"The Moral of Easter Island"

Rev. Bruce Russell-Jayne
April 25, 2010
Earth Day Sunday

We have all seen pictures of the giant sculptural busts, stone monoliths, called Moai, which line the coast of Easter Island.  Very few of us will ever see them in person because it is over 2000 miles across the South Pacific from Easter Island to the nearest population centers, Tahiti or Chile, making it one of the most isolated places on earth.  The name Easter Island was given it when Westerners first came upon it on Easter day in 1722.  Today, the island, the people and the language are all called Rapa Nui.    From the first time we see the solemn yet majestic stone faces we can’t help wonder about their origins, and for some of the more practical among us the question of how were they were moved to the coastline and erected is intriguing.  There has been much controversy over these questions.  Some see similarities to Incan stonework while others think it may be the remnant of a lost continent or even the result of contact from extra-terrestrial beings.  Archeologists continue to look at evidence of human habitation, the earliest of which seems to be around 400 C.E., for definitive answers about the origins of the statues, petroglyphs and other arts found there.  But, the more recent chapters of Rapa Nui-en history are better known to us, and they contain an abject lesson for modern people as we think about how to face an uncertain environmental future this Earth Day.

At one point in their history, the Rapa-Nui people enjoyed a prosperous and literate culture, having the artistic and engineering skills and the spare time to build grand statues.  The island contained lush vegetation; palm forests provided food and shelter, and the population grew.  At their high point it is estimated there were over 10,000 people on the 64 square mile island.  But, this number of people drew down the finite resources faster than they could be replaced until they irreversibly overshot the forest’s capacity to replenish itself.   In time they deforested the entire island and eventually depleted the soil’s ability to grow food because of erosion of the denuded land.  We don’t know exactly how the next chapter of the story transpired, but as the people began to starve, it is presumed there was fighting because all of the majestic statues were toppled or broken.  When Captain Cook visited in 1775 the island’s population had crashed to 630 people who were barely surviving.   A hundred years after Europeans arrived bringing slavery and diseases there were only 110 islanders left.

The Rapa-Nui ancestors had religion, art, engineering, laws and leaders; theirs was an advanced civilization. They were human beings just like us.  Their ecosystem failed not because they were a rapacious, evil race, but because they didn’t understand the ecological consequences of drawing down their resources.  Overshooting the carrying capacity of the island to produce enough food didn’t happen overnight; it took generations, centuries.  We have to wonder if there was a Rapa Nui John Muir who objected to cutting down so many trees.  Did the seniors tell their grandkids about how it looked when they were young before the land was cleared for roads and subdivisions?  Were the kids bored with stories of the Golden Olden days yawning, “Awesome, but, so what?”  I expect some of the more conservative islanders would have wanted to preserve the old ways and would have fought against stripping the land.  They probably were derided by the progressives and called “Tree Huggers,” who loved nature more than people.
One lesson of Easter Island seems to be clear: Ecocide happens.  Once a population has overshot the capacity of its environment that population dies off until it reaches a level at which the resources can once again sustain it.  Scientists witness animal populations cycle like this all the time, and Easter Island is only one instance of which we know it happened to humans.  The potato famine that decimated the population of Ireland is an even more famous example.  “If the Rapa Nui, armed only with stone tools and muscle power could destroy their paradise, how much more effectively might we, armed with machines and the power of the atom, destroy what’s left of ours?”

Now I know I sound like so many other Sierra Clubbers who for over a century have said: “Stop what you are doing!  Our modern society has to change or we’ll all die!”  We’ve all heard it so much we’re either desensitized to the message, in denial about it, or just never believed it in the first place.  Even those of us who are true believers are frustrated with the lack of a comprehensive environmental plan for our country, not to mention one for the entire world.  It seems we can’t even sensibly discuss the environment, the scientific knowledge having been twisted into a political war of words between Democrats and Republicans - each with their own vested interests.  Each day the debate continues, the evidence of climate change mounts, and we become more dismayed at the lack of progress.  But there’s something much deeper than a political disagreement going on.  The short story named Sacrifice, by Elizabeth Tarbox brings it out:

  “The old tree standing in our yard saved someone's life today.  We were planning a cozy day when we heard the unmistakable sound of automobile-become-deathtrap, the sound of metal collapsing on impact.  We called the police, fetched blankets, and hurried toward a folded car.  It's nose was down, half buried amongst fallen branches and debris.

A man who narrowly missed being in the crash was already there, pulling open the passenger door. "Are you all right?" he asked to the young woman inside.  He eased our blankets over her.  She shivered and nodded and didn't open her eyes.  Quickly it seemed there were too many people standing around, needing to be where something bad had happened, needing to there and not knowing why.

The ambulance came and took her away.  A wrecker towed the car, and at last the people dispersed.  The tree is in pieces.  Had it not fractured and fallen when hit by the car, the girl might have died.  In sacrifice it looks noble, as if it were part of something dramatic, like the saving of a life.

I don't know if I'm writing about a tree, a car crash, or about being scared.  I think we were all scared out there.  We said to each other, "She was lucky." But she was not.  Had she been lucky, she would not have skidded off the road.  She would not have known that sickening, paralyzing moment between out of control and impact.  No, she's not all right.  I hope tonight she has someone with her who understands that.”
Facing global climate change isn’t as immediate as a car crash, but it does make us all fear for the survival of the earth and our grandchildren.  It feels like our world has begun to spin out of control, and we are living in that terrifying moment before the crash.   The specter of our demise creates powerful emotions in us, and I don’t think we can really accept the possibility quite yet.  We’re not lucky, and we’re not all right.  To avoid thinking about the collapse of our civilization we focus on the technical details of global climate change and argue the politics.  Some of the solutions to global climate change and other ecological problems are technological, but learning to live in balance with nature won’t come solely thru speeding up the development of new technology.  We need a change of attitude to go along with our high tech gadgets.  We must face the environmental threats and ground ourselves spiritually so we can create a realistic hope for   our future.   A little UU eschatology - that is our ideas on the final destiny of humankind - can help us deal with the phenomenal environmental challenges we face.

So far,  this message of ecocide hasn’t been very uplifting, but there is hope.  We do not have to end up as Easter Islanders.  We have a couple of things they didn’t have.  First, we know their story.  Another is a better understanding of how to calculate the carrying capacity of our Earth Island.  And, it’s not too late.  The last of our forests have not been cut down, the soil has not been totally depleted, and our leaders are waking up.  We haven’t gone past the point of no return, yet.  I’ll add right here that since the annexation of Easter Island by Chile in 1888, the population has rebounded to over 2000 people.  It can be done.  We can save ourselves and the earth.

Van Jones spoke to UUs at our 2008 UU General Assembly Ware Lecture about what he calls a “Green New Deal.”  Jones came to the environmental movement while working to find positive alternatives to violence and incarceration as responses for poverty in Oakland, California.  President Obama appointed Jones to the White House Council on Environmental Quality to help create “Green Jobs” - especially for inner city folks.  Unfortunately, he had to resign his post under fire for comments he made before he joined the government.  I say unfortunately because I like his vision of attracting a the majority of all people to environmentalism using ideas that make a difference in ordinary people’s lives and for bridging the divides between affluent and poor people’s attitudes about social issues.

During the dozen years he has worked to create a Green New Deal he “found leaders from impoverished areas tended to focus on three major concerns: social justice, political solutions, and social change, and leaders from affluent places took what seemed an opposite approach.  Their three focus areas were ecology, business solutions, and ‘inner change.”  People tend to see these things as opposites in competition with one another: Ecology versus Social Justice; Business Solutions (Entrepeneurship) vs. Political Solutions (Activism); and Spiritual/Inner Change vs. Social/Outer change.  Jones sees the importance of both approaches.  His efforts to get the groups together initially were disasters,” but he continues to be an eco-populist, building a movement which recognizes the importance of both sides of the equations.  He understands that “the effort to be green must be all hands on deck.”  I agree with him when he says, “We can take the unfinished business of America on questions of inclusion and equal opportunity and combine it with the new business of building a green economy, thereby healing the country on two fronts and redeeming the soul of the nation.”

Jone’s focus areas are pretty comprehensive except I would add: We need nature.  Nature grounds us.  It connects us to where we came from, what we are, and our relationships to the rest of the world. The view from the inner city doesn’t include much of nature, and from Silicon Valley you can see the mountains in the distance, but it may still be a little difficult to understand just how important it is to allow nature herself to nurture our spirits.

Nature is life, and it teaches us about life and how to deal with life.  In nature we learn that yes, things will die, but more things will take their place.  She tells us that if we just keep from using things faster than she can replace them, life, abundant life,  will go on.
 
We can find in Nature a philosophical underpinning for dealing with the threats to the future of humankind,   and even more importantly, we can find sustenance for our daily lives there, too.  Each day I spend too much time on my computer and my shoulders often get all tensed up.  Then I go outside to my garden an let the colorful plants, the rich earth and the fragrant breeze clear my mind and relax my body.  Let’s stop for just a moment and look out the window… Recently, I have been having the most wonderful time reading Annie Dillard’s Pilgrim at Tinker Creek.  And, while reading is not actually getting out in nature itself, her book is the next best thing.  I’ll close today with a reading from it in which Dillard describes just one of the experiences she had out at her favorite creek.

Reading         Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, excerpt    Annie Dillard
“It it sheer coincidence that my hunk of the creek is strewn with boulders. I never merited this grace, that when I face upstream I scent the virgin breath of mountains, I feel a spray of mist on my cheeks and lips, I hear a ceaseless splash and susurrus, a sound of water not merely poured smoothly down air to fill a steady pool, but tumbling live about, over, under, around, between, through an intricate speckling of rock. It is sheer coincidence that upstream from me the creek's bed is ridged in horizontal croppings of sandstone. I never merited this grace, that when I face upstream I see the light on the water careening towards me, inevitably, freely, down a graded series of terraces like the balanced winged platforms on an infinite, inexhaustible font. "Ho, if you are thirsty, come down to the water; ho, if you are hungry, come and sit and eat."  This is the present, at last. I can pat the puppy any time I want.  This is the now, this flickering, broken light, this air that the wind of the future presses down my throat, pumping me buoyant and giddy with praise.
My God, I look at the creek.  It is the answer to Merton's prayer, "Give us time!"  It never stops.  If I seek the senses and skill of children, the information of a thousand books, the innocence of puppies, even the insights of my own city past, I do so only, solely, and entirely that I might look well at the creek.  You don't run down the present, pursue it with baited hooks and nets.  You wait for it, empty-handed, and you are filled.  You'll have fish left over.  The creek is the one great giver.  It is, by definition, Christmas, the incarnation.  This old rock planet gets the present for a present on its birthday every day.
Here is the word from a subatomic physicist: "Everything that has already happened is particles, everything in the future is waves."  Let me twist his meaning.  Here it comes.  The particles are broken; the waves are translucent, laving, roiling with beauty like sharks.  The present is the wave that explodes over my head, flinging the air with particles at the height of its breathless unroll; it is the live water and light that bears from undisclosed sources the freshest news, renewed and renewing, world without end.”