A Philosophical Quandry

For me, one of the biggest takeaways of this course was our society's engrained anthropocentric view of the world. I think that this idea is so central to the issues surrounding the Adirondack Park because so many of the conflicts that we have come up against have had to do with people interpreting and directing the Adirondack story in whichever ways are best for themselves. All too often we expect the land to provide for humans as if that's what it's there for--we want to use the Park as a place for recreation, resources, ecological services, economic boosters, and more. One major theme of the course is the nature of humans to dictate what we want the Adirondack Park, or any wilderness space, to be and do in a way that will benefit us directly. It seems instinctive to view the world through this human-centric lens, but the reality that we most often forget is that this earth and all its bounty does not exist for the purpose of serving human needs. In some ways, this is difficult concept to wrap my head around, and I certainly don't fully understand the implications of it. Just because this world is not meant to provide for humans alone doesn't mean that we shouldn't take advantage of it, right? But at what point (if at all) do we favor the wellbeing of our planet and its other inhabitants over ourselves? Do we have a moral/ethical/otherwise obligation to care for this land (and specifically the Adirondack Park)? What is even the best way to do that? After much thought, I came to one last question that I think sums up this anthropocentric view and more clearly reminds us of that view's glaring flaws:

If a tree suitable for lumber in the Adirondack Park falls down and no person is around to use it, is it a wasted resource?

Obviously this question is modeled after the classic philosophy quandary about the sound of a tree falling with no one around to hear it, but I think that it extends well to the discussion we've had all semester about the Adirondacks. What is the purpose/use of the Adirondacks? Does that purpose change if we take people out of the equation? Most of all this question gets at the idea that there is no one locus that defines what is or is not a resource and when that resource is wasted. While a lumber company might shake their heads at this loss of revenue, the microbes and worms and fungi in the dirt might be delighted to have a new, nutritious treat to consume. For other plants on the forest floor this might be their chance to see the sun and actually thrive in the understory. The fact of the matter is that as much as we might want to believe that our interpretation of what the Adirondacks should be and do is the right one, we can also be sure that the squirrels and the beavers and the Eastern White Pines all have very different answers to those same questions.

What it comes down to, I think, is what Terrie and Schneider have termed the Adirondack narrative. Ultimately, there is no single Adirondack story. The inside of the Blue Line is uniquely interpreted by every visitor, resident, policymaker, and environmental advocate that holds some connection to the land, and that is not just limited to humans.