkun, 32.1 (2017), p. 36.
[41] Elspeth Probyn, ‘Everyday Shame’, Cultural Studies, 18.2–3 (2004), pp. 328-341; see also Clara de Massol de Rebetz, ‘Remembrance Day for Lost Species,’ p. 887.
[42] Lynn Mario T. Menezes de Souza and Walkyria Monte Mor, ‘Afterwords: Hope and Education in Dystopic Times: Thinking about the Present as If from the Future,’ Revista Brasileira de Linguística Aplicada, 21.2 (2021), p. 667.
[43] Rebecca Solnit, ‘Grounds for Hope’, Tikkun, 32.1 (2017), p. 32.
[44] Michael Richardson, ‘Climate Trauma, or the Affects of the Catastrophe to Come,’ p. 5.
[45] Lynn Mario T. Menezes de Souza and Walkyria Monte Mor, ‘Afterwords,’ p. 666.
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