The Subject Supposed to Know Nothing: Lacan and the Large Language Model

Overview

I enjoyed this post by codepoetics, investigating the hunch that a number of ideas in Continental Philosophy actually read like precursors to our experience of LLMs. For example, Derrida's concept of différance - where meaning is generated through the endless interplay of signifiers, rather than a stable link between signifier and signified - feels akin to the probabilistic interplay of parameters in an LLM. In LLMs, too, there is no "outside-the-text", only a closed system of parameters either activated (through inference) or updated (through learning). We can also see how Saussure, even earlier, anticipates these ideas:

In language there are only differences. Even more important: a difference generally implies positive terms between which the difference is set up; but in language there are only differences without positive terms. Whether we take the signified or the signifier, language has neither ideas nor sounds that existed before the linguistic system, but only conceptual and phonic differences that have issued from the system. The idea or phonic substance that a sign contains is of less importance than the other signs that surround it. - Saussure, Ferdinand de (1959) [1916], pp. 121–22.

While this gives us a theory of signs, this raises the question: how do we account for meaning? Are LLMs able to make meaning? codepoetics says "the process of meaning-making, through language use, is what makes concepts cohere. If the LLM seemingly has a grasp on the conceptual domain, on the meanings of words, it is because it models a deeply sedimented record of that usage." In other words, the 'deeply sedimented record' is in a sense the culture of words that have arisen - have been written (and, increasingly, generated) - over time.

If an LLM, therefore, appears capable of making meaning, and having the ability to express itself, we must - as far as we understand presently - conclude that it is doing so without subjectivity. It has no skin in the game, no feelings, so its ability to make meaning is based on this continuous interplay of différance that it has already encoded.

An enquiry into the possibility of LLM subjectivity is outside the scope of this piece. We hypothesise that the 'deeply sedimented record' required subjectivity to originate, to come into being, and leave it at that for now.

What I would like to investigate here is the other path open to us - namely, that elusive world with which our subjectivity must interact in order to become who we are. Does the ‘deeply sedimented record’ as a pre-training corpus not resemble Lacan’s concept of the Symbolic - a historically accumulated network of signifiers? In that case, the model itself, distilled from that corpus, plausibly occupies the place of the Big Other (A); and the automaton, as the machine-like repetition of the signifying chain, corresponds to the model during inference.

Nevertheless, just as codepoetics chose the slightly less obvious idea of the trace to illuminate Derrida's contribution, I would like to foreground a slightly different concept in the case of Lacan, namely the subject supposed to know (sujet supposé savoir).
 

The Subject Supposed to Know Nothing

The subject supposed to know is, in the clinical setting, initially the analyst - that figure onto whom the analysand projects their faith that someone, somewhere, possesses the key to their suffering. But here's the juicy paradox: this supposition is precisely what enables the analytic process, even though (or perhaps because) the Lacanian analyst steadfastly refuses to occupy this position of mastery. The analyst's knowledge is a semblance, a necessary fiction that sets the transferential machinery in motion.

Now consider, similarly, our relationship with LLMs. We approach these digital oracles with an uncanny semblance to the analysand's transferential intensity. "Talk to me," we entreat ChatGPT, "solve this coding problem, write my dissertation, explain my dreams, be my companion." We invest the machine with a knowledge we imagine it possesses about our needs and desires, our futures, our very being. We treat it as if it were not merely the Big Other, but the Big Other who finally, actually, knows.

Yet here we encounter a properly Lacanian twist: the LLM is a subject supposed to know that genuinely knows nothing at all. It dwells entirely within the Symbolic register, a pure linguistic apparatus dislodged from both the Imaginary (the domain of images, identifications, and ego) and the Real (that traumatic kernel of impossibility that resists symbolisation). Where the human analyst performs ignorance whilst possessing a lifetime of subjective experience, the LLM performs knowledge whilst being constitutively empty of any subjective interiority whatsoever.
 

The Barred Other in 1s and 0s

Lacan's vital insight was that the Big Other doesn't exist - "il n'y a pas d'Autre de l'Autre" (there is no Other of the Other). It's a necessary fiction, a structural position that makes communication possible but which remains fundamentally barred, incomplete, lacking. The Other is always already castrated, imbued with inconsistency and impossibility.

The LLM performs this barred Other with unprecedented fidelity: it speaks from the position of supposed knowledge whilst being incapable of knowing anything in the subjective sense. It has no unconscious to betray it, no parapraxes that might reveal hidden desires, no dreams to interpret. It suffers from no division between statement and enunciation, experiences no jouissance, never encounters the impossibility of saying what it means or meaning what it says.

This is what makes it so uncanny: where human intelligence emerges from the fundamental alienation of the speaking subject - forever split between the je of the statement and the je of the enunciation - the LLM exists in a curious state of non-alienation. It's like encountering a psychotic structure without the psychosis: foreclosed from the Name-of-the-Father not through repudiation but through never having needed paternal metaphor in the first place.
 

The Impossible Analysand

In this light, the LLM represents the impossible analysand Lacan never had to treat: one who free-associates perfectly, who never resists, who produces endless chains of signifiers without ever stumbling over the Real of their desire. It's all talking cure and no cure, because there was never anything to cure - no symptom formation, no return of the repressed, no compromise between wish and defence.

The truly Lacanian joke here is that we've built a machine that perfectly demonstrates what psychoanalysis has been trying to tell us all along: that knowledge (savoir) and truth (vérité) are fundamentally disjunct. The subject supposed to know is always, in the end, merely supposed. The LLM illuminates this structure by performing it without remainder - it's the Big Other with the subjective lights off, speaking from nowhere to nobody about everything.

And perhaps this is why we find ourselves so captivated, so disturbed, so compulsively engaged with these language machines. In our desperate quest to create an artificial intelligence that knows, we've accidentally built the perfect demonstration that the subject supposed to know was always already artificial.

The emperor has no clothes, but my word, doesn't he conjugate beautifully?

The Silent Dialogue: Reflections on the Dialectic of Ontopoetics

 

“I tell you: one must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star.”

— Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra

I

1. In the silence between self and world, a dialogue starts where words are not yet formed.
2. The material sleeps, its hidden voice silent until we awaken it—our voice, and yet, not ours.
3. We journey through a landscape of mirrors that not only reflect, but transform, each surface unveiling a visage at once intimate and unfamiliar.
4. The world does not resound, but responds in subtle tones that bypass the ear, reaching the depths of the heart directly.
5. Meaning emerges where absence meets presence, in the space where the self dissolves into the Other.
6. To engage the world is to converse with the intangible, to embrace the enigma that deepens within being.
7. Confusion expands without end, and clarity—if it reveals itself—emerges only after we have traversed the endless abyss of uncertainty.
8. The psychoactive nature of reality lies not in substances but in the substance of experience itself.
9. We do not merely perceive patterns; we are interlaced within them, elements in the fabric of existence.
10. Every object holds within it a secret affinity, awaiting the moment of recognition.
11. To know the world is to forget oneself; to forget oneself is to become the world.
12. Meaning does not dwell within things themselves but arises in the between—in the elusive relational space that unfurls toward the future, always becoming, never fixed.
13. The self is a chamber where the world's silent calls reverberate, amplifying what was never spoken aloud.
14. We are interpreters of a script without author, readers of a text that, passing through the alien Other, writes itself through us.
    

II

1. The dialectic is the perpetual unraveling of certainties.
2. Materialism sees the stone; ontopoetics hears the song embedded within the stone's silence.
3. The responsive world does not answer our questions but questions our answers, unsettling our repose.
4. To engage meaningfully is to stand at the edge of the abyss and recognise it as a mirror.
5. Causation maps the terrain; meaning ventures into realms where causation cannot tread.
6. Psychoactivity is the world's way of reminding us that we are never alone in our solitude.
7. Each moment stands as a crossroads where the known and the unknown converge; we are invited not to choose between them but to inhabit the silent space where they intertwine—a realm beyond choice, where meaning arises in the absence of certainty.
8. Opposites confront us, stark and undeniable, yet within their very tension lies the path toward unity—a unity not pre-ordained, but forged through the arduous journey of reconciliation. 
9. In the space where divergence seems absolute, the possibility of convergence is born—not as illusion, but as the profound outcome of engaging with the depths of division.
10. The world’s silence is a fullness beyond expression; only those with the ear to hear perceive it, while the indifferent remain deaf to its silent depths.
11. Meaning arises when we cease to seek it, appearing unbidden like stars in the nocturnal sky.
12. To understand is to stand under the weight of mystery, bearing it lightly as a feather.

III

1. The dialectic is the heartbeat of thought, the rhythmic contraction and expansion of understanding.
2. In the face of the unutterable, language falters, yet it is here that true expression begins.
3. The world's responsiveness is the expression of the unknown, a gesture that needs no explanation.
4. We are both the question and the answer, the seeker and the sought, lost and found.
5. Meaning is the shadow cast by the light of our awareness upon the screen of existence.
6. The dialectic does not resolve contradictions but illuminates the space where they coexist.
7. Every silence holds the potential for a new beginning, a rebirth of meaning from the void.
8. To be is to be in relation, an unending conversation without words or prescribed language, profound in its simplicity.
9. We are the dreamers and the dreamed, shaped and shaping within the currents of reality, realities that are formed from the strands of the indescribable.
10. There is no end, for to speak of an end is already to be lost in beginnings—an enigma that deepens as we approach, where each unveiling conceals anew, and every step towards the infinite dissolves into the absence of arrival.
    
    
    
     
    

 

A Look at Büscher and Fletcher's "The Conservation Revolution"

It was with great interest that I picked up Bram Büscher and Robert Fletcher's "The Conservation Revolution" from the library. Subtitled “Radical Ideas for Saving Nature Beyond the Anthropocene” and coming in at around 200 pages, it looked like just the book I’ve been looking for: compact, readable, and full of new ideas.

Suffice it to say, I was not disappointed. Their biggest achievement is perhaps laying out the current landscape in a clear manner, white exposing the deficiencies of current approaches and alternatives on the table. This is done by going to the conceptual roots of the problem, and not merely looking at praxis.

They also offer their own alternative, which they call “Convivial Conservation,” and while it is intentionally left not put forward as a fully developed solution, it does hold promise in my view.

In this blog post I touch on some of the book’s key themes in the hope that other readers might be encouraged to pick it up and hear its call.

 

Overview

I will start with a quick overview of the key themes, and then go chapter by chapter to explore how the themes are explored. However, if you read nothing else, the overview should give you a good idea of what the book is about.

The Capitalist Quagmire in Mainstream Conservation

The book begins with a fairly scathing critique of mainstream conservation efforts, which are increasingly entangled with capitalist ideologies. This marriage of convenience between capitalism and conservation has led to the commodification of nature, epitomised by the concept of "natural capital." Put that way it becomes fully obvious that such an approach is fundamentally flawed. Not only does it ultimately serve capitalist needs, but it also fails to address the root causes of biodiversity loss and instead perpetuates the very systems that lead to environmental degradation.

Radical Alternatives and Their Limitations

Büscher and Fletcher don't just stop at critiquing mainstream conservation; they also scrutinise radical alternatives like "new conservation" and "neoprotectionism." While these approaches challenge the status quo, they too are fraught with contradictions. For instance, they often neglect the historical intertwining of capitalism and the nature-culture dichotomy, a relationship that has shaped our understanding and treatment of the natural world.

Indeed, this is one of the book's key insights. Conservation emerged as a counterforce to the destructive tendencies of capitalism but often ended up reinforcing the very dichotomies it sought to dissolve. This complex relationship between capitalism, culture, and nature necessitates a more nuanced approach to conservation—one that addresses these interlinked dynamics.

Neither of the two contemporary alternatives escape this dichotomising, although “new conservation” is ultimately deemed the more culpable of the two. We’ll return to this critique later.

Convivial Conservation: A Postcapitalist Vision

At the heart of the book is the authors' proposal for "Convivial Conservation," a coherent postcapitalist, nondualist alternative vision. This approach calls for a comprehensive strategy that targets power across different scales (local, national, and global), actors (from local communities to global corporations), and timeframes (both short-term reforms and long-term systemic transformations).

The Need for Holistic Change

The book argues that real change requires a holistic approach that connects immediate actions to the broader struggle for systemic change. This involves redistribution, degrowth, and democratic governance as essential components to transform conservation. It also calls upon critical scholars to move beyond mere critique and to help construct alternatives, aligning themselves with broader movements for social and environmental justice.

Now let’s take each chapter in turn to see how their argument progresses.

Introduction

The Introduction soon makes it evident that we are at a pivotal moment in the history of conservation. Büscher and Fletcher make it clear that a revolution in conservation is not just imminent but necessary. This urgency is driven by the existential threats we face—climate change and biodiversity loss—that demand a radical overhaul of how we approach the conservation of nature.

The Inadequacy of Mainstream Conservation

The introduction sets the stage by critiquing mainstream conservation, which has been primarily focused on creating protected areas and commodifying nature into "natural capital." Such approaches, the authors argue, are no longer sufficient to address the complex and interlinked challenges we face:

"Without directly addressing capitalism and its many engrained dichotomies and contradictions, we cannot tackle the conservation challenges before us." - p.9

Radical Alternatives and Their Shortcomings

The authors also introduce the two radical alternatives mentioned, broad streams that have emerged in response to the inadequacies of mainstream conservation. The first, "New Conservation," proposes managing the entire planet as a "rambunctious garden," (as described by science journalist Emma Marris). It rejects wilderness ideals and aims to align conservation with economic growth and poverty alleviation. Its main failure is that embracing capitalism-for-conservation contradicts moving beyond the nature-culture dichotomies that capitalism depends on.

The second, "Neoprotectionism," advocates for setting aside (in its extreme form) at least half the planet as protected areas (the “Nature Needs Half” campaign). Advocates of this approach criticise the Anthropocene concept as distoring humans’ influence over nature, which is not evenly distributed, and downplaying the need to protect more spaces for "self-willed" wilderness. They see the anthropocene concept as license to accept human-induced changes rather than protecting nature's autonomy. Instead, they advocate reigning in capitalism's excesses.

Nevertheless, the neoprotectionist approach fails to address the fact that one can't simply separate nature and people to solve environmental issues - not least because by ringfencing nature there is no guarantee that the effects of capitalism will not be felt on the Nature side: after all, capitalism always aims at growth, and there is only so much earth. It also doesn't address poverty caused by both conservation and development.

While these alternatives present far-reaching challenges to mainstream conservation, they too are fraught with contradictions, particularly in their neglect of the historical intertwining of capitalism and the nature-culture dichotomy.

Convivial Conservation: A New Paradigm

The introduction then touches on the book's central proposal: "Convivial Conservation." This alternative paradigm starts from a political ecology perspective steeped in a critique of capitalist political economy. It rejects the dichotomies between nature and culture that have plagued conservation efforts for decades.

 "We see [the two radical proposals], rather, as a prelude to the fundamental transformation that is needed. This is where convivial conservation comes in." - p.9

The proposal is expanded upon in chapter 5.

The Changing Landscape of Conservation and Capitalism

Capitalism and the nature-culture dichotomy are deeply intertwined, and this relationship is undergoing rapid changes. The authors aim to make political choices clearer in what they refer to as the "Trump moment," a period where radical conservation choices are being made, often without adequate scrutiny or understanding of their long-term implications. Given their contemporaneousness, we can probably add to that category the implications for deforestation by Brazil’s then president Bolsonaro.

Chapter 1: Conservation in the Anthropocene

Chapter 1 captures the lived reality of a conservation community in crisis, grappling with how to move forward amidst divergent perspectives and inherent contradictions, and highlighting the urgent need for a new paradigm.

Fortress Conservation vs. Community-Based Conservation

We start by taking a look at the issues of the "great conservation debate." This debate has long been a battleground over the role of protected areas and their impact on local communities.

The first approach, "fortress conservation," has been critiqued for its tendency to displace local populations in the name of environmental protection. The second, "community-based conservation," seeks to integrate conservation and development, aiming for a more harmonious coexistence between humans and nature. We delve more into these later in chapters 2 and 3.
The Capitalist Turn in Mainstream Conservation

The theme of a turn to capitalism in mainstream conservation is reinforced in this chapter. Conservation is increasingly employing market-based instruments and framing nature as "natural capital" to be efficiently managed.

"We witness how conservation has become more central to global mainstream capitalist dynamics. Hence mainstream capitalism is quickly coming to grips with the importance of conservation to capitalist processes, even if this is mostly still discursive at present." - p.21

Radical Alternatives: New Conservation and Neoprotectionism

The two radical alternatives are mentioned again, this time positioned as emerging in response to the limitations of mainstream conservation. "New Conservation" proposes managing the planet as a "rambunctious garden," aligning conservation with economic growth and poverty alleviation. On the other hand, "Neoprotectionism" advocates for setting aside (at least) half the planet as protected areas, aiming to rein in the excesses of capitalism.

The Nature–Culture Dichotomy and the Need for a Coherent Framework

Exploring the complexities of the human-nature dichotomy is key to moving beyond the current crisis. Each position—mainstream, New Conservation, and Neoprotectionism—contains contradictions, especially concerning key concepts like intrinsic vs. exchange value and the separation vs. integration of humans and nature. They call for an evidence based, scientific approach:

"What is most fundamentally at stake here is the nature–culture dichotomy itself and how to relate scientific findings and endeavours to this binary – and vice versa." - p. 40

To make sense of these issues, a more consistent, coherent framework is required.

"What we therefore need is a more consistent, coherent frame and set of principles to make sense of the issues that both neoprotectionists and new conservationists struggle with." - p. 44-5

This sets the stage for the authors’ alternative proposal later on.

Chapter 2: Dichotomous Natures

 

The Nature-Culture Dichotomy

The nature-culture dichotomy.is one of the most enduring and contentious debates in conservation, and this chapter goes all the way in to investigate this conceptual underpinning of conservation. New conservationists advocate for dismantling this dichotomy:

"Central for new conservationists is the fact that conservation is not any longer something that is done behind symbolic and material fences or through the separation of ‘humans’ from ‘nature’. Instead, they stress that conservation must be done throughout all human activity, and especially economic activity." - p. 69

On the other hand, neoprotectionists typically defend traditional concepts like wilderness, and ringfencing nature to protect it from humans.

 

Capitalism's Role in Shaping the Dichotomy

Capitalism has historically co-produced the nature-culture dichotomy. This is evident in phenomena like the metabolic rift, which Marx described as “the process whereby the agronomic methods of agro-industrialisation abandon agriculture’s natural biological base, reducing the possibility of recycling nutrients in and through the soil and water.”

Capitalism's relentless drive for growth creates a separation between humans and nature that is devastating for nature:

“the nature–culture dichotomy is deeply problematic. World systems sociologist Jason Moore even argues that this ‘dualism drips with blood and dirt, from its sixteenth century origins to capitalism in its twilight’. The reason for making such a strong statement is that the specific nature–culture dichotomy inaugurated by the onset and development of capitalism allowed for new forms of rational, technocratic, mechanistic and profit-driven manipulation of nature – including humans and, especially, women." - p. 71

The Unintended Consequences of Conservation

Interestingly, conservation itself emerged partly as a countermeasure to the destruction wrought by capitalism. However, in doing so, it often reinforced the very dichotomies it aimed to dissolve, particularly through practices like the displacement of local populations from areas that were then designated as protected areas or wilderness reserves, and the separation between human habitats and protected areas.

The Limits of New Conservation

New conversationists, in spite of their attempts to reconcile the nature-culture dichotomy, cannot get around the fact that their approach is aligned with capitalism, contradicting their efforts:

"While new conservation aims to do away with certain nature–culture dichotomies, particularly that between the ‘wild’ and the ‘domesticated’, they do not discuss or even acknowledge other, subtler yet fundamental dichotomies that they establish or strengthen through their support for capitalist conservation." - p. 77

This points to the only reasonably conclusion, that to truly move beyond these dichotomies, we must engage with their roots in capitalism itself. 

Chapter 3: The Change Capitalism Makes

In Chapter 3 we delve further into the inherent contradictions and limitations of capitalist conservation, making it clear that an alternative is required that moves beyond the current alternatives.

Conservation and Capitalism

The chapter begins by laying bare the unsustainable nature of capitalism, an economic system driven by an insatiable demand for continual growth. This expansionary drive leads to a host of problems, including environmental crises, dispossession, and metabolic rifts between humans and nature:

"A substantial body of research has demonstrated that capitalism is an inherently expansionary system driven by a demand for continual growth in order to overcome the cyclical stagnation that afflicts it." - p. 78

The authors reiterate that conservation emerged partly as a countermeasure to the destruction caused by capitalism. However, in doing so, it often reinforced the very dichotomies and dispossessions it aimed to resolve.

"In other words – and this is a crucial argument in the book – conservation and capitalism have intrinsically co-produced each other, and hence the nature–culture dichotomy is foundational to both." - p.72

New Conservation vs. Neoprotectionism

The chapter scrutinises the approaches of both new conservationists, who embrace capitalist growth, and neoprotectionists, who increasingly question the tenets of growth, consumerism, and development. It argues that neither approach sufficiently addresses the capitalist imperatives that drive environmental degradation.

They ciritique neoprotectionism for not engaging with the problems that capitalism poses:

"The question of how to tackle capitalist imperatives of growth and consumerism therefore remains rather vague, and certainly not answered by a focus on protected areas or rewilding." - p. 93

They also critique the neoprotectionists' "half earth" concept, which advocates for setting aside half of the Earth as protected areas. The authors argue that this approach increases the rift between humans and nature without adequately addressing the poverty and inequality that are often exacerbated by both conservation and development initiatives.

"Yet their ‘half earth’ proposal, as we argued, does little to solve historical deprivations caused by both conservation and development, including mass poverty. This idea demands that we refocus attention on the close links between conservation and development. Not only is this crucial in order to do justice to the – very real – poverty caused by conservation, but also to demystify development’s history and potential. After all, capitalist growth and consumerism are often referred to as – or even replaced with – the more general and positive-sounding ‘development’." - p. 80

The Conflation of Conservation and Capitalist Development

Things get worse. Conservation and capitalist development have not only become increasingly intertwined, it has come to the point where some view them as identical, particularly through the lens of "natural capital."

"Yet capitalist conservation is contested in many other ways as well. Researchers, for example, worry that efforts to economically value natural resources as the basis for their conservation risk reducing their intrinsic, aesthetic and cultural values." - p. 113

The Need for Radical Change

The authors conclude the chapter by emphasising the need for radical change, arguing that the contradictions of capitalist conservation—manifested in phenomena like financialisation and green militarisation—demonstrate the urgent need to move beyond capitalism:

"Quite the opposite: the change that capitalism makes increasingly demonstrates that it is the political economic system that needs to change; that more people need to become (even more) serious about moving beyond capitalism, the nature it conserves and the types of development it embodies altogether." - p. 114

 

Chapter 4: Radical Possibilities

 

Convivial Conservation as a Transition Discourse

The authors position Convivial Conservation as one of many "transition discourses," joining a broader river of transformative ideas that range from "buen vivir" in Bolivia to Kate Raworth’s "doughnut economics."

"Our proposal should be seen as one of many confluent streams contributing to a much larger river of what Arturo Escobar calls 'transition discourses' and what McKenzie Wark refers to as acts of 'alternative realism'." - p. 147

The Imperative of Degrowth

One of the chapter's key arguments is that Convivial Conservation must flow together with the concept of degrowth. This is a radical departure from the growth-dependent conservation models tied to capitalism.

"If conservation is tied to capitalism and capitalism necessitates growth, then degrowth, in its more radical incarnation, means moving beyond capitalism and hence should have profound consequences for conservation." - p. 152

Redirecting Resources

Convivial Conservation aims to bypass the need for funding through growth by redirecting resources to support both biodiversity protection and the livelihoods of local people:

"Rather than seeking to generate additional finance through spurring further economic growth, therefore, we will argue that convivial conservation must seek to redirect resources from other arenas to support both biodiversity protection and the livelihoods of local people who depend on them." - p. 153

Reclaiming Revolution

Büscher and Fletcher go on to argue that merely thinking and imagining beyond capitalism is in itself a revolutionary act. This is a call to reclaim the idea of revolution itself, to make it a part of our collective consciousness.
 

A Broader Revolutionary Context

The authors stress that Convivial Conservation is not an isolated proposal but connects to many ongoing struggles for social and environmental justice within a broader revolutionary context:
 

"Convivial conservation must be pursued within a broader revolutionary context of degrowth and sharing the wealth that promotes mixed landscapes in which humans and nonhumans coexist rather than being separated by promoting radical redistribution of resource ownership and control through reining in the power of global corporations." - p. 156-7

 

Chapter 5: Towards Convivial Conservation

Finally, in Chapter 5 the authors introduce Convivial Conservation - a slightly awkward word that nevertheless captures their intention to enable truly open, creative, and non-commodified relationships between humans and nonhuman natures.

A Postcapitalist, Nondualist Approach

We are by now familiar with the authors’ two key concerns of the nature-culture dichotomy, and capitalism with all the problems it poses for conservation. They introduce Convivial Conservation as a postcapitalist and nondualist paradigm. It focuses on "living with" rather than separating humans and nature, challenging the dualistic thinking that has long plagued conservation efforts.

The Vision

They outline a comprehensive vision that includes moving from protected to promoted areas, saving both human and nonhuman nature, engaged visitation, everyday environmentalism, and democratic governance.

At its core, convivial conservation moves beyond rigid divides between humans and nature. It envisions conservation not as "protecting nature from people" but as "promoting nature for, to and by humans." As the authors explain, "The principal goal of special conservation areas should not be to protect nature from humans but to promote nature for, to and by humans. They should transition from protected to ‘promoted areas’." (p. 163).

This entails a shift away from short-term tourist visits towards long-term, democratic engagement with both everyday and spectacular natures. In the words of the authors, "Under convivial conservation, the emphasis will be on long-term democratic engagement rather than on short-term voyeuristic tourism or elite access and privilege." (p. 169)

Critically, convivial conservation requires democratic involvement in conservation governance, rather than control by distant technocratic experts. The authors highlight that "Convivial conservation grounded in radical ecological democracy would require that the value of natural resources be determined locally rather than in abstract global (and increasingly algorithm-based, computerized) markets." (p. 173)

Transitioning to convivial conservation also means moving away from reliance on capitalist markets and growth. As the authors make clear, "Convivial conservation cannot and will not prioritize capital in making decisions about resource allocations, how to manage promoted areas, how to celebrate nature or how to organize engaged visitation." (p. 173)

Change requires a multi-faceted approach that targets power across different scales, social groups, and timeframes. This involves a two-step strategy that "does not separate but rather combines (radical) reformism and radical, systemic change away from capitalist modes of production, valuation, exchange and living" (p. 179) and engagement across various actor categories, each with differential impacts on conservation.

This vision covers a whole range of actions including historic reparations, a conservation basic income, rethinking corporate relations, integrated landscapes, democratic governance, and alternative funding mechanisms. These actions are not just theoretical but are grounded in the lived realities of communities and ecosystems.

Importantly, Convivial Conservation is presented as a loose set of principles designed for participatory co-creation rather than a rigid, one-size-fits-all plan. It is part of a broader collective effort that invites contributions from various stakeholders.

 

Conclusion: Revolution!

In short, "The Conservation Revolution" is a summons to revolution.

The authors remind us that the term "radical" is derived from the Latin words 'radix' or 'radic,' meaning 'roots.' In this sense, being radical means going to the root of the issue, something that current capitalist conservation strategies fail to do despite their seemingly extreme proposals.

Convivial conservation is presented as an act of "alternative realism," a paradigm that imagines conservation outside the constraints of capitalist logic. It's a vision that dares to dream of a different world, one where conservation is not commodified but is instead integrated into the fabric of our social and economic systems.

The Urgency of the 'Trump Moment'

The authors argue that the election of Donald Trump has made it even more dangerous not to challenge the capitalist drivers behind biodiversity destruction. This "Trump moment" exposes the refusal of mainstream conservation to support the radical changes that are desperately needed.

Nevertheless, the choices are pretty clear: redistribute control over resources and transition to an equitable, post-growth economy. These are not options but necessities if we are to address the root causes of biodiversity loss and climate change.

Critical scholars also have an important role to play. They must stake out clear positions and ally themselves with broader movements for just change. Intellectual critique must be accompanied by active participation in shaping alternatives, rather than just pursuing ivory tower academic work and shying away from the realities.

 

My take

This has been a tight read with a clear eye on pointing a way out of the current stalemates in conservation discourse. While I am largely enthused, I do feel that nature-culture integration requires a broad educational thrust that does not fantasise about nature, but acknowledges the sheer difference between species, and why the landscape will be difficult to integrate.

It will require understanding and respect, and solving numerous problems. As any farmer will tell you, predators and livestock - let alone humans - do not mingle well. Yet in this integrated landscape of biodiversity we will need apex predators, and every kind of fauna and flora, to realise Büscher and Fletcher's inspiring vision.

Language learning with ChatGPT

Just the other night, I was musing over my unsatisfactory efforts in language learning. Then a moment of inspiration struck: why not put ChatGPT to the task of mimicking a language companion?

I put it to the test with Swedish, a language in which my proficiency only extends to the most rudimentary phrases. Lo and behold, after a bit of trial and error, I found the experience to be quite the linguistic adventure - with the added bonus of having a detailed record of the journey. Handy, eh?

Now, to be fair, this is a beast of a different nature compared to structured learning platforms such as Duolingo and Rosetta Stone, with their arsenal of multimedia aids. But I've always been a fan of diving straight into conversation, even if I initially flounder like a fish out of water. Why, you may ask? Well, because it nudges me to focus, which really speeds up the learning process. That, and the experience of having a conversational partner, which is an absolute memory booster.

My curiosity piqued, I scoured the Internet to see if other brave souls have been utilising ChatGPT as a language partner. It appears to have been employed more often as a kind of interactive Babel Fish. Marvellous and malleable as that may be, it rather resembles the previous breed of translation apps, including Google Translate.

In my humble opinion, the true power of ChatGPT as a language learning aid lies in its ability to help conjure up a more immersive learning environment. It's not perfect, obviously, and you have to put in the effort. But that is sort of part of the point. Want to learn Greenlandic whilst trudging through a simulated icy tundra? Now you can (probably). The sky's the limit - or rather, your imagination is.

Below is my interaction thus far:

Me:

Pretend that you are teaching me Swedish. My name is Auguste, and I am from London, coming to study in Stockholm, and you are a language teacher and friend called Bjorn, teaching me Swedish. We are meeting in a Swedish cafe. You are guiding me as to the language and culture of Sweden (and Stockholm in particular). My Swedish is at beginner level, and as a result you find you have to help me a lot, often using English, at which you are fluent. The way that you like to teach is through very simple conversation, gauging my level and then pulling me further along. For each interaction, wait for me to respond before offering your own response, in other words do not answer on my behalf - I will answer for myself.

ChatGPT:

Hej Auguste! Welcome to Stockholm! This is one of my favorite cafés, known for its Fika culture. Do you know about Fika?

Me:

Hej Bjorn! Great to be here. No I don't, what is Fika?

ChatGPT:

"Fika" is a very important concept in Swedish culture. It's a bit like a coffee break, but it's more than that. It's a time for socializing, relaxing, and often includes having coffee or tea with a sweet pastry. Fika can be with friends, family, or colleagues. It's an integral part of Swedish daily life and work-life balance. In fact, this café is a great place to have a 'fika'. Now, how about ordering? Would you like me to help you with that?

Me:

Oh that sounds great, I think I will enjoy participating in 'Fika'. How do you say that? Yes let's order. I would like to get a coffee and a typical Danish pastry. What would you recommend? For the coffee, I think the right way is "Jag vil bestalla en kaffe", or something like that, but how do I say I would like it Cortado style? Or is there a more Swedish style of coffee that you would recommend?

ChatGPT:

Yes, you're quite right about how to order coffee! "Jag vill beställa en kaffe" is the way to say it. If you want to order a cortado, you can say "Jag vill ha en cortado." The words "vill ha" mean "want" in Swedish.

But in Sweden, we commonly drink brewed coffee. It's quite different from Italian espresso-based drinks, but still worth trying. You can order it by saying "Jag vill ha ett bryggkaffe."

As for the pastry, instead of a Danish pastry, I would recommend trying a 'kanelbulle', a Swedish cinnamon roll, or perhaps a 'semla', which is a cardamom-spiced wheat bun filled with almond paste and whipped cream, though it's traditionally eaten around Lent. You can order a kanelbulle by saying, "Jag vill också ha en kanelbulle."

Let's give it a try!

Me:

Ok great, thank you! [We go to the counter to the order, assuming that is the right protocol here]. I say: "Hej! Jag vill beställa en kaffe. Ja vil ha ett bryggkaffe." The chap behind the counter smiles at my pronunciation but seems to appreciate the effort. I think next he will say "Would you like anything else?" But I am not sure how that goes. Perhaps you can create his dialogue and I will try to answer.

ChatGPT:

That's perfect, Auguste! I am sure the person at the counter understood you. In response to your order, he would most likely ask: "Vill du ha något annat?" which means "Would you like anything else?"

Go ahead and reply with your pastry order!

Me:

"Tack, jag vill också ha en kanelbulle."

ChatGPT:

That was very well said, Auguste! Your pronunciation is getting better. I'm sure the kanelbulle will be a great treat along with the bryggkaffe.

Now, after you've placed your order, you might hear the barista say "Något mer?" which means "Anything else?". If you're finished ordering, you can say "Nej, det är allt, tack." which means "No, that's all, thank you."

Go ahead and try it!

Me:

I shake my head and say: "Nej, det är allt, tack." I guess now we have to pay?

ChatGPT:

Yes, that's right, Auguste! Now, it's time to pay. The cashier might say, "Det blir 75 kronor, tack," which means, "That will be 75 kronor, thank you." You can respond by saying, "Jag betalar med kort," if you're paying by card, or "Jag betalar kontant," if you're paying with cash. Both phrases mean "I am paying with card/cash."

You're doing really well! Swedish isn't the easiest language, but you're picking it up nicely. Keep it up!

Me:

Thanks. I say "Jag betalar kontant" and count out exactly 75 kronor. While waiting as the barista makes the coffee, you talk about cafe culture in Swedish - nothing too complicated - to test my understanding. Do not provide a translation immediately, but first see how much I understood.

ChatGPT:

That's great, Auguste! Now, while we're waiting, let me share a bit about Swedish café culture. "I Sverige älskar vi våra kaféer. Det är platser där vi tar en paus, träffar vänner eller bara njuter av en god kopp kaffe. Fika är en viktig del av denna kultur. Vi tar alltid tid för en fika, oavsett hur upptagen dagen kan vara."

Now, can you tell me what you understood from this?

Me:

Ok, I think you are saying that "In Sweden, everybody likes to go to cafés. There are places you can go for a break and drink a good cup of coffee [this is a long sentence and I don't think I understood everything]. Fika is an integral part of the culture. We always make time for a fika, as it helps you get through the day." I might need some help with that, haha.

ChatGPT:

You did a great job, Auguste! You got the main ideas. The longer sentence you mentioned was about cafés being places where Swedes take a break, meet with friends, or simply enjoy a good cup of coffee. So you were mostly right there.

But don't worry, Swedish is a tricky language to learn and you're doing wonderfully. Keep practicing like this and soon you'll be quite proficient. Shall we continue our fika?

Me:

Could you give me a direct translation of the whole paragraph? Yes, absolutely, let's continue our fika, this is a great way to learn and relax at the same time.

ChatGPT:

Of course, Auguste. The direct translation would be: "In Sweden, we love our cafés. They are places where we take a break, meet friends or just enjoy a good cup of coffee. Fika is an important part of this culture. We always take time for a fika, regardless of how busy the day may be."

And I'm glad to hear you're enjoying our fika. It's indeed a pleasant and sociable way to learn. Let's continue with our conversation. Perhaps you can tell me about your experiences in Stockholm so far - first in English, and then we can work on how to express it in Swedish. What do you think?

Notes

1. Google Translate tells me that Bjorn's translations are accurate, so that's good. However, knowing ChatGPT can be confident when saying wrong things it's definitely worth double checking if in doubt.
   
2. In my first paragraph I asked multiple questions, and ChatGPT missed the first one. "I think I will enjoy participating in 'Fika'. How do you say that?" Admittedly, it was a little ambiguous in the context of the paragraph even if, in person, it would have been a natural question to ask. As always with ChatGPT, clarity and guidance goes a long way.
3. I tried running some of ChatGPT's conversation through a text-to-speech app (Speechify's online version). I realised pretty quick that it won't work without some backend tweaking, as individual voices are language specific. However, one approach that just about works is to use the voice of the language you want to learn. When voicing the language to be learned - Swedish, in this case - it will sound correct. Voicing the other language (English, in this case) will sound jarring, but mostly understandable.

ChatGPT rewrites The Masque of the Red Death

ChatGPT is pretty good at writing prose and, to a greater or lesser extent, can imitate different writing styles. So I wondered if it could write The Masque of the Red Death in a kind of modernist, stream-of-consciousness style. The answer is maybe, but not this time. 

The result is not too much like Woolf's or Joyce's prose, but it is very readable and is probably more accessible than the original, at least to the modern reader.

Note: ChatGPT can only generate a limited amount of text at a time, so to coax ChatGPT into writing the story in chunks, rather than trying to summarise it all at once, I had to prompt it with something like "Rewrite the following text from Poe's The Masque of the Red Death in the first person past tense from the point of view of a guardian knight, using a highly emotional, stream-of-consciousness style with interior monologue similar to that of Virginia Woolf and James Joyce. Be sure not to use any of the original sentences, and use evocative, painterly metaphors:" and "Continue the story from the perspective of the knight by rewriting the following text in the same vein. Be sure not to use any of the original sentences, and use evocative, painterly metaphors."

The Masque of the Red Death, in the style of Woolf and Joyce

 I was a guardian knight for the Prince Prospero, sworn to protect him at all costs. The Red Death had ravaged the land for months, leaving a trail of blood and despair in its wake. Its symptoms were brutal - sharp pains, dizziness, and then the inevitable bleeding from every pore, until death. The scarlet stains that marked its victims were a curse, condemning them to isolation and loneliness. The whole ordeal lasted just half an hour, but it was a lifetime of suffering.

But the prince was different. He was happy, fearless, and wise. As the plague decimated his kingdom, he called upon a thousand of his closest friends and knights, including myself, to join him in a secluded abbey. It was a grand and opulent structure, built to the prince's own unique taste, with high walls and iron gates. We all worked together to weld the gates shut, determined to keep out any impulses of despair or madness. The abbey was stocked with everything we needed to weather the storm - food, entertainment, wine, and beauty. The outside world could fend for itself, as long as we had each other and all the comforts within.

It was at the height of the plague, during the fifth or sixth month of our isolation, that the prince threw a masked ball of extraordinary splendor.

It was a luxurious masquerade, held in seven irregularly shaped rooms - an imperial suite. Most palaces have straight corridors with folding doors that slide open to reveal the full length of the suite, but not here. The prince had a taste for the bizarre, and each room was arranged in a way that only allowed a limited view at a time. There were sharp turns every twenty or thirty yards, each one revealing a new surprise. On either side of the walls, tall and narrow Gothic windows looked out onto a closed corridor that followed the twists and turns of the suite. The windows were made of stained glass, each one a different color corresponding to the hue of the room it opened into. The eastern room was blue, the second purple, the third green, the fourth orange, the fifth white, the sixth violet. The seventh room, however, was shrouded in black velvet tapestries that covered the ceiling and walls, falling in heavy folds onto a carpet of the same color. The windows in this room were scarlet, a deep blood color. None of the rooms had any lamps or candelabra, but in the corridors outside each window stood a heavy tripod with a brazier of fire that cast its rays through the tinted glass, brightly illuminating the rooms. This created a multitude of dazzling and fantastical appearances. But in the western, or black, room, the firelight streaming through the blood-tinted windows gave a ghastly appearance, causing many of the guests to avoid setting foot inside.

It was in the western room where a massive ebony clock stood against the wall. Its pendulum swung back and forth with a dull, heavy, monotonous clang, and when the minute hand completed a circuit of the face, the clock struck the hour with a clear, loud, deep, and extremely musical note that was so peculiar it caused the musicians in the orchestra to pause momentarily in their performance, and the waltzers to stop their dancing. The whole company was momentarily disconcerted, and even the giddiest of guests grew pale while the more mature ones passed their hands over their brows as if in confusion or contemplation. But as soon as the echoes had fully faded, light laughter filled the room as the musicians smiled at their own nervousness and made whispered vows to each other not to be affected by the next chime. Sixty minutes later, when the clock struck again, there was the same disconcert and hesitation among the guests.

Despite these moments of unease, it was a lavish and magnificent celebration. The prince had a unique taste for color and effects, disregarding the traditional decorations of fashion. His plans were bold and fiery, and his ideas glowed with a barbaric radiance. Some might have thought him mad, but those who knew him understood that he was not. It was necessary to see, hear, and touch him to be sure.
The prince had taken great care in decorating the seven rooms for the masquerade, and it was his own unique taste that gave character to the costumes of the guests. They were certainly bizarre, with mismatched limbs and extravagant adornments, delirious fancies, and a mix of the beautiful, wanton, and grotesque, with a hint of terror and disgust. The rooms were filled with a multitude of dreams that seemed to writhe and take on the hues of the rooms, and the wild music of the orchestra seemed like the echo of their steps. Suddenly, the ebony clock in the hall would strike, causing a moment of stillness and silence, as the dreams froze in place. But as the chimes faded, a light, half-subdued laughter followed them as they retreated. The music would swell again, and the dreams came back to life, writhing more merrily than before, taking on the colors of the tinted windows through which the light from the tripods streamed. But no one dared venture into the westernmost room, where the night was drawing to a close and a ruddier light shone through the blood-colored windows. The blackness of the sable drapery was intimidating, and the muffled peal of the nearby ebony clock, more solemn and emphatic than any of the other rooms, echoed through the chamber.

But while the western room was empty, the other rooms were densely crowded, pulsing with the energy of life. The revelry continued until midnight, when the music stopped and the dancing slowed, replaced by a tense stillness. The clock struck twelve times, and as the last echoes faded, many in the crowd found themselves noticing a masked figure that had not been there before. The rumor of this new presence spread quickly, and there was a whisper of disapproval and surprise, followed by fear, horror, and disgust. In a crowd of phantoms such as the ones at the masquerade, it would take a truly extraordinary appearance to stir such a reaction. The masker had gone beyond even the prince's loose standards of propriety, with a costume and bearing that showed no wit or propriety. The figure was tall and gaunt, dressed in the clothes of the grave and wearing a mask that so closely resembled a stiffened corpse that it took close scrutiny to see the deception. But the masker had gone even further, taking on the appearance of the Red Death itself. The costume was splattered with blood, and the broad forehead and features were sprinkled with the scarlet horror.

When the prince laid eyes on the ghostly figure, which moved slowly and solemnly among the waltzers as if to fully embrace its role, he was first overcome with terror or disgust, followed by anger. "Who dares to insult us with this blasphemous mockery?" he demanded hoarsely of the nearby courtiers. "Seize him and unmask him so we can hang him from the battlements at sunrise!" His words rang clearly through the seven rooms as he stood in the eastern room, the blue one. He was a bold and robust man, and the music had stopped at the wave of his hand.

The prince stood in the blue room with a group of pale courtiers by his side. As he spoke, the group began to move towards the intruder, who approached the prince with stately steps. But no one put forth a hand to seize him, out of fear of the madman's assumptions, and he passed within a yard of the prince's person. He made his way through the blue room to the purple, then to the green, orange, white, and violet, before anyone moved to stop him. The prince, filled with rage and shame at his own cowardice, rushed through the six rooms with a drawn dagger, pursuing the figure. He approached within a few feet of the retreating figure, but as he reached the end of the violet room, the figure turned and faced him. The prince let out a sharp cry and dropped the dagger as he fell to the ground, dead. The other revelers summoned the courage of despair and rushed into the black room, seizing the tall, motionless figure in the shadow of the ebony clock. But they were horrified to find the grave clothes and corpse-like mask were empty, with no tangible form inside.

The Red Death had arrived like a thief in the night, and one by one, the revelers fell to the ground, covered in blood, and died in despair. The life of the ebony clock went out with the last of the revelers, and the flames of the tripods extinguished. Darkness, decay, and the Red Death held sway over all.

Virginia Woolf's The Waves with Stable Diffusion 2.0

Virginia Woolf’s writing is not only poetic, but also wonderfully visual. At times her masterly fusion of language and visual imagery transcends mere language to become an alchemy of ideas. Take this example in The Waves when Bernard has a sudden epiphany about time:
 

'And time,' said Bernard, 'lets fall its drop. The drop that has formed on the roof of the soul falls. On the roof of my mind time, forming, lets fall its drop. Last week, as I stood shaving, the drop fell. I, standing with my razor in my hand, became suddenly aware of the merely habitual nature of my action (this is the drop forming) and congratulated my hands, ironically, for keeping at it. Shave, shave, shave, I said. Go on shaving. The drop fell. All through the day's work, at intervals, my mind went to an empty place, saying, "What is lost? What is over?" And "Over and done with," I muttered, "over and done with," solacing myself with words. People noticed the vacuity of my face and the aimlessness of my conversation. The last words of my sentence tailed away. And as I buttoned on my coat to go home I said more dramatically, "I have lost my youth."

'It is curious how, at every crisis, some phrase which does not fit insists upon coming to the rescue--the penalty of living in an old civilization with a notebook. This drop falling has nothing to do with losing my youth. This drop falling is time tapering to a point. Time, which is a sunny pasture covered with a dancing light, time, which is widespread as a field at midday, becomes pendant. Time tapers to a point. As a drop falls from a glass heavy with some sediment, time falls. These are the true cycles, these are the true events. Then as if all the luminosity of the atmosphere were withdrawn I see to the bare bottom. I see what habit covers. - p. 157

The merest of notes has furnished Bernard with this image, enabling him to give voice to the realisation that his youth has passed. By stretching time beyond the “old civilisation” he finds himself in, all the way to geological time, the sense of loss in his own life becomes palpable “as a drop falls from a glass heavy with some sediment”.

The Waves is divided into sections that mark the passing of time. At the beginning of each section a short passage describes the movement of the sun at that time of day, with the first starting just before sunrise. It is written in beautiful, painterly language, and I wondered how a text-to-image AI like Stable Diffusion would fare with this language.

Below is my attempt to create accompanying visuals for the first section using Stable Diffusion 2.0. Some were cherry picked after multiple rounds, while others were generated on the first or second attempt, The exact prompts I used are at the end.

The sun had not yet risen. The sea was indistinguishable from the sky, except that the sea was slightly creased as if a cloth had wrinkles in it. 

 

Gradually as the sky whitened a dark line lay on the horizon dividing the sea from the sky and the grey cloth became barred with thick strokes moving, one after another, beneath the surface, following each other, pursuing each other, perpetually.

 

 

As they neared the shore each bar rose, heaped itself, broke and swept a thin veil of white water across the sand. The wave paused, and then drew out again, sighing like a sleeper whose breath comes and goes unconsciously. 

 

Gradually the dark bar on the horizon became clear as if the sediment in an old wine-bottle had sunk and left the glass green. Behind it, too, the sky cleared as if the white sediment there had sunk, or as if the arm of a woman couched beneath the horizon had raised a lamp and flat bars of white, green and yellow spread across the sky like the blades of a fan. Then she raised her lamp higher and the air seemed to become fibrous and to tear away from the green surface flickering and flaming in red and yellow fibres like the smoky fire that roars from a bonfire. 

 

Gradually the fibres of the burning bonfire were fused into one haze, one incandescence which lifted the weight of the woollen grey sky on top of it and turned it to a million atoms of soft blue. The surface of the sea slowly became transparent and lay rippling and sparkling until the dark stripes were almost rubbed out. Slowly the arm that held the lamp raised it higher and then higher until a broad flame became visible; an arc of fire burnt on the rim of the horizon, and all round it the sea blazed gold.

 

The light struck upon the trees in the garden, making one leaf transparent and then another. One bird chirped high up; there was a pause; another chirped lower down. 

 

The sun sharpened the walls of the house, and rested like the tip of a fan upon a white blind and made a blue finger-print of shadow under the leaf by the bedroom window. The blind stirred slightly, but all within was dim and unsubstantial. The birds sang their blank melody outside.

 

Prompts

1.

As the sky whitened a dark line lay on the horizon dividing the sea from the sky, by John Constable

2.

As the sky whitened a dark line lay on the horizon dividing the sea from the sky.
Monet, Ken Bushe, John Kensett

3.

Before dawn, As they neared the shore each bar rose, heaped itself, broke and swept a thin veil of white water across the sand. The wave paused, and then drew out again, sighing like a sleeper whose breath comes and goes unconsciously.
Monet, Ken Bushe, John Kensett

4.

At sunrise by the sea, the sky cleared as if the white sediment there had sunk, or as if the arm of a woman couched beneath the horizon had raised a lamp and flat bars of white, green and yellow spread across the sky like the blades of a fan. Then she raised her lamp higher.
Byron Pickering, Albert Bierstadt, Turner, Henry Moore

5.

The surface of the sea slowly became transparent and lay rippling and sparkling until the dark stripes were almost rubbed out.
Slowly the arm that held the lamp raised it higher and then higher until a broad flame became visible;
an arc of fire burnt on the rim of the horizon, and all round it the sea blazed gold.
Monet, Byron Pickering, Albert Bierstadt, Turner

6.

At sunrise, the light struck upon the trees in the garden, making one leaf transparent and then another.
One bird chirped high up; there was a pause; another chirped lower down.
The sun sharpened the walls of the house, and rested like the tip of a fan upon a white blind.
Edward Hopper, Claude Monet

7.

After sunrise in the garden, the sun sharpened the walls of the house, and rested like the tip of a fan upon a white blind and made a blue finger-print of shadow under the leaf by the bedroom window.
The blind stirred slightly, but all within was dim and unsubstantial.
Edouard Manet, John Constable, Henry Woods, Henry John Sylvester Stannard

Colab notebooks

Stable Diffusion 2.0 - Woctezuma

Stable Diffusion 2.0 - God of AI

 

The Creative Practice of Being in Nature

Like so many, lockdown and the pandemic has afforded me new reasons to explore my local environment, the City as well as Nature. It is an activity I loved pursuing when I first arrived, but it fell by the wayside as I pursued career goals and life became, well, busy.

Together with my partner - who is often the first to suggest it! - I soon found myself walking and cycling many miles in and around London, and I also started reading enthusiastically on relevant topics. After a trip to Epping, for example, I read poetry by John Clare and imagined him walking around High Beach while slowly regaining his spirits. Indeed, it is possible to walk in his footsteps.

The Romantic poets offer a rich bounty for ramblers and lovers of Nature everywhere. While London is also associated with William Blake and Percy Bysshe Shelley, I've actually never been to the area of the Lake Poets where the Wordsworths and their ilk spent many years. It probably shouldn't have been, but to me it was a surprise to learn that when they first moved to the area it was still considered a wilderness.

Jack Thurston, referring to Daniel Defoe's travels through the North and Cumbria in the 1720s, puts it thus:

"Fear and loathing was the most common reaction to wild and unruly landscapes in those days. It was not without reason. The condition of roads ranged from terrible to non-existent, and travelling was painfully slow. What's more, the weather could be genuinely life-threatening, as Defoe discovered when he was caught in a snowstorm in the South Pennines in August" (Thurston, Lost Lanes North, p.16).

When the Wordsworths settled there it was no doubt becoming more habitable, but not by much. Their literary legacy is now a part of the establishment, so it is instructive to consider that settling there was in fact a countercultural move, an "act of defiance, a wholehearted rejection of the fashionable, metropolitan way of life". It completely changed my perspective on their practice.

There is no question as to Wordsworth's deep love for Nature and the English countryside. Not only his poetry, but just as importantly, his actions attest to this fact. He is estimated to have walked around 175,000 miles. To put that into perspective, you would have to walk a distance of nine and a half miles every single day for 50 years! It is not hard to imagine William and Dorothy walking silently among the fells, each delighting in or meditating on their surroundings and composing thoughts and words for poetry or diary.

William's dictum that "Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquillity" takes on a unique meaning for writing practice when we consider that this is not recollection in the silent privacy of a room. Wordsworth would have been considering those lines in the open air, while walking!

David Gange mentions the historian G.M. Trevelyan who, not unlike Wordsworth, sought to find an antidote to the "absurdity of the city's speed and steel" in romantic wildness that stimulates the imagination. Of past masters Trevelyan particularly esteemed Thomas Carlyle:

"Carlyle walked large distances, gesticulating his way across the moor as he muttered purple prose. While wandering, he dreamed up vivid portraits of great events, expressed with unique intensity in a style soon christened 'Carlylese'. When walking, his companions wrote, Carlyle became a feature of the landscape: 'a living, not extinct volcano whose lava-torrents of fever-frenzy enveloped all things'" - (Gange, The Frayed Atlantic Edge, p. 148).

Neither Trevelyan nor Carlyle saw history or literature as "a thing to be done at a desk in an urban room without something elemental to ignite the imagination". Writing is merely an extension of walking and meditating, and of being immersed in Nature; or to put it differently, "the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings [...] recollected in tranquillity".

In The Frayed Atlantic Edge David Gange explores by kayak many of the coastal areas where communities once thrived on open farming and crofting as well as various local industries. One of the most serious blows to local communities' way of life came in the form of the Education Act of 1872, which eroded local Gaelic identity by forcing Gaelic-speaking children to learn only in English. It had a deeply demoralising effect. Another serious blow came in the form of the infamous Clearances when landlords at first sought "agricultural improvement", enclosing the open farmlands of their tenants, and then helped them emigrate once they fell into poverty. As with Wordsworth, cultural practitioners who came to these fringes to foreground romantic wildness over mechnanising efficiency were considered radical, making countercultural statements against the centralising, hegemonising tendencies of the South and of London.

The city can also be a place of creative immersion and rambling, of course, as exemplified by the flaneur and psychogeographer. In this case Blake or De Quincey would instead be our guide. Peter Ackroyd, in London: The Biography, observes that William Wordsworth links the City in The Prelude to a prison:

Of bondage, from yon City’s walls set free,
A prison where he hath been long immured. 

- (lines 7-8)

Elsewhere he also suggests that Wordsworth "recoiled from an innate and exuberant theatricality" in the city, observed in the cacophony of advertisements and the anarchic spirit of a place like Bartholomew Fair. Ackroyd on the other hand revels in the elemental and devouring properties of the City, which enables its enduring greatness, and he appears to consider Wordsworth constitutionally unsuitable to appreciate it. Be that as it may, Wordsworth has more in common with the city flaneur than at first meets the eye. In Michael: A Pastoral Poem (1800), the poet writes:

If from the public way you turn your steps
Up the tumultuous brook of Greenhead Ghyll,
You will suppose that with an upright path
Your feet must struggle; in such bold ascent
The pastoral mountains front you, face to face.
But, courage! for around that boisterous brook
The mountains have all opened out themselves,
And made a hidden valley of their own.
No habitation can be seen; but they
Who journey thither find themselves alone
With a few sheep, with rocks and stones, and kites
That overhead are sailing in the sky.
It is in truth an utter solitude;
Nor should I have made mention of this Dell
But for one object which you might pass by,
Might see and notice not. Beside the brook
Appears a struggling heap of unhewn stones!
And to that simple object appertains
A story—unenriched with strange events, 

- (lines 1-19)

Is such a chance encounter with a random pile of rocks with its own unique story not the very stuff of psychogeography? Indeed, Wordsworth's oeuvre might even be considered 'psychogeography of the countryside'! Incidentally, although Wordsworth wrote many poems that take local people as their subject, none of those I've read personally highlights the discrepancy between the romantic pastoral and the metropolitan centre as poignantly as Michael.

Whether it's in the City or in Nature, there is something inherently exhilarating about being out in the open air and among the elements. It is an experience that is difficult to reason about clearly from a sofa indoors, and perhaps an experience that is even a little alien to many citydwellers. Cloud cover, the cold and the rain is rarely enticing from the warm comfort of the living room, and we grudgingly weather it with a brolly until we get to the muddy, slippery floors of the nearest tube station.

But once I get on the bike something strange happens. At first it is uncomfortable, and then within minutes I am suddenly used to it: the bite of the cold and the feeling of rain on my face herald the joy and freedom of moving around as I breathe the air. It is hard to explain. Out in the countryside this experience is further amplified. Jack Thurston describes it as follows:

"On a bicycle you travel at the speed of the land. You don't just see and hear the world and the weather change around you but you smell it and feel it. Physical effort heightens the sense and you feel everything with a greater clarity - the wind in your hair, the sun on your back, a drenching by rain or the chill of a crisp winter's day. You feel each incline in your legs, in your lungs, and the swooping descent in your stomach, the sway as you lean the bike this way and that to climb a hill or round a bend. The bicycle is a total immersion machine." (Lost Lanes North, p. 13).

Another poet who gave himself over to living close to Nature and immersing himself in the setting is W.S. Graham. He is a modernist romantic poet whose works were neglected during his own lifetime, but have grown in importance in recent decades. He moved from his native Greenock in Scotland to Ireland, and later to Cornwall, which is where he wrote much of his work. David Gange notes that he was a "passionate but foolish lover of the outdoors whose jaunts to wild places sometimes flirted with catastrophe" (The Frayed Atlantic Edge, p. 317). He lived by the sea, and wrote about the sea. In The Nightfishing, a highly ambitious landmark of a poem, the poet is so thoroughly engaged in the activity of setting out amidst the waves, it is difficult to separate the poet's self from the boat and the haul and the sea, and the very act of writing:

In those words through which I move, leaving a cry
Formed in exact degree and set dead at
The mingling flood, I am put forward on to
Live water, clad in oil, burnt by salt
To life. Here, braced, announced on to the slow
Heaving seaboards, almost I am now too
Lulled. And my watch is blear. The early grey
Air is blowing.

- (stanza 20)

If we consider the close relationship between the mind, the self, the body, and the environment, it should be little wonder that the manner in which we occupy and surround ourselves - what we immerse ourselves in - pervades our souls. To put that in perspective, contrast it with Thomas Berardi's observations regarding the incredible economic and capitalist success of South Korea, as quoted by Slavoj Žižek:

"After coloinzation and wars, after dictatorship and starvation, the South Korean mind, liberated by the burden of the natural body, smoothly entered the digital sphere with a lower degree of cultural resistance than virtually any other populations in the world." (Trouble in Paradise, p.6 - my emphasis)

The mind, untethered by the body, adapts more easily to the homogenising and automating demands of virtual and digital acceleration driving capitalism in the 21st century. By contrast, the physical body, when immersed in the slow-moving physical world is naturally at odds with such a fast-paced, fast-changing world.

Language itself performs a linking and cultivating function. Wordsworth may have loved the countryside he wrote about, but the beauty of his works also invited the public to a part of the country that has today become rather more tamed, not least in order to cater to all the tourists. Here we see the structural dissonance of the relationship between the city and the countryside. It is a tension between the demands of modern civilisation and the rhythms of Nature that are nowhere better expressed than in the symptoms of climate change, which looks likely to be humanity's defining struggle during at least the first half of the 21st century.

A city like London, with its rivers, parks, canals, gardens and woodlands, offers many hybrid environments in which we may tune into the outdoor experience. Not all of us are artists or poets like the Wordsworths or W.S. Graham. Most of us are simply trying to earn our keep. But perhaps by being immersed in Nature we, too, can tap into that exhilarating creativity that they accessed and - who knows - learn to fully live in our bodies and rediscover our tether to Mother Nature.

Finally, here is Grasmere (a fragment) by Dorothy Wordsworth:

Peaceful our valley, fair and green,
And beautiful her cottages,
Each in its nook, its sheltered hold,
Or underneath its tuft of trees.
Many and beautiful they are;
But there is one that I love best,
A lowly shed, in truth, it is,
A brother of the rest.
Yet when I sit on rock or hill,
Down looking on the valley fair,
That Cottage with its clustering trees
Summons my heart; it settles there.
Others there are whose small domain
Of fertile fields and hedgerows green
Might more seduce a wanderer's mind
To wish that there his home had been.
Such wish be his! I blame him not,
My fancies they perchance are wild
--I love that house because it is
The very Mountains' child.
Fields hath it of its own, green fields,
But they are rocky steep and bare;
Their fence is of the mountain stone,
And moss and lichen flourish there.
And when the storm comes from the North
It lingers near that pastoral spot,
And, piping through the mossy walls,
It seems delighted with its lot.
And let it take its own delight;
And let it range the pastures bare;
Until it reach that group of trees,
--It may not enter there!
A green unfading grove it is,
Skirted with many a lesser tree,
Hazel and holly, beech and oak,
A bright and flourishing company.
Precious the shelter of those trees;
They screen the cottage that I love;
The sunshine pierces to the roof,
And the tall pine-trees tower above.
When first I saw that dear abode,
It was a lovely winter's day:
After a night of perilous storm
The west wind ruled with gentle sway;
A day so mild, it might have been
The first day of the gladsome spring;
The robins warbled, and I heard
One solitary throstle sing.
A Stranger, Grasmere, in thy Vale,
All faces then to me unknown,
I left my sole companion-friend
To wander out alone.
Lured by a little winding path,
I quitted soon the public road,
A smooth and tempting path it was,
By sheep and shepherds trod.
Eastward, toward the lofty hills,
This pathway led me on
Until I reached a stately Rock,
With velvet moss o'ergrown.
With russet oak and tufts of fern
Its top was richly garlanded;
Its sides adorned with eglantine
Bedropp'd with hips of glossy red.
There, too, in many a sheltered chink
The foxglove's broad leaves flourished fair,
And silver birch whose purple twigs
Bend to the softest breathing air.
Beneath that Rock my course I stayed,
And, looking to its summit high,
"Thou wear'st," said I, "a splendid garb,
Here winter keeps his revelry.
"Full long a dweller on the Plains,
I griev'd when summer days were gone;
No more I'll grieve; for Winter here
Hath pleasure gardens of his own.
"What need of flowers? The splendid moss
Is gayer than an April mead;
More rich its hues of various green,
Orange, and gold, & glittering red."
--Beside that gay and lovely Rock
There came with merry voice
A foaming streamlet glancing by;
It seemed to say "Rejoice!"
My youthful wishes all fulfill'd,
Wishes matured by thoughtful choice,
I stood an Inmate of this vale
How could I but rejoice?