Sacred Revolt (a Review)

I began writing this weekly blog over fourteen years ago. In that time more than 60 book reviews have been posted. Never before have I reviewed a single academic paper, although many have been referred to. This review, however, is of an academic paper. I am reviewing it because I think it is one of the most important contributions to the discourse about the poly-crisis (aka, multi-crisis, ecological-social collapse) and/or sustainability issues.

The author, Sam Alexander, Ph.D., is the Director of the Simplicity Institute and lecturer in Environmental Programs at the University of Melbourne in Australia.

The full title of the paper is Sacred Revolt: Why Reverence Before Restraint Transforms the Limits-To-Growth Predicament. The paper was published just one week ago, on 8 July 2026. At the end of this review is a link to the paper where it can be downloaded. I strongly suggest reading the entire paper.

The Review

As the full title alludes, the current ecological crisis is often framed in terms of limits, how we keep within them (if at all) and thus become sustainable. Framed in this way, the questions that are asked are of the nature what do we do? These types of questions often comprise technological and mechanical answers on the one hand. Or, the answers suggest restraint, limitation, and self-control.

Neither answer satisfies Sam Alexander. We are failing with both approaches he claims. We need to ask an entirely different sort of question. We need to ask, he states, ‘How might humanity learn once again to love the world enough to not destroy it?’

A simple sounding question, isn’t it? Deepening the question poses more questions and a variety of answers.

Much of the literature in this field offer technological/mechanistic answers to the question, what do we do? A smaller section of the literature present critiques of these answers.

An even smaller segment of the library suggests kerbing consumption and the growth imperative.

Both these approaches are failing Alexander tells us.

The restraint approach fails because it does not adequately address the psychological and spiritual underpinnings of modernity. Modernity constructs and reinforces a strong worldview in its subjects (us humans) that coerces us into believing that our purpose can be found in continued progress, a success orientation, and an eternal future hope of betterment. Our self-identity, modernity tells us, is wrapped up in more; more possessions, more money, more power, and ultimately, more growth.

Against this, the restraint message comes across as limitation and having to give up something. Rather than restraint, our psyche receives the message as deprivation and scarcity.

Psychologically then, the message of restraint gets interpreted as a denial of our human destiny, whether we understand this consciously or not.

So, what does Sam Alexander prescribe?

Prior to submitting a prescription, Alexander notes that modernity has desacralized the world. Alexander is not advocating a religious revival here. He makes his position clear. ‘A desacralized world is not merely a world without gods. It is a world emptied of wonder, awe, and intrinsic significance.’

Sam Alexander reminds us of psychotherapist Erich Fromm’s classic 1976 book To Have or to Be? in which Fromm declares that modernity promises happiness and freedom via material possessions and a domination over nature. This is the have mode. The Be mode, on the other hand, he posits as more fulfilling.

To Be is to partake in the world in a reverential manner. Furthermore, as Alexander notes, ‘reverence deepens rather than expands.’

He elaborates on this by explaining that ‘The ecological question cannot ultimately be separated from the question of what human beings consider sacred.’

This leads Alexander to offer the phrase Sacred Revolt, which he describes as ‘a cultural and existential rebellion against the reduction of existence to commodity, utility, and exchange-value.’

A sacred revolution then results in sufficiency becoming not just necessary, but beautiful.

How many of us are willing to hear this calling and become Sacred Revolutionaries?

This paper is only 12 A4 pages long, so can be read easily in a short amount of time. Implementing its invitation may take a little longer. The paper can be found at this link:

https://samuelalexander.info/wp-content/uploads/2026/07/Sacred-Revolt-Samuel-Alexander-1.pdf

Arrogant Ape – Book Review

Arrogant! Who? Us (humans)? Never! 

Christine Webb, in The Arrogant Ape,¹ claims that we (Homo sapiens) are indeed arrogant, and this is based on our (often unstated and hidden) belief in human exceptionalism. On page 3 of her book, Webb clearly expresses the tenet of her book. It is ‘that human exceptionalism – a.k.a. anthropocentricism or human supremacy – is at the root of the ecological crisis.’

That is a provocative assertion, yet Webb tackles it with rigour, extensive research, and often with wit and humour.

On the very first page of the book, Webb notes that ‘we’re not the biggest, fastest, or strongest’ beings on the planet. She has countless stories and evidence to back this up. We are not exceptional! We are arrogant to think that we are. In thinking that we are exceptional we have exploited, damaged, and plundered the earth and all her creatures so much that now we, ourselves, are also being harmed. Polluted water, noxious air, climate change, poisoned food sources, and more are all impacting our well-being.

This is no surprise says Webb. It is the natural (sic) outcome of our belief in our supremacy.

Before continuing it is worth pointing out that Webb recognises and acknowledges that not all peoples and cultures of the world share the belief in human exceptionalism. Sadly, however, the culture from within which human exceptionalism arose, has come to dominate the entire world. Additionally, Webb recognises that within this (westernised) culture the drivers of this belief have ‘…long been the dogma of a dominant minority.’

If those of us outside of this dominant minority have been afflicted by the belief in human exceptionalism and internalised it as our own, then The Arrogant Ape is surely one of the best books available to disavow us of this mistaken view. Drawing from her own research and that of many others in her field of primatology, Webb introduces us to many long-held beliefs that once were thought to pertain to humans only, including inter alia, the manufacture and use of tools, language, empathy, and possibly most controversial of all, that of consciousness.

Webb traverses the subject of consciousness from many angles and admits that there remains a lot of dispute and conjecture. Could it be that the belief in human exceptionalism is the reason for doubting, or even refuting, the possibility of consciousness in other-than-human animals? Webb adroitly concludes by asking, ‘Why should we doubt, downplay, or deny something in other species that we barely understand in ourselves?’

One aspect of Webb’s writing that I appreciated was being introduced to a number of concepts I had not previously come across. Many of these concepts are compressed into just one or two words. I will mention just four of them here:

The first word is quite a mouthful – anthropofabulation. Webb does not say where this word originated, but personal research suggests that you won’t find it listed in any dictionary published prior to 2013. Anthropofabulation Webb defines as the ‘tendency to define certain psychological processes by an exaggerated account of typical human performance in order to deny them to other species.’ We humans, via this approach, define standard psychology from a human standpoint, and then measure and judge all other species according to that standard. The flaw in this reasoning should be apparent, yet it is only recently recognised. Thank you, Christine Webb, for pointing out what is right in front of our noses.

The second word from The Arrogant Ape that I have chosen to highlight is a corollary to the belief in human exceptionalism. Human exemptionalism asserts that humans are exempt from the constraints, limits, and boundaries of nature. Our belief in human exceptionalism drives this belief, and results in crazy techno-fixes and other overly optimistic and cornucopian ideas, such as colonising Mars, or placing giant mirrors in space to reflect sunlight away from the earth (known as Solar Radiation Modification – SRM).

Christine Webb, as we might guess, is not a fan of SRM and warns us that ‘…solar geoengineering exacerbates human dominance over Nature precisely when we urgently need to curtail it.’ It is a warning that needs heeding.

The next word is Umwelt. This word and concept, Webb tells us, was coined in the early 1900s by the German biologist Jakob von Uexküll. Umwelt is the world as experienced by a particular organism. For each organism the umwelt is different. I was reminded of the concept of multiverses. Organisms experience the world (whether through sight, hearing, smell, touch, echo-radar, or other non-human sense) in such hugely different ways that we could say that the single world we think it is, is in fact, a plurality of worlds that different creatures experience. Thus ultimately no single world exists, but rather multi-worlds all here on Earth.

The final word I have chosen to highlight is Involution, a term proposed by two anthropologists, Carla Hustak and Natasha Myers. Involution is the flipside of evolution (which literally means to roll outwards), whereas involution means to roll, or curl, inwards. The term recognises how all species intertwine and that symbiosis and co-emergence are important aspects of evolution and the inter-dependence of all phenomena.

Four words, with four profound concepts embedded within them. Two of them indicate how human exceptionalism in the arrogant ape limits our understanding of the complexity and wholeness of the world as well as compelling us towards foolish endeavours. The other two offer us means by which we might better understand the world we are a part of and our unique, but not exceptional, role in it.

The Arrogant Ape is a valuable contribution to not only the environmental movement, but also to understanding our collective psychology. The two are linked, and Webb makes this clear close to the end of her book. She quotes Einstein’s reply² when asked what he would do if he had one hour to save the world, and then follows that reply with this crucial observation:

‘…grappling with the ecological crisis means dismantling not only systems of exploitation and destruction but also the very worldview that makes them possible.’

The Arrogant Ape helps us to recognise the worldview and thus how we can begin dismantling it.

Notes:

1. Christine Webb, The Arrogant Ape: The Myth of Human Exceptionalism and Why It Matters, Avery, New York, 2025

2. Albert Einstein replied to this question that he would spend fifty-five minutes defining the problem and then five minutes solving it. 

Fierce Vulnerability – Book Review

What would it happen if our meditation cushions were taken out of the meditation hall and placed in the middle of a sit-in demonstration? What would happen if the blare of megaphones were replaced by Tibetan chimes? What if we listened instead of shouting?

Kazu Haga has asked himself these sorts of questions (and dozens more) of those who wish to change the world for the better. In his book, Fierce Vulnerability,¹ he offers these sorts of questions for the reader to ponder.

Kazu Haga is a trainer in nonviolence and restorative justice, and practices what he preaches. His work in these areas, along with his spiritual path, means that he is able to ask one of the most important questions that those seeking a better, healthier, and more socially just world need to be asking.

Simply put, that question is this: What would a movement that combines individual salvation with social direct action look like? Very few seem to be asking this sort of question, and Kazu Haga is one of only a handful who have attempted to pose it and offer some possible answers.

Yes, Haga does suggest some answers, but they may not be what the reader expects. Haga’s answers are closer to suggesting what to let go, rather than proposing new forms of organising.

Haga’s observations and proposals arise out of understandings and knowledge that was not generally known, let alone available, to previous generations of activists. Nor were these known to those seeking personal salvation. Furthermore, traditional styles of social activism are no longer sufficient in today’s world, because the crises facing us today are ones we have never had to face in our human journey before. Crises are no longer discreet; they are intimately entwined and entangled. So interconnected are the multitude of issues that solving one on its own may worsen another.

All this, says Haga, requires a much broader understanding of the personal, political, and planetary. We must, asserts Haga, let go of our sense of individuality and oppositional dualities.

Holding on to an us/them worldview is at odds with this entanglement and is at the heart of all that is destroying the planet, whether that be the “us” of one nation vs another nation, one person vs another, or humans vs non-humans.

Separation and isolation are at the core of trauma, a crucial element in Haga’s thesis. When most of us think of trauma we often think of acute trauma – i.e. an incident in one’s life that causes deep distress, but that is usually limited in time. We might, beyond this form of trauma, recognise chronic trauma – trauma that remains with the traumatised person indefinitely. However, Haga identifies at least six other manifestations of trauma: insidious, complex, indirect, vicarious, inter-generational, and collective.

In today’s world all of us can be exposed to any of these forms of trauma, whether we recognise it or not. This is why Haga tells us that those searching for personal salvation or enlightenment or those seeking social justice must recognise that what is needed is healing. Not opposition, and not self-absorption – but healing.

In turn, healing requires an ability to grieve. Many of us are traumatised because of loss of connection and belonging, whether we know it intellectually or not. Our bodies, however, do know, and that trauma gets displayed in mental and emotional ways, as well as collectively in warfare, xenophobia, misogyny, destruction of forests, or the extinction of species.

Haga introduces a useful model of how we show up in the world. Developed by a pioneer of adventure education, Karl Rohnke, the model outlines three zones; comfort, stretch, and panic zones. Most of our time is spent in our comfort zone, and this is where we breathe easily, are unstressed, can solve problems, and are deeply connected with others. Our stretch zone is where we get challenged and can grow. We get stretched, yet remain open to new information and perspectives. Every so often, however, we get pushed or pulled into a panic zone. In this zone, our evolutionary survival instincts kick in. We go into fight, flight, or freeze mode. In this zone, Haga (and Rohnke) tell us, we are unable to take in new information, and we are unwilling to listen to differing perspectives.

Traditional forms of activism often push or pull both activists and those opposed into this zone. In previous times these forms of activism have brought benefits and gains. However, today we are ‘trying to call forth a level of transformation we have never experienced,’ claims Haga. We need new forms of activism and new models, and the comfort-stretch-panic model is one of those. It is foundational to Kazu Haga’s notion of fierce vulnerability. It also helps to explain why traditional oppositional activist organising is insufficient for today’s world.

Haga does not fall into the trap of claiming that change happens through personal transformation on the one hand, or systemic change on the other. Both are necessary. In a chapter entitled Healing Is Not Enough he clearly articulates his thoughts.

‘The pain of collective violence isn’t felt in fancy retreat centers and workshop spaces. Those are places where we can build up our capacity to go into the places of hurt, but they’re not ultimately where the pain is felt.’

Yet, as he makes clear through the rest of the book, if we do not ‘build up our capacity’ then it is likely that we will be adding to the pain of the world rather than reducing it.

Throughout the book, Haga offers simple exercises that one can do (either alone or collectively) to train in the ideas he presents.

Fierce Vulnerability is a vital book that those seeking a better world should read. It may not provide you with all of the answers, but it will get you thinking about the crucial questions to be asking.

Notes:

1. Haga, Kazu, Fierce Vulnerability, Parallax Press, Berkeley, California, 2025

One Small Step – Book Review

One Small Step¹ is a book about running, isn’t it? So, how does it come to be featured on this blogsite? Well, that’s because it is a book about community.

One Small Step, authored by the founder of parkrun, Paul Sinton-Hewitt, is a book about the building of community using running as the building blocks. It is also, and a bonus, the autobiography of a remarkable man.

The book is almost 300 pages long, yet it is not until you get almost to the 200^th page when Paul writes of the first ever parkrun (at the time known as the Bushy Park Time Trial). Paul spends most of the first 200 pages writing of his life and experiences growing up in the apartheid era in South Africa.

In many ways it is possible to read Paul’s childhood and teenage years as difficult, even sad and depressing years. His mother was mostly absent, both physically and emotionally. His father was no better. He and his brother and sister spent much of their educational years in boarding schools or orphanages. During much of this time Paul was bullied. Running allowed Paul to find some relief from these times. He grew to enjoy the activity.

These experiences, as an isolated youth, and growing up in the apartheid system, left Paul with at least two guiding values that he later brought to parkrun – fairness and inclusivity.

That first time trial in Bushy Park (in south-west London) had thirteen participants and five volunteers (including Paul). Twenty-one years later this small beginning has grown to more than 2,000 events in twenty-three countries. A total of almost 400,000 attend these weekly events with 10 million parkrunners being registered worldwide. Each parkrun is attended by volunteers who marshal, give out finishing tokens, record times, and administer the background practicalities. Each week, almost 50,000 people globally take on one or other of these roles.

Paul’s two values alluded to above (fairness and inclusivity) are reflected in the events. Participation in a parkrun (no matter where in the world) is free and no-one is turned away. Many who turn up walk the 5km route, whilst others participate by being wheeled in their pram. Although each participant is provided with a time, the accent is on participation rather than competition. The smiles and laughter before and following events attest to this being a community event, rather than a sporting event.

One Small Step is highly readable and engaging. Paul’s background and life experiences are honestly, and almost painfully, revealed. By giving the reader this insight into his life, Paul allows the reader to appreciate how this worldwide phenomenon came about, and also why it enjoys so many enthusiastic participants each week.

At the end of the book Paul relates an endearing story of being a parkwalker (one who walks as a volunteer toward the rear of the field to accompany others) and his engagement with a 5-year-old girl and her grandmother. It was the girl’s first ever parkrun. At the end of the 5km the grandmother said to Paul, ‘Thank you, from all of us.’

Paul’s reply was, ‘It’s been my pleasure. I enjoyed every step of the way.’

The reader is left in no doubt that Paul wasn’t referring to just that parkrun on that day.

Notes:

1. Paul Sinton-Hewitt, One Small Step: The definitive account of a run that became a global movement, MacMillan, London, 2025

Red Dust Healing – Book Review

Imagine you are sitting in a yarning circle¹, a fire blazing in the middle. Maybe you are outside sitting around a fire in a desert in Western Australia. Uncle Tom Powell is telling stories. Uncle Tom’s stories have power – power to heal.

This imaginative fire and yarning circle is what it is like to read through Red Dust Healing: the One Day Workshop.² Tom Powell has been running Red Dust Healing workshops, seminars, and story-telling for more than twenty years. This delightful short book is a transcription of one of his one-day workshops.

Tom is a Warramunga man from the Wiradjuri Nation³ and brings 60,000+ years of accumulated knowledge and wisdom of his people into his workshops. He uses various tools, images, and metaphors to help workshop participants to heal their pains, traumas, abuses, and other forms of suffering.

The healing offered by Tom can be applied at personal, family, and collective levels. As Tom is wont to say, ‘It’s not your fault.’ Recognising that pain and suffering may have arisen in an abusive childhood, or from years of colonisation that Australian first-nations people have suffered, the tools for healing can be learnt and applied by anyone, including the descendants of colonisers.

Many of Tom’s tools and metaphors come from the natural world. Trees, fish, birds, kangaroos, and feathers are all offered as means towards remembering the lessons in his stories. It has always been this way – nature is our healer.

Tom is also known for his paradoxical one-liners, which he uses to further reinforce the lessons contained within his stories. Many of his one-liners are scattered throughout the book. A particularly poignant one-liner of Tom’s is, ‘Follow me, I’m right behind you.’ Tom states this with humility and graciousness. As he writes on the final page:

‘What I teach in Red Dust Healing is everything I’ve learned from my Mum and Dad. Everything I’ve learned from our Old People; everything I've learned I’ve learned from you. I get my strength from you. It’s true. I mean it and I wouldn’t tell you if it wasn’t true.’

Even the way the book acknowledges his authorship recognises this teamwork. The cover of the book does not state by Tom Powell; rather it states, with Tom Powell – you, me, and all those who participate are co-authors.

Tom’s sense of collaboration comes through in every page of the book, yet he always acknowledges the uniqueness of every participant in his workshops. Another of his one-liners summarises this well; ‘Scatter out and stick together.’

Tom relates stories in a kind, compelling, and humorous manner. This book captures that story-telling style well.

The book is only 80 pages long and includes many diagrams and graphics, making it very easy to read in one sitting, although you will most likely want to dip into it many times to connect with the tools and metaphors within.

Red Dust Healing is only available through the Red Dust website (https://thereddust.com/) It is available for A$50 plus postage. A phone number is provided to order a copy. For those outside of Australia, there is a ‘Contact’ form. I’m sure that if you contact Tom through this means he will be willing to let you know the cost of postage to wherever you are.

Notes:

1. A yarning circle is a process that comes from Aboriginal culture. It is where people learn, share, pass on knowledge, and build respectful relationships through a narrative format.

2. Tom Powell (with), Red Dust Healing: the One Day Workshop, Red Dust Healing Pty Ltd., 2025

3. The Wiradjuri Nation occupy land to the west of Sydney, Australia.

A Different Kind Of Power - Book Review

Disclaimer: This book is the memoir of the former Prime Minister of New Zealand and leader of that country’s Labour Party. I have never been a member of the NZ Labour Party. I also only voted once for Labour, almost eight years before Jacinda Ardern was born. My vote then may just as much have been influenced by the fact that the Labour candidate – Ethel McMillan – shared the same surname as that of my mother’s maiden name.

 

A Different Kind of Power¹ is a refreshing read coming from a politician. Instead of focussing on the political intrigues, power plays, and other external trappings of a leader of a country, Jacinda Ardern allows us, the reader, a candid glimpse into her childhood and family life. These glimpses enable us to make sense of the different kind of power she espoused and later brought to her role as Prime Minister of Aotearoa/New Zealand.

Ardern grew up in two regional towns (Murupara and Morrinsville) and her family often shopped in Rotorua (my own birthplace.) Her family were Mormon and the lessons she learnt in door-knocking then were well utilised in her later life as a politician.

Yet, door-knocking was the least of the lessons she learnt in her younger years. By the time she had entered her mid-teens her mother had had a breakdown, her uncle was severely paralysed following a car accident in which two others were killed, and the brother of her best friend had committed suicide. These events provided the young Ardern with lessons in grief, empathy, and coping with tragedy. All valuable lessons for when, as Prime Minister, she was thrust onto centre stage in three tragic events to shock New Zealanders – a terrorist shooting at mosques in Christchurch where 51 people were killed, an eruption on the island of Whakaari/White Island killing 22 people, and the coronavirus pandemic.

A school experience that Ardern carried with her into her public life as leader of one of New Zealand’s major political parties was debating. She represented her school many times in debating competitions. One of the topics from her school debating years was, That the difference between what we are and what we could be is the greatest waste. She was to think about this topic often in her coming years. That topic and the thinking that went with it undoubtedly influenced her desire for a different kind of power – one based on kindness and empathy. Her answer to a reporter questioning her on her first day as Prime Minister was informed by this debating topic. ‘I want this government to feel different… that it’s going to bring kindness back.’

Becoming Prime Minister though was not comfortable for Ardern. As a youngster she had suffered from imposter syndrome and that stayed with her as she stepped into the most prominent position in New Zealand. A meeting with Queen Elizabeth II however, helped her overcome that hurdle. Not long before Ardern learned that she was going to be New Zealand’s youngest Prime Minister in 150 years, and also only its third female PM, she had been told she was pregnant. Meeting with Queen Elizabeth in private, Prime Minister Ardern asked the queen how, as a woman who had raised children at the same time as holding a prominent public office, if she had any advice for her. Queen Elizabeth’s reply was simple, ‘You just get on with it.’

Jacinda Ardern did so. She got on with it. I do not intend delving into the various policies she and the Labour party implemented during the term of her office. Rather, I wish to concentrate on those moments that displayed her intent to be kind and how others responded to this.

One such moment came five days after the 2019 terrorist shooting at Christchurch mosques.  She visited a school where two of the student’s schoolmates had been killed in the shooting. After a short speech in which Ardern told the students that it was okay to feel sad and that they should not be afraid of asking for help, she asked if there were any questions. After a pause a young girl at the front raised her hand. In Jacinda Ardern’s words, ‘Slowly, with thoughtful deliberation, she asked something I didn’t expect: “How are you?”’ The moment is touching, poignant, and full of hope. It also shows how many community members responded to and reflected back Ardern’s seeking for a different kind of power; kind and empathetic.

Sadly, not all New Zealander’s responded to her with such empathy and grace as this young woman. Ardern relates a couple of personal moments when she was the butt of hatred and bitterness. What she does not write about in the book, though, is that police figures show an increase in threats to her rose from 18 in 2019 to more than 60 in 2022 – a whopping 60% of threats made to all New Zealand MPs combined at the time. A large percentage of these threats were motivated by various conspiracy theories that arose during the covid pandemic. New Zealand was one of the countries that opted for measures that included lock-downs. Sadly, for her, the response by leaders all over the world was a “damned if you do, damned if you don’t.” She was, similar to all other world leaders, ‘faced with impossible choices.’

But, just as the Queen had advised here a few years earlier, Jacinda Ardern just got on with it – until it was time to go.

Many have suggested that Jacinda Ardern’s decision to step down as the Labour Party leader, and hence the Prime Ministership, was because she could not face the degree of hate and vitriol she was subjected to. In this memoir she makes it clear that there were other factors involved in her decision. The initial prompt was the discovery of a lump on her breast. She asked herself, ‘what if this is cancer?’ How could she continue if that was the case? In her office bathroom a thought arrived – Perhaps I could leave. This experience and the thought it brought to mind was the first in a number of thoughts that brought her to the final decision to step down as Prime Minister.

Whilst she had been Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern had continued visiting schools. Often she would ask students the same question – What does a politician look like? More often than not the answers she got back contained a similar theme – selfish, old, untrustworthy, liar, bald. They were answers that disturbed her.

A week before she announced her official resignation she visited another school, this time on a marae (the focal point of a Māori community.) She asked the same question. This time she got a different answer, from a young woman: “’Kind’ she said. ‘I think politicians can be kind.’ I smiled at her. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I think they can be kind, too.’”

Jacinda Ardern may not have convinced all in the New Zealand community (not even of her colleagues in parliament) of the need and possibility of a different kind of power based on kindness. But, for that young woman at the school that day it was distinct possibility.

It remains to be seen whether kindness does permeate political thinking and debate. A Different Kind Of Power helps to keep the possibility alive.

Note:

1. Jacinda Ardern, A Different Kind Of Power, Penguin Random House, Australia & New Zealand, 2025

(The) Hidden Life of Trees - Book Review

(Note that this review is late in coming - this book was published nine years ago)

Go for a walk in a forest. When you get back home read The Hidden Life of Trees by Peter Wohlleben.¹ The chances are high that the next time you go walking in that same forest the experience will be wholly different. You will see things you hadn’t noticed before. You will hear things you hadn’t heard before.

Chances are, too, that you will stop and want to linger. You may want to get closer to the trees and examine the bark. You might want to dig your fingers into the earth, or peer high into the canopy.

Not only will you see and hear things differently, after reading Wohllenben’s book you may also be able to visualise the vast network of roots, fungi, and mycelium that exists underground, out of sight.

Wohllenben’s book has certainly gained wide attention – it has sold more than three million copies worldwide and been translated into more than twenty languages.

Whilst it has gained an appreciative lay readership, it has not been without its critics in the scientific community. Some have criticised the book for its use of anthropomorphic language. For example, some of the book’s chapters are titled, Tree School, Community Housing Projects, Hibernation, Street Kids, Immigrants etc, all as epithets for aspects of forests and/or trees.

Although it is possible to understand this criticism, it is, in this reviewer’s mind, unfair, or at least misplaced. This book is undoubtedly written for the layperson, a person who may know little or nothing about the workings of forests. It is clearly not written as a scientific treatise. Had it been written in scientific, unemotional language it would not have been bought by three million readers.

Wohllenben outlines in the first few pages his intention in writing the book. He states, ‘This book is a lens to help you take a closer look at what you might have taken for granted. Slow down, breathe deep, and look around. What can you hear? What do you see? How do you feel?’ He’s upfront. This is written for those unused to analysing what is going on in a forest. It is written to evoke an emotional response. And – it works.

By writing in the way he does, using what we understand to be human feelings, behaviours, and functions, Wohllenben helps the reader associate with forests and trees. In one sense the criticism of anthropomorphism becomes a two-edged sword. Can we really say that trees do not have feelings, do not behave in ways that humans might, or that trees do not communicate with and look after one another? To say that they do not and try to write of trees and forests in neutral terms is itself an anthropocentric rendition. Many indigenous languages and cultures worldwide do not name trees, streams, mountains, and other living creatures in the third person – i.e. as it. For many, these entities are imbued with the same energies and sacred attributes as are humans.

In the final few pages Wohllenben addresses the divide between humans and non-humans. He states, ‘I, for one, welcome breaking down the moral barriers between animals and plants. When the capabilities of vegetative beings become known, and their emotional lives and needs are recognized, then the way we treat plants will gradually change as well.’   

Perhaps the sooner we come to appreciate trees and other entities in the same ways we value ourselves, the sooner we might desist in destroying nature and the planet in which we live.

So, my suggestion as reviewer, is to ignore any criticism you may have heard, go with the flow and recognise you in the trees and the trees in you.

For myself, as someone who had previously come across some of the concepts Wohllenben writes of, I found this book illuminating and enjoyable. I learnt a lot more about trees and forests than I knew before I read page 1. I learnt something of myself also.

The final words I will leave to Peter Wohllenben himself, they are also the final words he writes in the Acknowledgments section.

‘Only people who understand trees are capable of protecting them.’

Note:

1. Peter Wohlleben, The Hidden Life of Trees, Black Inc., Collingwood VIC, Australia, 2016

Returning to an Island

Recently I re-read Island by Aldous Huxley.¹ It had been around five decades since I first read it.

Those five decades have now allowed me to gain a greater insight into what Huxley was writing about and alluding to.

Island was Huxley’s final novel and served as the counterpoint to his dystopian novel, Brave New World, published thirty years earlier. Could Huxley have written this when he was younger? Perhaps, like me as his reader, he had to be older to dream and appreciate possibilities?

Island is indeed a dream, but not an impossible one. Possibilities exist. The following quotation is at the heart of this novel, both figuratively and literally (on p 170-171 of 329 pages). The possibility described here will find a resonance with many readers, especially those attracted to the ideas of degrowth. The practical philosophy of the island of Pala is explained by one of the island’s elders – Dr Robert as;  

‘… we never allowed ourselves to produce more children than we could feed, clothe, house, and educate into something like full humanity. Not being over-populated, we have plenty. But although we have plenty, we’ve managed to resist the temptation that the West has now succumbed to – the temptation to over-consume. We don’t give ourselves coronaries by guzzling six times as much saturated fat as we need. We don’t hypnotise ourselves into believing that two television sets will make us twice as happy as one television set. And finally we don’t spend a quarter of the gross national product preparing for World War III or even World War’s baby brother, Local War MMMCCXXXIII. Armaments, universal debt, and planned obsolescence – those are the three pillars of Western prosperity. If war, waste, and moneylenders were abolished, you’d collapse. And while you people are over-consuming, the rest of the world sinks more and more deeply into chronic disaster. Ignorance, militarism, and breeding, these three – and the greatest of these is breeding. No hope, not the slightest possibility, of solving the economic problem until that’s under control. As population rushes up, prosperity goes down… And as prosperity goes down, discontent and rebellion, political ruthlessness and one-party rule, nationalism and bellicosity begin to rise.’

Within a little over 200 words Huxley has depicted the possibility of a dream; at the same time rebuking the model that the West has been, and still is, implementing.

The key to Huxley’s dream seems to be restraint, the ability to resist temptation. Failure to do so results in huge problems. Is this not exactly what we see in the world today? Political ruthlessness, discontent, nationalism, bellicosity – at the level of individuals, societies, and states.

Island is worth reading, as a young person and then again at an older age. The novel answers some questions as well as throwing up some serious questions for consideration.

One of those questions was posed by Huxley himself upon reflecting upon his two novels – Brave New World and Island. It is a question that calls out for a response from each of us.

‘How will this thought or action contribute to, or interfere with, the achievement, by me and the greatest number of other individuals, of (humanity’s) Final End?’

Note:

1. Aldous Huxley, Island, Granada Publishing, London, Toronto, Sydney, New York, 1962

At Work In The Ruins – Book Review

When I was a young lad my father would occasionally take me to “the tip” – the local refuse facility. There, we would sift through the rubble and ruined stuff discarded by local residents. (Trying to do this these days is not possible, because “tips” have been closed off due, presumably, to hygiene “science” – something Dougald Hine would possibly appreciate.)

Amongst those ruins I would search for, and often find, treasures and useful bits ’n pieces that could be transformed into a trolley. A trolley was a cart made of old planks of wood, discarded pram wheels, axles, and hinges. By way of a hand-held rope the trolley could be steered, usually down a hill, the steeper the better. I’m sure my mother despaired when I arrived home with scrapes and bruises after an afternoon of trolleying.

Something similar, although on a grander, global scale, is what Dougald Hine is writing about in At Work In The Ruins: Finding our place in the time of climate crises and other emergencies.¹ Hine searches for treasures amongst the discarded (or soon to be discarded) ruins of modernity.

Hine does this cleverly by posing a number of questions without fully answering any of them. And, nor should he. We cannot know the answers until we stumble upon them amongst the ruins.

But one thing is clear, and Hine states this on just the 3^rd page; ‘The way we talk about the trouble is making it worse.’ Pithy and crisp. The following 197 pages are Hine’s attempts at clarifying why this is so and some ideas for a different way of talking. One of the languages we have been using is that of science. Hine is clear that we need to use this language differently, not discard science will-nilly, but to recognise that ‘science can know many things; yet it cannot say, because it does not know, when enough is enough.’  

The point of departure for a new way of talking, according to Hine, is to admit that we are already amongst the ruins. Furthermore, he claims that ‘If hope exists, it lies on the far side of the admission of failure.’

Failure!!? Yes – failure. Writing about failure, and admitting to it, may turn off some readers. After all, one of the messages of modernity is failure is not an option, you cannot fail, you must not fail.

But, read on. There are many indications of this failure, two of which Hine points to; climate crises and covid. If I have any disappointment with this book, it is that Hine lingers too much on the covid pandemic as one of the indicators, spends a little time on climate crises, and hardly any time on the other emergencies, as promised in the subtitle of the book. To my understanding, it is the entanglement of all these emergencies that has brought us to the predicament we are in.

This disappointment aside, Hine’s book is an important read as it does provide us with a new vocabulary with which to talk about the troubles, predicament, and ruins we are in.

An example, and one well covered by Hine, of this new way of talking (and listening) is the way we talk about death. Hine addresses this in a lucid and useful manner. He quotes a critical care nurse working with those on the ’brink of death.’ The families of the dying tended to react in one of two ways: to become obsessed with vital signs and lab data, or to deny and avoid. There was a third, less common, path open to families that the nurse termed ‘the path of engaged surrender’ – a term reminiscent of Tara Brach’s radical acceptance.

Engaged surrender is the path Dougald Hine advocates as we are faced with the death of the ‘world as we know it, but not of the world.’ To help with this approach, Hine refers often to a colleague – Vanessa Machado de Oliviera, who’s incisive book Hospicing Modernity (see myreview here) can easily be read as a companion piece to At Work In The Ruins. To need to hospice modernity is one of the clear answers Hine gives to his questions.

Modernity, says Hine, has been on the Big Path for many years. This path leads only to a futile future. There is another path however, and Hine visualises this as ‘unpaved, hardly a path at all, and it will be made by those who walk it.’ Hine is under no illusion that this path will be chosen by many. Nor does he envisage that this path will be easy and pleasant for those who do walk it. He warns us: ‘Do not underestimate what such a choice may cost you.’

Getting hold of and reading At Work In The Ruins will be one of the lesser costs you may pay. I recommend it as one worth the price.

Notes:

1. Dougald Hine, At Work In The Ruins: Finding our place in the time of climate crises and other emergencies, Chelsea Green Publishing, White River Junction, Vermont, and London, UK, 2023

Observations of The Little Prince

First translated into English in 1943 The Little Prince¹ has been a firm favourite for all ages of reader. With more than 300 translations into other languages (including that of Klingon – the fictional Star Trek language) this small book is the most translated non-religious boo in the world.

The Little Prince tells of a meeting between an airman who has landed in the Sahara Desert with a damaged engine. The author of the book, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, is himself an airman, serving with the French during WW2. Whilst attempting to repair his plane the airman meets an extraordinary young traveller known only as the Little Prince.

The Little Prince comes from another planet (de Saint-Exupéry calls it asteroid B-612) on which there are three tiny volcanoes, a flower, and baobab bushes. The Little Prince must continuously uproot the baobabs for fear that they will take over his entire planet.

During his interplanetary travels and his time on Earth the Little Prince meets a number of characters. What he observes about each of them tells us something of the mindsets of grown-ups (as the Little Prince refers to them.)

After meeting each of these characters the Little Prince is left concluding that, ‘Grown-ups are very odd/strange’.

How does the Little Prince come to this conclusion? Let us look at some of his meetings and we might understand.

On one planet the Little Prince meets a king and notes that ‘to them, all men/women are subjects.’ In this encounter the Little Prince observes the need to reign supreme and without question so often displayed by rulers and leaders of countries.

On another he meets a conceited man and observes that this man never hears anything but praise. The conceited man shows the hallmarks of narcissism and listens only to those willing to heap admiration upon him.

Travelling further, the Little Prince meets a businessman for whom riches and ownership are all that matters. When the Little Prince asks the businessman, What good does it do to own so much?’ the businessman answers that ‘it makes me rich.’  The Little Prince pursues this with, ‘What good does it do you to be rich?’ A fair question you may agree. The businessman though, has an answer, ‘It makes it possible for me to buy more.’  In this encounter the Little Prince exposes the greed, and the circular arguments made for ever increasing wealth and riches.

One of the planets the Little Prince lands upon is so small that there is only room upon it for a single streetlamp and a lamplighter. The lamplighter’s job is to light and extinguish the lamp. When the Little Prince asks him why he is doing this, the lamplighter replies, ‘Orders are orders.’ Indeed, how often do we follow orders simply because they are orders?

Landing upon one planet the Little Prince meets a man who is poring over a book. The Little Prince queries him and is told that this man is a geographer. When asked to tell the Little Prince about his planet, the geographer says that he cannot do that, because I am not an explorer.’  Furthermore, when the Little Prince mentions the flower that exists upon his planet, the geographer informs him that ‘we do not record flowers.’ The Little Prince his aghast at this reply. But ‘the flower is the most beautiful thing on my planet!’ he exclaims. Beauty, to the geographer, is dismissed as ‘ephemeral.’ Welcome to a world where beauty is of little worth Little Prince.

Just one more example.

On one of the planets the Little Prince visits is a railway switchman. During the conversation between the Little Prince and the switchman we discover that the switchman has the job of shifting trains from one line to another, and then back again. When asked about this coming and going the switchman answers that ‘No one is ever satisfied with where he is.’ He further reveals that all the adults are asleep in the railway carriages and that ‘only the children are flattening their noses against the window-panes.’

With this observation the Little Prince then declares that ‘Only the children know what they are looking for.’ The switchman agrees. ‘They are lucky’ he states.

This small, allegorical tale is worth reading over and over and taking note of the Little Prince’s observations.

Certainly, the grown-ups are very odd and strange.

Note:

1. Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince, Pan Books Ltd., London, 1974

Lest - Book Review

It has been said that the first casualty in war is the truth. Author Mark Dapin in Lest,¹ is keen to ensure that the casualty list grows no longer. Before proceeding further it is important to clarify for readers of this review that Lest is a book about the myths surrounding Australian military actions.

This is not an anti-war book, nor is it a book glorifying war. Even the author himself is ambivalent to an extent. Of Australian involvement in Afghanistan he writes that ‘had I been a bit younger, a lot braver, and considerably more capable, I would have considered joining the military myself.’ A few pages (and two years) later he tells us that ‘I and about 200,000 other people marched in Sydney against the looming Iraq War.’ Dapin’s openness and honesty in this revelation of ambivalence is refreshing and allows the reader to feel an empathy with the author – he is just like us; a bit uncertain, a bit conflicted, and wholly human.

Perhaps the most oft repeated phrase in Lest is ‘it did not happen,’ although he does once, in a pique of anger, use a more emotive phrase. He relates an episode of when he was interviewed on radio and a caller claimed that Vietnam vets were not allowed to march on Anzac Day. ‘That’s nonsense,’ he rails.

Time and time again Dapin cites an event and then shows that it is an entirely imagined happening. Whether it be bands of women handing out white feathers, or returning Vietnam soldiers being spat upon; with meticulous research Dapin shows that such incidents simply did not happen.

Most Australians, and New Zealanders, will be aware of the wars referred to in the book – World Wars 1 and 2, Vietnam, Korea, Afghanistan, and Iraq. Dapin devotes a whole chapter to one war that most Australians, and New Zealanders, will have never heard of – the Emu Wars! Yes, it seems that emus (those flightless birds) were declared war upon in Western Australia in 1932. Myths aplenty arose amongst the feathers and dust of this war, although Dapin makes no mention of any myths created by the emus themselves.

Most of the first half of the book deals with myths from the First World War, with particular reference to ANZAC² war myths. Australia and New Zealand both memorialise Anzac Day every year on 25 April, the day in 1915 when troops from these two countries (and others of the Allied forces) first stormed, and then retreated from, the beaches of Gallipoli in Turkey.

Perhaps no other war event in Australian history has generated as many myths as those resulting from that failed campaign. Today, thousands of Australians and New Zealanders also storm the beaches of Gallipoli on 25 April each year to remember the events of 1915, often leaving litter behind. Dapin is bemused by this. ‘Exactly why travellers might choose to do this, more than a century after the disastrous military campaign and the Anzac evacuation, is a source of much faux-bemused debate among scholars,’ he writes.

Yet, as Dapin points out, this failed campaign has come to be so mythologised that many today claim that 25 April 1915 was the birth of Australian character and identity. Yet, many of the stories emerging from the sands and cliffs of Gallipoli did not happen according to Dapin, and ‘What was born on 25 April 1915 was a myth.’

Lest is a reference to a phrase intoned daily in Returned Service League’s rooms all over Australia. The full phrase is ‘Lest we forget’ and follows a reading of the fourth verse from a poem written in 1914.³ The fourth verse refers to the young people killed during the war and ends with the lines: ‘At the going down of the sun and in the morning/We will remember them.’

Mark Dapin has done a splendid job in distinguishing fact from myth, truth from falsehood, in the wars Australia has been involved in.

Lest ensures that the myths are laid bare, lest we forget what really happened.

Notes:

1. Mark Dapin, Lest: Australian War Myths, Scribner, Cammeray, NSW, Australia, 2024

2. ANZAC stands for Australian and New Zealand Army Corps

3. Laurence Binyon, For The Fallen, first published in The Times in September 1914.

History For Tomorrow (Book Review)

On page 2 of History For Tomorrow Roman Krznaric quotes the German philosopher and poet Goethe. ‘He who cannot draw on three thousand years is living hand to mouth,’ wrote Goethe in 1819.

Roman Krznaric’s book is certainly not written hand to mouth. It is meticulously researched and eloquently written.

Krznaric’s essential thesis in this book is to present ideas from the past that may hold keys to how we deal with issues in the present. The historical events that he chooses at first seem illogical and unconnected to the modern-day issue. His comparisons are reminiscent of one of Edward de Bono’s (the Father of Lateral Thinking) exercises in which two unrelated concepts are thrown together to see how they might inform each other.

For instance, the problem of social media might seem like an uniquely modern issue. Krznaric shows how an understanding of the history of the invention and production of the printing press is of benefit when attempting to tackle the myriad troubles of social media. The treatment of witches in the 16^th and 17^th centuries is also presented as having some lessons for 21^st century social media. So too, does the coffeehouse culture in England from 1650 onwards. (England’s first coffeehouse is just down the road from where Krznaric live, in Oxford.)

On first glance, none of these – Gutenberg’s printing press, witch hunts, and coffeehouses – would seem to have much to offer methods to deal with the difficulties of social media. But Krznaric skilfully shows that they can.

History For Tomorrow tackles a number of modern-day issues, from water shortages to genetic modification, from inequality to artificial intelligence. How can we kick the consumer habit, or how do we restore faith in democracy? History, as Krznaric shows, is replete with possible remedies.

Reading this book I was often surprised, and then delighted, to read of the historical events that Krznaric laid in front of a present-day issue.

Towards the end of the book Krznaric quotes another writer, the American author Mark Twain. Twain is often noted for some of his pithy sayings. In Chapter 9 (of 10) one of those sayings is quoted: ‘History does not repeat itself, but it often rhymes.’

Roman Krznaric has done an excellent job of discovering and presenting to us the rhymes of history.

Note:

1. Roman Krznaric, History for Tomorrow: Inspiration from the past for the future of humanity, W H Allen, London, 2024

Women Who Run With The Wolves: A male reading

Occasionally within a group of men I hear the plea of ‘I don’t understand women.’ Sometimes plaintive, sometimes angry, and just about always perplexed.

Reading Women Who Run With The Wolves¹ may help. But, before I suggest how, there are a couple of caveats.

Caveat 1: The desire to understand is complicit in the not understanding. To understand means to fully grasp the meaning, significance, or nature of something. It means to be able to explain it and categorise it. Understanding is inherently a mechanistic perception. Women (and men for that matter) do not conform to such classifications. The desire to understand is (if I may be so bold) a male notion.

Caveat 2: Because of caveat 1 there are no answers, for men, to the appeal to understand women. Hence, this book can help but it cannot answer.

Having outlined these two caveats, let me delve into (at least some of) the book through a male reading. Although the book is now more than thirty years old, and although I have come across reference to it dozens of times during those 30 years, I have only recently read it.

Men – do not be put off by the title. It can look as though Clarissa Pinkola Estés intends the book solely for women; much of its contents apply to men also.

Clarissa Pinkola Estés is a storyteller and tells stories in groups and gatherings in many parts of the world. In this book she recounts numerous stories from various regions of the world. These stories are mythological and the characters in them are archetypes. This is important to note. The characters point to parts of our internal psyche, they are not identifiable people in our outer world. Furthermore, our internal psyche is shaped, in part, by cultural archetypes.

Clarissa Pinkola Estés explores these archetypes, dismantles them, pulls them apart, and then gently puts them all back together again. Her insight in doing so is extraordinary.

Let us return to the plea that began this blog – men unable to understand women.

As I read through Women Who Run With The Wolves one thing is very clearly articulated. Women contain at least two natures, and most likely, many more. Men do too, by the way, and I will come back to this later. But first – the dual nature of women.

As well as being an author, Clarissa Pinkola Estés is a Jungian psychologist, and as such alludes to the Jungian concept of animus. She defines animus as a woman’s ‘internal masculine energy’ and notes that, ‘This psychic figure is particularly valuable because it is invested with qualities which are traditionally bred out of women, aggression being one of the more common.’

Her aim in narrating and examining these stories is to enable women to discover and connect with their inner beings (archetypes) particularly the archetype of the Wild Woman (the wolf.) For the male reader, this aspect of women’s psyche may be hard to appreciate. Even the thought of a wild woman is dangerous, and even frightening. It is there though, and Esté suggests it is present in all women.

In her book Esté does not refer to the other Jungian concept of anima – a man’s internal feminine energy. Yet, reading Women Who Run With The Wolves from a male perspective, this concept is always present. Indeed, within many of the stories it is possible to glimpse the anima.

Women’s animus is an inner energy, and unless overtly displayed, remains hidden in our patriarchal society. As such, it can also be hidden from their male partners who wish to understand women.

There is one story in the book that is worth considering a little further, as it is a story that addresses exactly these matters. The story is called Manawee and is of African-American origin.

In the story Manawee is keen to court twin sisters. The father of the twins will only allow Manawee to do so if Manawee can guess the names of his daughters. Manawee tries and tries, but always fails. He goes away. Later he returns to try guessing again, this time bringing his little dog with him. Again he fails, and again he skulks off home. But his dog goes back to the sister’s hut and overhears the two of them talking about Manawee and calling each other by their names.

The little dog runs off to tell Manawee. On the way he smells a juicy bone and goes searching for it and chews it up. By the time he has finished he has forgotten the twins names. The dog goes back again, and from outside again hears the sisters’ names. He runs off again, and again is waylaid by the sumptuous smell of nutmeg. He forgets the names again and goes back to sleep at Manawee’s hut for the night.

The next morning, the little dog trots off to the sister’s hut and spies them getting ready to be wed. “Oh no!” he thinks, “I have to tell Manawee their names.” He hears their names and this time, even though accosted by a nasty stranger, he doggedly returns to Manawee and tells him the names of the twins. Manawee sprints off to the village where the twins and their father live. He tells the father their true names. The father blesses the marriage, and the twins tell Manawee that they have been waiting for him for a long time.

There is much archetypically in this story. Let me mention just a couple briefly.

·       The twin daughters refer to the dualism within women. In this story, one twin exemplifies the outer woman, the other the inner energy. Manawee is not marrying two women but is marrying ‘one who lives in the topside world, one who lives in the world not so easily seen,’ as Esté expresses it. He must accept both (i.e. be able to name each of them) before he can be wed. (Remember, the twins are archetypes. The story is not to be read as referring to polygamy.)

·       The little dog is what Esté calls Manawee’s dog nature. The little dog shows that Manawee (and all men) have a dual nature: Esté tells it thus: ‘His human nature, while sweet and loving, is not enough to win the courtship. It is his dog nature, his instinctual nature, that has the ability to creep near the wildish women and with his keen listening hear their names.’

Dogs, as we know, have a keen sense of sight, smell, and hearing. With that in mind, the little dog in this story is the perfect archetype for Manawee’s instinctual nature.

Thus, for men who bemoan being unable to understand women, there are some valuable lessons in Women Who Run With The Wolves.

The first lesson is to recognise that women have a dual nature. Perhaps more importantly, it is to recognise that men do also.

The second lesson is to let go the desire to understand. Instead, men must access their dog nature and learn to listen. Not just hear, but truly, deeply listen, and not be distracted from that attention.

Reading the book reveals many other lessons. Any man who wishes to discover them is recommended to read this important book.

Notes:

1. Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Women Who Run With The Wolves: Contacting the Power of the Wild Woman, Rider, London, Sydney, Auckland, Johannesburg, 1992.