One topic Thorndike discusses is the value
of wilderness. This is a concept that has come up before in class and in other
readings: "What is the value of wilderness?" Why do we care about something that is, by definition, off-limits?
Is wilderness valuable simply because it possesses an otherwise elusive, romantic quality? And along those lines, is wilderness valuable because it is a commodity, one that is constantly
decreasing? Because it is a luxury that might one day fade, replaced by an entirely
“unnatural” world?
The more I think about it, the more I realize that the value
of wilderness is the crux of Adirondack controversy. What is
the value of a place unmarked by mankind? What is the role of man in preserving
such a place? And why might we want to take an active role in preserving a place that should, theoretically, take care of itself? How does this actually benefit us?
For some, the value of wilderness is
entirely aesthetic. For others, its value is not in the way humans interact
with or admire nature but merely in its existence—the simple fact that it is there, and
that wilderness exists somewhere to support natural communities, including
threatened and endangered species. These are selfless people--I salute them!
But I must admit: I fall into the
selfish crowd. I see wilderness as a resource to be used and enjoyed. I love to
ski and hike. I love to peer over a mountain ridge, and—in that moment—to feel
the satisfaction of being the only human to appreciate such a wilderness. For
me, wilderness is something I enjoy interacting with. It makes me feel insignificant and special at the same time. That is why I value it.
But then, of course, this runs up against the original paradox: can wilderness
exist as a human interface? And if humans affect the entire world in some measurable way, can wilderness exist at all? Or are humans an equally wild species blinded by ego? Perhaps everything is wilderness. And if this is the case, then there is no value in it. It simply is what it is.
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