Grateful for my teacher, the tree

Our cabin on Hornby Island is surrounded on three sides by forest, and the fourth side opens to the ocean, and more specifically the Salish Sea that sits between the mainland and Vancouver Island. Being surrounded by nature is not a passive activity out here – there is a lot of work to do to maintain the property. What has been keeping me especially busy these days is clearing deadfall off the forest floor. The fire department wants us to do that to reduce the fuel available to a potential forest fire, but they also don’t want us to take the easy way out of piling and setting fire to the wood, so they offer to collect it and have it chipped. That’s where I come in, shlepping branches and small trees out to a growing mountain of debris by the roadside that I need to get done before the machine comes by.

As I do my work in the woods, the entire lifecycle of the forest is laid bare to me. A tree grew in the humus that accumulated from previous generations of trees, then it reached the end of its life, fell, and now young sprouts reach up for the light, their roots stretching into the flesh of the nurse log. And when we pull back to take in the other species that have woven their own lives around that central storyline – insects and spiders, ferns and creeping plants, birds, newts, and slugs, and forest mammals like deer and possums – we are witnessing a long-term, slow-motion performance of the dance of life, and I have my own part to play in the beginning and in the end.

The deeper I look and the more I learn, the more I appreciate the wonder of the natural world. Mussar teachers going back to Bahya ibn Paquda (c.1050–1120 CE) have emphasized the practice of contemplating nature. In his case, in his classic 11^th century Mussar work, Duties of the Heart, he encourages us to contemplate the workings of the natural world in order to awaken hakarat hatov – recognition of the good one has received.

He repeatedly asks us to consider how bodily systems just go about their work without our awareness, and how conditions – almost all of which we had no role in creating – make life possible.

For ibn Paquda, the goal of the practice is to move ourselves away from taking for granted all the gifts we have received, and replacing that feeling with heartfelt thankfulness.

It strikes me that what is involved here is more than just soaking in a feel-good emotion. For ibn Paquda, and Rambam after him, contemplating the intricate design, beauty and complexity of nature was seen as a way to awaken profound awe and love for the Creator. Like the contemplation of great art, this is an intellectual experience that goes beyond the mind to touch the soul in a deep and lasting way. Nature is a great teacher.

But if we pick up on ibn Paquda’s focus on gratitude, we can see how utterly valuable and needed contemplating nature is for our generation, at least in its current manifestation, when the politics of grievance have become a dominant force in public life. Gratitude is the diametric opposite of grievance.

Masses of people have developed a grievance mindset, the driving force in their lives being resentful protests about their perceived losses, slights, and unmet expectations. Donald Trump has been a relentless cheerleader for victimhood, targeting globalization, immigration, trade, political elites, and the media. His slogan of MAGA only makes sense to voters who feel the country has declined, making them the losers. But he is only one of many populist leaders beating the grievance drum. From the left, the grievances are different – concentration of wealth and political power in the hands of a small elite, inequality and the influence of corporations and billionaires – but the focus is still on grievances.

The flavours change – it is still lemonade.

Grievance asks, “What wrongs have I suffered?” Gratitude asks, “What gifts have I received?”

There are, of course, grievances that are legitimate and ought to be addressed. What I am talking about here is not objective reality, but the glasses people voluntarily put on through which they perceive the world: the glasses of grievance versus the glasses of gratitude.

When you look at nature with an eye to recognizing the good, the gifts are abundant: air to breathe, a sun to warm the earth, water, delicious fruits, magnificent trees, nourishing crops … stop for a moment: What would you add to the list?

And another moment: How does your heart feel when you open to gratitude?

Contrast that with approaching the world from the place of grievance.

Gratitude is expansive; grievance is narrow and contracted. Gratitude is generous; grievance is mean. Gratitude directs us toward the benevolence; grievance sees a system rigged to work against me.

Gratitude connects; grievance is adversarial.

I’ll leave you with a question: How does your heart feel when you open to gratitude? And when you approach the world from the place of grievance?

And now it’s time for me to gratefully don my gloves and protective gear, pick up my chainsaw, and get back to my spiritual work in the woods.