(solution) A SAND COUNTY ALMANAC WITH OTHER ESSAYS ON CONSERVATION FROM

(solution) A SAND COUNTY ALMANAC WITH OTHER ESSAYS ON CONSERVATION FROM

Write 1500 words from scratch about how chapter 8 from Rachel Carsons Sustainability witch talks about sustainable energy systems (attached) relates to Aldo Leopolds land ethic in the Sand County Almanac (attached). 

12 point font, double-spaced, and formatted in the MLA Style. Research must be included in the bibliography. References must be supplied for all quotations and also for any idea, insights, or viewpoints you incorporate from reading the work of others.  In-text citations require the page number of the text or paragraph number of the website.  The reader must be able to look up the exact place in the text or website cited! Also I have attached a proposal i wrote for this paper. You do not need to use it. It is just to help give you an idea about the subjects. However if you do want to use any of it you can.

A SAND
COUNTY
ALMANAC
WITH OTHER ESSAYS ON CONSERVATION FROM Round River ALDO LEOPOLD
ILLuSTRATED BY CHARLES W. ScHWARTZ NewYork ? OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS ? 1966 The Land Ethic When god-like Odysseus returned from the wars in Troy,
he hanged all on one rope a dozen slave-girls of his household whom he suspected of misbehavior during his absence.
This hanging involved no question of propriety. The girls
were property. The disposal of property was then, as now, a
matter of expediency, not of right and wrong.
Concepts of right and wrong were not lacking from Odysseus' Greece: witness the fidelity of his wife through the long
years before at last his black-prowed galleys clove the winedark seas for home. The ethical structure of that day covered
wives, but had not yet been extended to human chattels.
During the three thousand years which have since elapsed,
ethical criteria have been extended to many fields of conduct, with corresponding shrinkages in those judged by expediency only.
The Ethical Sequence This extension of ethics, so far studied only by philosophers,
is actually a process in ecological evolution. Its sequences
may be described in ecological as well as in philosophical
terms. An ethic, ecologically, is a limitation on freedom of
[ 217 J TilE UPSHOT action in the struggle for existence. An ethic, philosophically,
is a differentiation of social from anti-social conduct. These
are two definitions of one thing. The thing has its origin in
the tendency of interdependent individuals or groups to
evolve modes of co-operation. The ecologist calls these symbioses. Politics and economics are advanced symbioses in
which the original free-for-all competition has been replaced,
in part, by co-operative mechan isms with an ethical content.
The complexity of co-operative mechanisms has increased
with population density, and with the efficiency of tools. It
was simpler, for example, to define the anti-social uses of
sticks and stones in the days of the mastodons than of bullets
and billboards in the age of motors.
The first ethics dealt with the relation between individuals; the Mosaic Decalogue is an example. Later accretions
dealt with the relation between the individual and society.
The Golden Rule tries to integrate the individual to society;
democracy to integrate social organization to the individual.
There is as yet no ethic dealing with man's relation to land
and to the animals and plants which grow upon it. Land, like
Odysseus' slave-girls, is still property. The land-relation is
still strictly economic, entailing privileges but not obligations.
The extension of ethics to this third element in human
environment is, if I read the evidence correctly, an evolutionary possibility and an ecological necessity. It is the third
step in a sequence. The first two have already been taken.
Individual thinkers since the days of Ezekiel and Isaiah have
asserted that the despoliation of land is not only inexpedient
but wrong. Society, however, has not yet affirmed their belief. I regard the present conservation movement as the embryo of such an affirmation.
An ethic may be regarded as a mode of guidance for meet[ 218] 1'f{E L-AND ETHIC ing ecological situations so new or intricate, or involving such
deferred reactions, that the path of social expediency is not
discernible to the average individual. Animal instincts are
modes of guidance for the individual in meeting such situations. Ethics are possibly a kind of community instinct inthe-making.
The Community Concept
All ethics so far evolved rest upon a single premise: that the
individual is a member of a community of interdependent
parts. His instincts prompt him to compete for his place in
that community, but his ethics prompt him also to co-operate
(perhaps in order that there may be a place to compete for).
The land ethic simply enlarges the boundaries of the community to include soils, waters, plants, and animals, or collectively, the land.
This sounds simple: do we not already sing our love for
and obligation to the land of the free and the home of the
brave? Yes, but just what and whom do we love? Certainly
not the soil, which we are sending helter-skelter downriver.
Certainly not the waters, which we assume have no function
except to turn turbines, Boat barges, and carry off sewage.
Certainly not the plants, of which we exterminate whole
communities without batting an eye. Certainly not the animals, of which we have already extirpated many of the
largest and most beautiful species. A land ethic of course
cannot prevent the alteration, management, and use of these
'resources,' but it does affirm their right to continued existence, and, at least in spots, their continued existence in a
natural state.
In short, a land e thic changes the role of 1lomo sapiens
[ 219] 11lE UP SHOT from conqueror of the land-community to plain member and
citizen of it. It implies respect for his fellow-m embers, and
also respect for the community as such.
In human history, we have learned (I hope) that the conqueror role is eventually self-defeating. Why? Because it is
implicit in such a role that the conqueror knows , ex cathedra,
just what makes the community clock tick, and just what and
who is valuable, and what and who is worthless, in community life. It always turns out that he knows neither, and this
is why his conquests eventually defeat themselves.
In the biotic community, a parallel situation exists. Abraham knew exactly what the land was for: it was to drip milk
and honey into Abraham's mouth. At the present moment,
the assurance with which we regard this assumption is inverse to the degree of our education.
The ordinary citizen today assumes that science knows
what makes the community clock tick; the scientist is equally
sure that he does not. He knows that the biotic mechanism
is so complex that its workings may never be fully understood.
That man is, in fact, only a member of a biotic team is
shown by an ecological interpretation of history. Many historical events, hitherto explained solely in terms of human
enterprise, were actually biotic interactions between people
and land. The characteristics of the land determined the facts
quite as potently as the characteristics of the men who lived
on it.
Consider, for example, the settlement of the Mississippi
valley. In the years following the Revolution, three groups
were contending for its control: the native Indian, the
French and English traders, and the American settlers. Historians wonder what would have happened if the English at
[ 220] ————- Tl!E LAND ETIUC Detroit had thrown a little more weight into the Indian side
of those tipsy scales which decided the outcome of the colonial migration into the cane-lands of Kentucky. It is time
now to ponder the fact that the cane-lands, when subjected
to the particular mixture of forces represented by the cow,
j>
low, fire, and axe of the pioneer, became blue~rass. What if
the plant succession inherent in this dark and bloody ground
had, under the impact of these forces, given us some worthless sedge, shrub, or weed? Would Boone and Kenton have
l1eld out? Would there have been any overflow into Ohio,
Indiana, Illinois, and Missouri? Any Louisiana Purchase?
Any transcontinental union of new states? Any Civil War?
Kentucky was one sentence in the drama of history. We
are commonlv told what the human actors in this drama tried
'
to do, but we are seldom told that their success, or the lack of
it, hung in large degree on ti1e reaction of particular soils to
the impact of the particular forces exerted by their occupancy. In the case of Kentucky, we do not even know where
the bluegrass came from -whether it is a native species, or a
stowaway from Europe.
Contrast the cane-lands with what hindsight tells us about
the Southwest, where the pioneers were equally brave, resourceful, and persevering. The impact of occupancy here
brought no bluegrass, or other plant fitted to withstand the
bumps and buHetings of hard use. This region, when grazed
by livestock, reverted through a series of more and more
worthless grasses, shrubs, and weeds to a condition of unstable equilibrium. Each recession of plant types bred erosion; each increment to erosion bred a further recession of
plants. The result today is a progressive and mutual deterioration, not only of plants and soils, but of the animal community subsisting thereon. The early settlers did not expect
[ 221 1 THE UPSHOT this: on the cienegas of New Mexico some even cut ditches
to hasten it. So subtle has been its progress that few residents
of the region are aware of it. It is quite invisible to the tourist who finds this wrecked landscape colorful and charming
(as indeed it is, but it bears scant resemblance to what it
was in 1848).
This same landscape was ·developed' once before, but with
quite different results. The Pueblo Indians settled the Southwest in pre-Columbian times, but they happened not to be
equipped with range livestock. Their civilization expired,
but not because their land expired.
In India, regions devoid of any sod-forming grass have
been settled, apparently without wrecking the land, by the
simple expedient of carrying the grass to the cow, rather than
vice versa. (Was tl1is the result of some deep wisdom, or was
it just good luck? I do not know.)
In short, the plant succession steered the course of history;
the pioneer simply demonstrated, for good or ill, what successions inhered in the land. Is history taught in this spirit?
It will be, once the concept of land as a community really
penetrates our intellectual life.
The Ecological Conscience
Conservation is a state of harmony between men and land.
Despite nearly a century of propaganda, conservation still
proceeds at a snail's pace; progress still consists largely of
letterhead pieties and convention oratory. On the back forty
we still slip two steps backward for each forward stride.
The usual answer to this dilemma is ·more conservation
education.' No one will debate this, but is it certain that only
[ 222] Til E LAND ETHIC the volume of education needs stepping up? Is something
lacking in the content as well?
lt is difficult to give a fair summary of its content in brief
f<Jrm, but, as I understand it, the content is substantially
tllis: obey the law, vote right, join some organizations, and
p ractice what conservation is profitable on your own land;
tl1e government will do the rest.
Is not this formula too easy to accomplish anything worthwhile? It defines no right or wrong, assigns no obligation,
calls for no sacrifice, implies no change in the current philosophy of values. In respect to land-use, it urges only enlightened self-interest. Just how far will such education take
us? An example will perhaps yield a partial answer.
By 1930 it had become clear to all except the ecologically
blind that southwestern Wisconsin's topsoil was slipping seaward. In 1933 the farmers were told that if they would adopt
certain remedial practices for five years, the public would
donate CCC labor to install them, plus the necessary machinery and materials. The offer was widely accepted, but
the practices were widely forgotten when the five-year contract period was up. The farmers continued only those practices that yielded an immediate and visible economic gain
for themselves.
This led to the idea that maybe farmers would learn more
quickly if they themselves wrote the rules. Accordingly the
Wisconsin Legislature in 1937 passed the Soil Conservation
District Law. This said to farmers, in effect: We, the public,
will furnish you free technical service and loan you specialized machinery, if you will write your own rules for landuse. Each county may write its own rules, and these will
have the force of law. Nearly all the counties promptly or[ 223 J THE UPSHOT ganized to accept the proffered help, but after a decade of
operation, no county has yet written a single t·ule. There has
been visible progress in such practices as strip-cropping,
pasture renovation, and soil liming, but none in fencing
woodlots against grazing, and none in excluding plow and
cow from steep slopes. The farmers, in short, have selected
those remedial practices which were profitable anyhow, and
ignored those which were profitable to the community, but
not clearly profitable to themselves.
When one asks why no rules have been written, one is told
that the community is not yet ready to support them; education must precede rules. But the education actually in progress makes no mention of obligations to land over and above
those dictated by self-interest. The net result is that we have
more education but less soil, fewer healthy woods, and as
many floods as in 1937.
The puzzling aspect of such situations is that the existence
of obligations over and above self-interest is taken for
granted in such rural community enterprises as the betterment of roads, schools, churches, and baseball teams. Their
existence is not taken for granted, nor as yet seriously discussed, in bettering the behavior of the water that falls on
the land, or in the preserving of the beauty or diversity of
the farm landscape. Land-use ethics are still governed wholly
by economic self-interest, just as social ethics were a century
ago.
To sum up: we asked the farmer to do what he conveniently could to save his soil, and he has done just that, and
only that. The farmer who clears the woods off a 75 per cent
slope, turns his cows into the clearing, and dumps its rainfall,
rocks, and soil into the community creek, is still (if otherwise
decent) a respected member of society. If he puts lime on
[ 224 J 1'HE LAND ETHIC l is fields and plants his crops on contour, he is still entitled
t () all the privileges and emoluments of his Soil Conservation
District. The District is a beautiful piece of social machinery,
but it is coughing along on two cylinders because we have
been too timid, and too anxious for quick success, to tell the
farmer the true magnitude of his obligations. Obligations
h ave no meaning without conscience, and the problem we
face is the extension of the social conscience from people to
land.
No important change in ethics was ever accomplished
without an internal change in our intellectual emphasis,
loyalties, affections, and convictions. The proof that consexvation has not yet touched these foundations of conduct
lies in the fact that philosophy and religion have not yet
heard of it. In our attempt to make conservation easy, we
have made it trivial. Substitutes for a Land Ethic
When the logic of history hungers for bread and we hand
out a stone, we are at pains to explain lww much the stone
resembles bread. I now describe some of the stones which
serve in lieu of a land ethic.
One basic weakness in a conservation system based wholly
on economic motives is that most members of the land community have no economic value. Wildflowers and songbirds
are examples. Of the 22,000 higher plants and animals native
to Wisconsin, it is doubtful whether more than 5 per cent
can he sold, fed, eaten, or otherwise put to economic use. Yet
these creatures are members of the biotic community, and if
(as I believe) its stability depends on its integrity, they are
entitled to continuance.
[ 2251 TilE UPSHOT When one of these non-economic categories is threatened,
and if we happen to love it, we invent subterfuges to give it
economic importance. At the beginning of the century songbirds were supposed to be disappearing. Ornithologists
jumped to the rescue with some distinctly shaky evidence to
the effect that insects would eat us up if birds failed to control them. The evidence had to be economic in order to be
valid.
It is painful to read these circumlocutions today. We have
no land ethic yet, but we have at least drawn nearer the
point of admitting that birds should continue as a matter of
biotic right, regardless of the presence or absence of economic advantage to us.
A parallel situation exists in respect of predatory mammals, raptorial birds, and fish-eating birds. Time was when
biologists somewhat overworked the evidence that these
creatures preserve the health of game by killing weaklings,
or that they control rodents for the farmer, or that they prey
only on 'worthless' species. Here again, the evidence had to
be economic in order to be valid. I t is only in recent years
that we hear the more honest argument that predators are
members of the community, and that no special interest has
the right to exterminate them for the sake of a benefit, real
or fancied, to itself. Unfortunately this enlightened view is
still in the talk stage. In the field the extermination of predators goes merrily on: witness the impending erasure of the
timber wolf by fiat of Congress, the Conservation Bureaus,
and many state legislatures.
Some species of trees have been 'read out of the party' by
economics-minded fores ters because they grow too slowly,
or have too low a sale value to pay as timber crops: white
cedar, tamarack, cypress, beech, and hemlock are examples.
[ 226] '111E UPSHOT In Europe, where forestry is ecologically more advanced, the
non-commercial tree species are recognized as m embers of
the native forest community, to be preserved as such, within
reason. Moreover, some (like beech ) have been found to
have a valuable function in building up soil fertility. The interdependence of the forest and its constituent tree species,
ground flora, and fauna is taken for granted.
Lack of economic value is sometimes a character not only
of species or groups, but of entire biotic communities:
marshes, bogs, dunes, and 'deserts' are examples. Our formula in such cases is to relegate their conservation to government as refuges, monuments, or parks. The d:fficulty is that
these communities are usually interspersed with more valuable private lands; the government cannot possibly own or
control such scattered parcels. The net effect is that we have
relegated some of them to ultimate extinction over large
areas. If the private owner were ecologically minded, he
would be proud to be the custodian of a reasonable proportion of such areas, which add diversity and beauty to his
farm and to his community.
In some instances, the assumed lack of profit in these
'waste' areas has proved to be wrong, but only after most of
them had been done away with. The present scramble to
reflood muskrat marshes is a case in point.
– There is a clear tendency in American conservation to
relegate to government all necessary jobs that private landowners fail to perform. Government ownership, operation,
subsidy, or regulation is now widely prevalent in forestry,
range management, soil and watershed management, park
and wilderness conservation, fisheries management, and migratory bird management, with more to come. Most of this
growth in-governmental conservation is proper and logical,
[ 228] TKE L AND ETifiC som e of it is inevitable. That I imply no disapproval of it is
implicit in the fact that I have spent most of my life working
for it. Nevertheless the question arises: What is the ultimate
magnitude of the enterprise? Will the tax base carry its eventual ramifications? At what point will governmental conservation, like the mastodon, become ·handicapped by its own
dimensions? The answer, if there is any, seems to be in a
land ethic, or some other force which assigns more obligation
to the private landowner.
Industrial landowners and users, especially lumbermen
and stockmen, are inclined to wail long and loudly about the
extension of government ownership and regulation to land,
but (with notable exceptions) they show little disposition to
develop the only visible alternative: the voluntary practice
of conservation on their own lands.
When the private landowner is asked to perform some
unprofitable act for the good of the community, he today
assents only with outstretched palm. If the act costs him cash
this is fair and proper, but when it costs only forethought,
open-mindedness, or time, the issue is at least debatable. The
overwhelming growth of land-use subsidies in recent years
must be ascribed, in large part, to the government's own
agencies for conservation education: the land bureaus, the
agricultural colleges, and the extension services. As far as I
can detect, no ethical obligation toward land is taught in
these institutions.
To sum up: a system of conservation based solely on economic self-interest is hopelessly lopsided. It tends to ignore,
and thus eventually to eliminate, many elements in the land
community that lack commercial value, but that are (as far as
we know ) essential to its healthy functioning. It assumes,
falsely, I think, that the economic parts of the biotic clock
[ 229 1 THE UPSHOT will function without the uneconomic parts. It tends to relegate to government many functions eventually too large, too
complex, or too widely dispersed to be performed by gov.
ernment.
An ethical obligation on the part of the private owner is
the only visible remedy for these situations.
The Land Pyramid
An ethic to supplement and guide the economic relation to
land presupposes the existence of some mental image of land
as a biotic mechanism. We can be ethical only in relation to
something we can see, feel, understand, love, or otherwise
have faith in.
The image commonly employed in conservation education
is 'the balance of nature: For reasons too leng thy to detail
here, this figure of speech fails to describe accurately what
little we know about the land mechanism. A much truer
image is the one employed in ecology: the biotic pyramid. I
shall first sketch the pyramid as a symbol of land, and later
develop some of its implications in terms of land-use.
Plants absorb energy from the sun. This energy flows
through a circuit called the biota, which may be represented
by a pyramid consisting of layers. The bottom layer is the
soil. A plant layer rests on the soil, an insect layer on the
plants, a bird and rodent layer on the insects, and so on up
through various animal groups to the apex layer, which consists of the larger carnivores.
The species of a layer are alike not in where they came
from, or in what they look like, but rather in what they eat.
Each successive layer depends on those below it for food and
often for other services, and each in turn furnishes food and
[ 230] 'l'JIS LAND ETHIC services to those above. Proceeding upward, each successive
layer decreases in numerical abundance. Thus, for every
carnivore there are hundreds of his prey, thousands of their
prey, millions of insects, uncountable plants. The pyramidal
fof)ll of the system reflects this numerical progression from
apelC to base. Man shares an intermediate layer with the
bears, raccoons, and squirrels which eat both meat and vegetables.
The lines of dependency for food and other services are
called food chains. Thus soil-oak-deer-Indian is a chain that
bas now been largely converted to soil-corn-cow-farmer.
Each species, including ourselves, is a link in many chains.
The deer eats a hundred plants other than oak, and the cow
a hundred plants other than corn. Both, then, are links in a
hundred chains. The pyramid is a tangle of chains so complex
as to seem disorderly, yet the stability of the system proves it
to be a highly organized structure. Its functioning depends
on the co-operation and competition of its diverse parts.
In the beginning, the pyramid of life was low and squat,
the food chains short and simple. Evolution has added layer
after layer, link after link. Man is one of thousands of accretions to the height and complexity of the pyramid. Science
bas given us many doubts, but it has given us at least one
certainty: the trend of evolution is to elaborate and diversify
the biota.
Land, then, is not merely soil; it is a fountain of energy
flowing through a circuit of soils, plants, and animals. Food
chains are the living channels which conduct energy upward; death and decay return it to the soil. The circuit is not
closed; some energy is dissipated in decay, some is added by
absorption from the air, some is stored in soils, peats, and
long-lived forests; but it is a sustained circuit, like a slowly
[ 231] THE UPSHOT augmented revolving fund of life. There is always a net loss
by downhill wash, but this is normally small and offset by
the decay of rocks. It is deposited in the ocean and, in the
course of geological time, raised to form new lands and new
pyramids.
The velocity and character of the upward flow of energy
depend on the complex structure of the plant and animal
community, much as the upward flow of sap in a tree depends on its complex cellular organization. Without this complexity, normal circulation would presumably not occur.
Structure means the characteristic numbers, as well as the
characteristic kinds and functions, of the component species.
This interdependence between the complex structure of the
land and its smooth functioning as an energy unit is one of its
basic attributes.
When a change oc…