Decolonizing Human-Nature Relationships

Written by Frances Rosenberg

“…and God said to them, ‘Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it; and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the air and over every living thing that moves upon the earth.’" — Genesis 1:28

Western culture has been built on the foundations of human exceptionalism—a view of nature as separate from and far below the (“right” kind of) human. But where do these foundations come from? And are they universal across all of humanity? 

Perhaps we should begin with the famous Bible passage quoted above, in which we are given “dominion over… every living thing that moves upon the earth.” As theology historian Anna Peterson explains, the idea of humans being completely separate from and dominant over the natural world is pervasive across Western worldviews, and yet it can be traced predominantly to Christian mythologies. In particular, the idea that humans alone possess a soul, making it only natural that we should be placed at the top of the hierarchy. In Peterson’s words, this “assertion of humanity's uniqueness is inextricably tied to humans' right to subdue and dominate other animals”. And so, for centuries, Western society developed along this line—from medieval agricultural deforestation to noble practices of hunting for sport just to name a few examples.

Then came a few major interrelated shifts on a global scale: the rise of colonialism, capitalism, and the so-called Enlightenment. The exploration of “new worlds” by European powers was justified and fueled by a vision of foreign “empty” landscapes (and people!) being there for the taking—resources to be claimed and exploited for their own gain. This mindset not only legitimized conquest and extraction but also helped solidify a worldview in which land, labor, and even life itself could be reduced to commodities.

At the same time, on Europe’s home soil, land was swiftly being swept up by wealthy elites in what Karl Marx referred to as “enclosure of the commons.” This was the process by which common lands—once shared by rural communities for grazing, farming, and gathering—were fenced off and privatized, forcing people off their ancestral lands and into cities to sell their labor for wages. The enclosure movement marked a profound shift in how people related to the land—and the birth of capitalism as it is known today. 

Meanwhile, in 1637, just 145 years after colonization of the Americas began, philosopher Rene Descartes wrote Discourse on the Method, in which he put forth an “enlightened” theory that it is human reason that sets us apart from and above nonhuman life (see page 49 especially)—an idea that loudly echoes Christian theories of human souls. A few years later he further developed this line of thought, writing of nature as an entirely mechanical system over which humans could easily gain mastery. With Descartes and other contemporary thinkers such as Francis Bacon—who went a step beyond Descartes to claim we must contort and enslave nature, and those deemed “part of nature”—an era we now know as the Enlightenment came to pass, adding a more solid, intellectual structure to the foundations of human exceptionalism. 

These three movements—colonialism, capitalism, and Enlightenment thinking—form an inextricably linked braid through all Western cultural norms, reinforcing human exceptionalism at every twist and turn. Modern-day capitalism continues this legacy, dressing up the same extractive logic in the language of innovation, productivity, and progress—still treating both people and ecosystems as expendable means to an end. Neocolonial extraction persists as well, as multinational corporations exploit the lands, labor, and resources of the Global Majority World under the guise of “development” and “free markets.” And cutting through all of this is Descartes’ persistent human exceptionalism, perhaps even more pervasive now than ever, as technologies and ideologies alike continue to center human dominance and distance us from the living world we depend on.

Today, so many aspects of our daily lives are shaped by this disconnect between humans and nature—from how we view health, food, and waste to how our cities, universities, and transport systems are structured. While it’s certainly very difficult to determine exactly how connected people or communities are with the nature around them, many studies have put together metrics or ways of determining just how dire the situation is. One study of popular culture artefacts (in English) from throughout the 20th century and beyond found that we are growing more and more disconnected from nature. Another study describes how this disconnect is deeply embedded in societal and community values and activities (see the image below for a visual of these processes). 

Image from this study - "Figure 1: Wheel of disconnection. The figure illustrates how disconnection from nature takes place through interrelated processes of individual (Table 1) and societal (Table 2) drivers and dimensions of disconnect. These processes might result in different types of disconnection, as summarized by terms and concepts in the outer circle"

And yet, this disconnect from nature is not a defining feature in all human societies around the world today. For example, Ubuntu—a South African philosophy of relationality between all living beings, both human and nonhuman—emphasizes communal responsibility and viewing the earth as a relative. In Myanmar and Thailand, the Pgaz K'Nyau (also called the Sgaw Karen peoples) also view humans not as central to the world, but as “one group of beings among many”, intimately interconnected with plants, animals, and spirits in their cosmology. In Ecuador, the Indigenous Kichwa concept of Sumak Kawsay (often translated as buen vivir), stresses the importance of living in harmony with nature in all aspects of life. 

The reciprocity with nature that these peoples emphasize is echoed in Indigenous worldviews across North America as well. As Potawatomi botanist Robin Wall Kimmerer writes, “In some Native languages the term for plants translates to ‘those who take care of us.’ Just as we are bound in a covenant of reciprocity with our relatives in the plant world, so too are we bound to care for them in return.” While you may be drawing some similarities between these feelings of kinship with the natural world which elicit a sense of mutual responsibility, and the Western view of dominion and supremacy over all nature that may or may not lead to some form of nature protection or management—I want to end by highlighting just how different these different forms of “caretaking” are in action. 

For example, Western forms of nature conservation often function by fencing off large swathes of “nature” to keep it entirely separate from humans, and therefore “safe.” But this only deepens our sense of separation, turning nature into something distant and untouchable—an exhibit to be preserved rather than a living world we’re part of. In trying to protect it, we make it more alien to us. By contrast, many Indigenous conservation practices—like the controlled burns used by the Karuk Tribe or the Potawatomi’s sustainable harvesting of sweetgrass—are based on ongoing relationships and care, where humans actively participate in maintaining the health of the land rather than withdrawing from it. 

So, as we reflect on the many non-Western—often Indigenous—ways of being in relation with nature better—how can we learn from them, and work to change our own dangerous and divisive views of nature, without co-opting or appropriating worldviews that are not our own? Perhaps part of the answer comes from reflecting on the “we”  in the question itself. Métis marine biologist Max Liboiron writes that “We isn’t specific enough for obligation.” And yet, if we can uplift the specific positionality we each bring to our daily lives and work, we can find “solidarity without the universal We.” There are many more brilliant thinkers ruminating on this difficult question (see for example, this article on ethical knowledge sharing). For now, let us keep listening and reflecting, and learning how to embody just and loving relations with the natural world around us.