The Terrain of Ecopsychology
Human sanity requires some less-than-obvious connections to nature as well as the necessities of food, water, energy, and air. We have hardly begun to discover what those connections may be….
—Paul Shepard,1 1969
Around the time that Rachel Carson's Silent Spring was igniting the modern environmental movement, the psychoanalyst Harold F. Searles published a book that received a much quieter reception, a thick volume entitled The Nonhuman Environment: In Normal Development and in Schizophrenia. His guiding idea was that, whether we are aware of it or not, the “nonhuman environment”—the trees, clouds, raccoons, rivers, skyscrapers, and manifold other nonhuman phenomena that weave together as the larger matrix for the affairs of humans—has great significance for human psychological life, a significance we ignore at peril to our own psychological well-being. In introducing his subject matter, Searles paused to comment that it “may be likened to a vast continent, as yet largely unexplored and uncharted.”2 Sensing this large territory before him, he wrote: “During the past approximately sixty years, the focus of psychiatry's attention has gradually become enlarged, from an early preoccupation with intrapsychic [interior] processes … to include interpersonal and broad sociological-anthropological factors. It would seem then that a natural next phase would consist in our broadening our focus still further, to include man's [sic]3 relationship with his nonhuman environment.”4 Four decades later, this next phase in the broadening of psychology's5 focus—call it “ecopsychology”—is finally beginning to take shape.
In offering definitions of ecopsychology, most of the people presently developing this field do indeed say something along the lines of Searles. They talk about synthesizing ecology and psychology, placing human psychology in an ecological context, and mending the divisions between mind and nature, humans and earth. Many have simply adopted the position that, as human ecologist Paul Shepard put it in 1973: “If [the] environmental crisis signifies a crippled state of consciousness as much as it does damaged habitat, then that is perhaps where we should begin.”6 In the words of one of its most visible representatives, cultural historian Theodore Roszak, ecopsychology does not want to “stop at the city limits,” as if “the soul might be saved while the biosphere crumbles,”7 but rather illuminate the innate emotional bonds between “person and planet.” Such characterizations are appropriately in harmony with the root meanings of “ecopsychology.” Psychology is the logos—the study, order, meaning, or speech—of the psyche or soul. “Eco” derives from the Greek oikos which means “home.” Ecopsychology, then, would approach the psyche in relation to its earthly or natural home, its native abode, and explore “the basic shifts in our patterns of identity and relationship that occur when we include our connection to the web of life around us as essential to human well-being.”8
Ecologists study nature, while psychologists study human nature. Assuming these natures overlap, psychology already has obvious potential links to ecology. Indeed, before ecopsychology even became a word a small number of psychologists and ecologists were already crossing the boundaries. Any thorough reading of the works of depth psychologist Carl Jung, for example, will demonstrate that ecopsychologists are by no means starting from scratch. Among many other noteworthy remarks, Jung wrote that as:
scientific understanding has grown, so our world has become dehumanized. Man feels himself isolated in the cosmos, because he is no longer involved in nature and has lost his emotional “unconscious identity” with natural phenomena. These have slowly lost their symbolic implications…. No voices now speak to man from stones, plants, and animals, nor does he speak to them believing they can hear. His contact with nature has gone, and with it has gone the profound emotional energy that this symbolic connection supplied.9
To be sure, among their various sources ecopsychologists have drawn heavily on Jungian or archetypal thought, the clearest example of which is Roszak's positing of an “ecological unconscious.”10 Noting that in Jung's hands the so-called collective unconscious11 took on an increasingly “incorporeal and strictly cultural” flavor, removed from more bodily and earthly contents, Roszak proposes that the “collective unconscious, at its deepest level, shelters the compacted ecological intelligence of our species.”12 Although the notion of the ecological unconscious remains undeveloped by Roszak, he writes that we are repressing this “ecological level of the unconscious,” leaving unawakened our “inherent sense of environmental reciprocity”—and suffering the ecological crisis as a consequence.
From the reverse starting point of ecology, we may recall Aldo Leopold's remark (from his 1949 classic A Sand County Almanac) that the basic concept of ecology is that “land is a community,” of which humans ought to be regarded as “plain members.”13 “We abuse land,” he said, “because we regard it as a commodity belonging to us. When we see land as a community to which we belong, we may begin to use it with love and respect.” In this vein, ecopsychologists argue that if we accept the ecological view that we are members of the biotic community, rather than its mere exploiters, then we may learn to recognize the natural world as a social and psychological field, just as we do the human community. In his work on cybernetics, for instance, especially from the late 1960s onward, Gregory Bateson (a protoecopsychologist) sought to explain how our personal minds are part of a larger “eco-mental system” or Mind. The titles of his two best-known books, Steps to an Ecology of Mind and Mind and Nature, suggest the territory he was walking. Although his work (and cybernetics in general) has been criticized for its ironically disembodied and purely formal portrayal of human consciousness,14 his claim that polluting Lake Erie is to drive it insane is certainly one way to identify a suffering in the soul of the natural world. Leopold spoke, in this respect, of his living “alone in a world of wounds.” Ecologists, he suggested, are trained to see the “marks of death in community that believes itself well and does not want to be told otherwise.”15
I have intended these introductory remarks and brief background samples to provide the reader with an initial sense for what comprises the terrain of ecopsychology. It remains to acknowledge, however, that ecopsychology is a product of the modern or Western mind. Those indigenous or aboriginal peoples whose lifeways are still dedicated to the maintenance of reciprocal relations with the natural world are, by contrast, said to have no need for an ecopsychology. In fact, the direct engagement of many indigenous peoples with plants and animals, earth and sky, make the confinement of modern psychology to a strictly human bubble seem odd in the extreme. One of the few contributors to the ecopsychology literature of Native American heritage, Leslie Gray, thus claims that we “have only to look at the cross-cultural practices of perennial shamanism to find effective models of applied ecopsychology.”16 The archetypal psychologist James Hillman similarly contends that we must reimagine what it means to “make soul” by, among other things, getting “out of Western history to tribal animistic psychologies that are always mainly concerned, not with individualities, but with the soul of things … and propitiatory acts that keep the world on its course.”17 As still others have remarked, however, ecopsychologists must guard against becoming part of the historical process of colonizing and appropriating indigenous cultures that today includes the plundering of traditional spiritualities by Euroamerican seekers or new age “wannabes.”18 They must also be careful not to blindly assume that all aspects of all indigenous societies are unquestionably good. Given their obvious relevance, it is inevitable that ecopsychologists be familiar with some indigenous beliefs and practices—and this may remain a source of tension for some time. I believe, however, that most nonindigenous ecopsychologists are committed to keeping themselves based primarily in the contexts of their own traditions, with which they are most familiar.
Getting a Handle on the Project: Four Tasks
Broad definitions of ecopsychology, such as I have just introduced, are easy enough to come by. Many people are still left wondering, however, just what ecopsychology is or what exactly an ecopsychologist does. I think there are two main reasons for this. First of all, the combining of psychology and ecology opens up such a vast terrain that it can seem limitless at times. Psychotherapy with “nature,” contemplative practice, wilderness practice, vision quests, earth poetics, ecological restoration, ecological design, building sustainable communities, shamanic counseling, Jungian dream analysis, deep ecology, environmental education: all have been associated with ecopsychology. How can a field that includes so much be considered a field at all? The second reason why ecopsychology is hard to define is because there is actually not a lot of strictly ecopsychological work that one can define it by. The literature of ecopsychology is still small, and much of it consists of explorations directed “toward” an ecopsychology rather than attempts to actually build one. The challenge I want to take up in this section, then, is that of getting a handle on a field that seems to have so much possibility yet so little actuality.
I suggest, to begin, that ecopsychology is best thought of as a project, in the sense of a large, multifaceted undertaking. This makes room for a great number of perspectives and interests and rules out the idea that ecopsychology will ever resemble a traditional discipline. I suggest, next, that ecopsychology be considered a historical undertaking—which is to say that it has arisen in response to specific historical conditions. More exactly, I believe there are four general tasks that ecopsychologists are in fact engaged in, each of which aims at resolving a corresponding historical need. I call these the psychological task, the philosophical task, the practical task, and the critical task. These tasks identify the common burdens that befall ecopsychologists, regardless of our particular orientations or vocabularies, for they derive from a historical moment we all share. Nature and history demand that we undertake these tasks. Hence, our work as ecopsychologists is to feel this demand in our bodies and to be true or faithful to it in our own particular ways. When the examples of ecopsychological work that do exist are organized into these four tasks, the overall project comes into view. Thus, I propose that it is these four tasks—or, more precisely, the interrelations among them—that define ecopsychology. In other words, the four tasks weave together to form the whole endeavor that I am calling the project of ecopsychology.
In what follows I walk through the four tasks in turn, describing the historical situations from which they arise and offering brief examples of ecopsychological works that are addressed to each of them. The section concludes with a discussion of some of the interrelations among the four tasks, so that my definition of ecopsychology as an intricately woven general project can be further elaborated. I wish to say, finally, that my goal with this exercise is not to nail down ecopsychology for good, so that it can never move again. Certainly, there are other formulations of the tasks and other examples that could be given. My goal, rather, is to provide a scheme that can bring into better focus what we are doing as ecopsychologists, or at least provide a basis for some good discussion, while nonetheless leaving lots of room to maneuver.
The Psychological Task: To Acknowledge and Better Understand the Human-Nature Relationship as a Relationship
It may seem absurd to those unfamiliar with psychoanalytic thought to suppose that man treats Nature in terms of dominance and submission as he might treat another human being with whom he has not been able to establish a one-to-one relationship, but I believe these attitudes can not only be demonstrated, but are actually important for our understanding of what has gone wrong in our relationship with the natural world
—Anthony Storr,19 1974
Ecopsychology is a psychological undertaking that essentially says “we too are nature.” Its first task is therefore to describe the human psyche in a way that makes it internal to the natural world or that makes it a phenomenon of nature. Stated otherwise, the task is to build a psychology that expands the field of significant relationships to include other-than-human beings; a psychology that views all psychological and spiritual matters in the light of our participation within the larger natural order. Ecopsychology is still concerned with our suffering and happiness, our dreaming, our search for meaning, our responsibilities to others, our states of consciousness, and so on; it just frames these concerns within the fuller, more-than-human scope of human existence.
The historical situation from which this task arises is obvious enough. Modern society is in an extreme, pathological state of rupture from the reality of the natural world, as is indicated on a daily basis by the ecological crisis. There is, moreover, little public recognition that this crisis is indeed a psychological one. This lack of recognition extends most crucially to the arena of psychology itself, as has been discussed by David Kidner in his recent exploration of why psychology is so conspicuously mute about the ecological crisis. Kidner notes that most psychologists are unwilling to regard our ecological troubles as evidence of “pathology in the relationship between humanity and the natural world.” Ecological problems are effectively “dichotomized into individual and environmental problems, and any possible relation between the two is repressed.” The result is that “environmental destruction is invisible to psychology.”20 Searles likewise commented on psychology's indifference toward the world of nature, stating in 1960 that in the writings of developmental psychologists “the nonhuman environment is … considered as irrelevant to human personality development, … as though the human race were alone in the universe, pursuing individual and collective destinies in a homogeneous matrix of nothingness.”21 Perhaps one day it will seem strange that psychologists were ever so deaf and blind to the natural world—at which point ecopsychology will simply be psychology itself.
The initial challenge for ecopsychologists is thus to counter this deeply ingrained habit of ignoring the psychological significance of the human-nature relationship. This amounts, first of all, to acknowledging the human-nature relationship as a relationship. In other words, it means granting the natural world psychological status; regarding other-than-human beings as true interactants in life, as ensouled “others” in their own right, as fellow beings or kin. The requirement, in...