The call to nature.
I love nature. I, like many of us, am inexplicably drawn to the looming immensity of mountains and the pristine, quiet beauty of glassy waters. I love when the sky is endlessly blue, like the ocean bending over the horizon before me. I love the unique smell of a Spring morning, and likewise the scent of a coming downpour on an August afternoon. I’m enamored by the way a distant thunderstorm moves in, when the breeze’s soft whisper becomes a talking wind; when lightning reports with a snapping flash, and the thunder answers with its crack and boom — the dialogue of nature. I don’t normally like feeling small or insignificant, but I appreciate how little and inconsiderable I am below stars bazillions of miles away from me and gazillions apart from each other; tiny, distant campfires peppered into constellations above my head. Ironically, even the scary and disastrous aspects of nature pull me into their wonder.
But I’ve been thinking, and wondering, why is this so? Why do I, and many of us, feel such a connection and call to nature? Why is this connection important to who we are as human beings?
Instagram is piled high with pictures and videos of nature; friends posing in front of mountains, beachfronts with inspirational quotes for captions, and pictures of blurry moons, pink evening skies, or luminous stars. We just have to share. Even the revolution of social media and entertainment technology hasn’t quieted nature’s call, if anything it has amplified it. Inventions involving AI and dazzling sensory (digital and audio) innovations are entering the world at incredible rates, but somehow cannot replace the simplicity and tangibility of nature. My theory is that by inserting ourselves in vast natural landscapes, and submerging ourselves in lively and wild surroundings, we are seeking to grab hold of something deeply within. We find a quality, material or immaterial, which we come to lack in the day-to-day of our increasingly artificial world. That “thing” or quality is a source; the source of life itself.
An evolutionist would say that, as human beings, our fondness of nature has to do with our natural roots. We are endeavoring backwards, innately craving a sense of our true home, belonging, and origin. Most often in opposition, both religion and evolutionary theory agree that we are organic creatures which take a round trip from dirt to dirt. Biblical creationists, as well as creationists of other religions (ancient and modern), agree that within nature we discover and commune with the source, or the root, of life. The difference between the two camps is what they define as “the root” of life. Saint Paul writes in Romans 1:20, “For ever since the world was created, people have seen the earth and sky. Through everything God made, they can clearly see his invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature. So they have no excuse for not knowing God.” According to this scripture, God’s immaterial image, attributes, character, and qualities are mirrored in material creation. Paul calls them invisible, practically relaying the mystery of God, stating how “beyond” us He is. God is outside of the created order, physically and temporally, yet according to Paul nature tells His secrets. Furthermore, Jesus Christ was theorized in Greek metaphysics as the “logos,” the word or reason through which creation exists, divine and transcendent. I am a Christian and believe this to be true. Regardless, in the same way as evolutionary theory, we are looking both for something outside of us and innately within us. Either that which we are intentionally created in the image of or some source of our molecular form. We are seeking a giver of life, whether active (creator) or passive (Big Bang), which continues to give us life in its presence. We have more questions than answers, and either camp requires faith, but the point is that nature is mysteriously looming and yet undeniably important to us all.
Maybe, after all, nature is simply an endless frontier and thus endlessly exciting because of its baffling perplexity. The emerging monolith of a mountain captures me because it is so big and uncontainable. I am curiously captivated in the things beyond my control. What is within my control is comfortable to me, but comfort is boring and takes me nowhere worth going. In all the ambiguity of the cosmos, nature materializes the immaterial. Nature lends a voice to what is unheard of, puts into form the formless, makes visible the invisible, and holds a key to unlocking answers about existence. So here’s a call to get outdoors. Embrace the boundless and let it be inexplicable. Let it influence you. Go discover the expansive and the intricate, discover yourself and more, and dwell in the presence of God. Nature is necessary to your being and well-being.