The Irony of Modern Environmentalism

Do we still care about nature as a part of our existence or as a tool we use to satisfy our demand for morality and political agenda?

There is nothing funnier than a modern city dweller who worries about nature. Doesn’t it make you smile that someone who has never worked in the field suddenly becomes truly puzzled by environmental pollution? Heidegger warned us that nature would be seen as a resource and that the Rhine, one of the greatest of Europe’s rivers, would turn into a tourist attraction. That the very meaning of the Rhine as a river, as a part of existence, will disappear. Not just the Rhine, but everything from the Scottish Highlands to the Great European Plain, from the Mediterranean Sea to the shores of Scandinavia, everything should be calculated and made a profit of, Nature should be rationalized and be put into use.

If we look at nature as something that merely gives us resources, one might argue that there is no problem with overusing it. In some way, our ancestors were using slash-and-burn agriculture for farming, and nothing happened. Humanity survived. We found another way of farming, we developed tools and equipment to hurt land less and produce more. So, we don’t really need to worry about what happens after us, because somebody in the future will discover something new. But is it really like that? Because the amount of damage and pollution made by tribes or individual farmers is not the same as that produced by the industrial complex.

The truth is that nature is a chaotic, cruel place, where might makes right, an endless circle of survival, adaptation, and reproduction. But humans broke this circle, becoming the ultimate predators. We are at the top of the hierarchy. Don’t we have the right to do what we want to do? If nature there is nothing natural about nature, if it is not reserved in harmony, it is not unnatural to overuse Nature however we want.

This point of view doesn’t seem right. It leaves us scared for future generations, for the beauty and peace we find in nature, for memories we share about our first fishing with dad, and for our deep connection with our roots and soil that shaped us into who we are. 

But then, aren’t those who call for saving nature correct?

Ironically, for them, nature is a tool for achieving political goals and not a part of sane human existence. They call for the conservation of nature, not power over it; to stop eating meat and start eating bugs – as if there are no farmers whose life depends on producing meat. 

What is the reason for nature? If one says that it is to give us resources or to be protected, one is only answering how to use it – thus rendering it as an object. In this context, factory owners and pro-environmental politicians have more in common with each other than they think. For them, nature only reveals the technical part of human nature. A part that is willing to calculate everything and put it to use. In this context, it doesn’t matter if nature is just being used for resource gathering or if it is being used as something to “be saved”, “be conserved” or even from a tourism perspective, something to “be visited”. For example, someone who grew up on Lake Como or in the Alps won’t see these places the way the rest of the world does. For them, these places are not iconic landmarks – they are simply home, part of their daily existence. Meanwhile, tourists treat the same locations as attractions, valuing them for entertainment and spectacle.

The real cause of what we are experiencing today—our environmental crisis and detachment from nature—lies in the atomization of society and our growing dissociation from the natural world. We’ve thrown nature into the realm of politics, effectively outsourcing the responsibility of caring for our shared home to the government. This has fostered the illusion that voting for an environmentally friendly politician will somehow reconnect us with nature. In reality, it has only deepened the divide.

Now, things like caring about the environment, not throwing garbage in public areas, separating waste, and trying to reduce ocean pollution are somehow expected to reflect your political views. Moreover, these actions are often seen as political when, in reality, they should be considered civic virtues—basic responsibilities of caring for our home. The tricky part is that, due to urbanization, it’s hard to feel at home in big cities. People who come and go don’t associate themselves with places where they are only temporary, places and cities where they live just to make money. Just like the factory owner who pollutes the surrounding environment without caring about it, the pro-environmental politician who creates new laws about how bottle caps should be manufactured doesn’t truly care about nature. They do it to appear moral, to feel like good people. But why? They live in cities, mostly concrete jungles, and while they may promote vegetarianism, they aren’t the ones whose livelihoods depend on farming. They don’t work in the fields. They are so disconnected from nature, yet they still want to feel good about themselves. They sense that something bad has happened, that they have been thrown into a world where they no longer have roots. They are afraid—they no longer have a place to return to if the journey ends in tragedy. Out of this feeling of alienation comes the desire to conserve nature as it is. Ironically, they don’t really understand what they are trying to conserve.

Moreover, the entire narrative surrounding nature today carries a dangerous, almost pagan undertone—one that suggests humanity must sacrifice its comfort and technological progress on the altar of the environment.

But what is nature to humanity, really? A place of pain and suffering, where we face an unequal battle—humans, without claws or fur, vulnerable in the wild. Yet, at the same time, nature has fed, clothed, and sheltered us in the face of natural disasters and the wrath of the gods. It was our ancestors who tamed nature, bending it to our will. And now, we are so eager to return to its serenity, to its trees, that we are willing to reject what is most human in us—the power over our fate, over nature itself, the power of Will, the ability to overthrow the gods.

The question is: can we still recognize nature as a part of our existence without denying the essence of our human spirit? Or will nature continue to be viewed merely as an object, whether by those who “care” or those who don’t?

I mentioned Heidegger at the outset for a reason. In his essay The Question Concerning Technology, Martin Heidegger contrasts a hydroelectric plant with an old bridge: “The hydroelectric plant is not built into the Rhine River as was the old wooden bridge that joined bank with bank for hundreds of years.” Both the hydroelectric plant and the bridge were constructed by humans, both are unnatural to the environment. However, the old bridge reveals the true human spirit of adaptation and creativity. It adds to nature, becoming a part of the landscape for those who use it, without harming or degrading the environment for the sake of mere resource extraction.

A similar example can be found the Netherlands. For nearly nine hundred years, the Dutch have battled against floods and the sea, building dams to protect their land. This isn’t merely a struggle for survival, but a demonstration of humanity’s ability to transform a hostile, deadly environment into a livable space. But how does this harmonize with nature, if building dams is about intervention? In this case, the coexistence of humans and nature is not found in peace, but in chaos. The constant struggle between nature and people shaped the Netherlands as we know it today. Here, nature reveals itself as a dangerous, overwhelming force that pushes humans to uncover their own strength and spirit.

I believe the solution to our current crisis can only be found by liberating nature from politics. It must also be freed from the influence of hypocritical environmentalists who preach harmony with nature but wouldn’t survive a day in the wild, who call for the sacrifice of human spirit and technological progress, yet fail to recognize that they themselves are products of those very advancements.

The solution must be divided into two paths: a technological approach and a civic approach. On the technological side, we should continue searching for alternative energy sources and encourage industries to adopt less harmful methods of production. But we must also address how to restore a sense of home and belonging—how to make urbanization less rootless and alienating. We need to figure out how to reconnect people with nature and reinstate cleanliness and decency as civic virtues.

While the technological path is achievable, the civic approach presents a greater challenge. There is always the risk of falling into the trap of techno-optimism and forgetting about what nature means for the human spirit and what it reveals about it.

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