Rosie Trethewey writes on how a surprise encounter moved her to re-evaluate how she views the natural world.
Picture of a fallow deer, taken by Owen Jewell
I decided to go for a walk this morning. This isn’t uncharacteristic for me, but it felt relatively spontaneous as I set off - half asleep and still in my pyjamas. Dreaming as I walked - still in that state of semi-consciousness where everything seems slightly hazy - I was suddenly forced into reality as a figure jumped into the path ahead of me. The culprit was a small roe deer. I froze as she froze, both equally intrigued by each other. I stared at her, and she stared at me.
Looking at the deer in the early morning beams of light I thought: ‘this looks like a scene from a film or like a National Geographic photo’. Observing her, I displaced myself from reality as I viewed her as one would observe an object or image. Gazing at her, I felt as if my intrinsic response was to separate these two animals from one another: human and deer. In a typically self-centred and whimsical manner, my imagination ran wild as I started to think ‘maybe she’s not scared because she knows me’, ‘maybe she’s a reincarnated family member’, and ‘is she a sign’? However, an interesting thing happened as I stared at her. She was figuring me out. I felt something that I had never really experienced before: I was suddenly subject to nature’s gaze. By viewing nature as purely symbol, despite my close encounter with it, I realised that I was reinforcing the rendering of the natural world as ‘other’, contributing to our separation. This deer was just as real and alive and worthy of life as me, so why did I think that her appearance should mean more than that?
Humans have always believed in a natural hierarchy, which has created (and reinforced) the segregation between what is human and animal. We have become differentiated by our ability to express oneself, to create culture, and ultimately conquer. This disassociation has precipitated itself in our everyday actions, evident in how I viewed the deer. The eco-critic Helena Feder argues that ‘ecological thinkers have amply demonstrated the dangers of […] position[ing] human beings as outside ecological conditions and superior to the other inhabitants of the world’. Musing about what may have separated humans so far from nature, one key example that comes to mind are the structures that we live, sleep and work in. Humans have removed themselves from the natural landscape, through industrialisation. We have built walls to keep the outside world out.
Nature has become a symbol: a photograph, a logo, an analogy, an empty space on which to project our own opinions and beliefs.
Consumption and the disposable nature of our lifestyles have also served to reinforce an element of superiority in the human ability to remove themselves from ‘ecological conditions’. This feeling of superiority has increased the disparity between us and nature. Nature has become a symbol: a photograph, a logo, an analogy, an empty space on which to project our own opinions and beliefs. As Feder notes, this self-righteous belief is ‘dangerous’. The ongoing opinion that ‘they do not feel things like we do; they do not have fellow feeling, therefore we are not required to extend to them our fellow feeling’ extends to almost every interaction with nature. Furthermore, this view extends to human attempts to suppress other strands of humanity, rendering someone outside of ‘fellow feeling’, and animalising them, has often been an excuse for abuse. However, looking into the young roe’s eyes I felt as though I could sense her every ‘feeling’, because they were shared with my own. Abuse towards the natural world is ongoing, even if simply through the estrangement that nearly every human experiences from it. This notion is intrinsic to our lives, yet repeatedly displaces us from the very best parts of it.
Guilty in conforming to this objectification of nature, the small roe and I walked up the field together, only a couple of metres apart – she was obviously conscious of social distancing – and it became evident that we were equals. When we eventually went our separate ways, we both looked back, before she continued grazing (presumably forgetting our encounter) as I proceeded on my walk. Due to our recurring abuse of nature, I felt extremely lucky not to have struck fear in this deer, even if it was simply due to her juvenile naivety. As well as feeling privileged in my experience of seeing the natural world up close, she allowed me to re-evaluate how I view nature, whilst under her scrutiny. Her challenging and curious gaze allowed me to attempt to close the disparity in my mind between human and animal. I won’t be forgetting our meeting any time soon.
by Rosie Trethewey
Works Consulted: Ecocriticism and the Idea of Culture: Biology and the Bildungsroman by Helena Feder