2. The Obligation to Endure

THE HISTORY OF LIFE on earth has been a history of interaction between living things
and their surroundings. To a large extent, the physical form and the habits of the earth’s
vegetation and its animal life have been molded by the environment. Considering the whole
span of earthly time, the opposite effect, in which life actually modifies its surroundings, has
been relatively slight. Only within the moment of time represented by the present century has
one species—man—acquired significant power to alter the nature of his world.

During the past quarter century this power has not only increased to one of disturbing
magnitude but it has changed in character. The most alarming of all man’s assaults upon the
environment is the contamination of air, earth, rivers, and sea with dangerous and even lethal
materials. This pollution is for the most part irrecoverable; the chain of evil it initiates not
only in the world that must support life but in living tissues is for the most part irreversible. In
this now universal contamination of the environment, chemicals are the sinister and little-
recognized partners of radiation in changing the very nature of the world—the very nature of
its life. Strontium 90, released through nuclear explosions into the air, comes to earth in rain or
drifts down as fallout, lodges in soil, enters into the grass or corn or wheat grown there, and in
time takes up its abode in the bones of a human being, there to remain until his death.

Similarly, chemicals sprayed on croplands or forests or gardens lie long in soil, entering into
living organisms, passing from one to another in a chain of poisoning and death. Or they pass
mysteriously by underground streams until they emerge and, through the alchemy of air and
sunlight, combine into new forms that kill vegetation, sicken cattle, and work unknown harm on
those who drink from once pure wells. As Albert Schweitzer has said, ‘Man can hardly even
recognize the devils of his own creation.’ It took hundreds of millions of years to produce the
life that now inhabits the earth—eons of time in which that developing and evolving and
diversifying life reached a state of adjustment and balance with its surroundings. The
environment, rigorously shaping and directing the life it supported, contained elements that
were hostile as well as supporting. Certain rocks gave out dangerous radiation; even within the
light of the sun, from which all life draws its energy, there were short-wave radiations with
power to injure. Given time—time not in years but in millennia—life adjusts, and a balance has
been reached. For time is the essential ingredient; but in the modern world there is no time.
The rapidity of change and the speed with which new situations are created follow the
impetuous and heedless pace of man rather than the deliberate pace of nature. Radiation is no
longer merely the background radiation of rocks, the bombardment of cosmic rays, the
ultraviolet of the sun that have existed before there was any life on earth; radiation is now the
unnatural creation of man’s tampering with the atom. The chemicals to which life is asked to
make its adjustment are no longer merely the calcium and silica and copper and all the rest of
the minerals washed out of the rocks and carried in rivers to the sea; they are the synthetic
creations of man’s inventive mind, brewed in his laboratories, and having no counterparts in
nature.

To adjust to these chemicals would require time on the scale that is nature’s; it would require
not merely the years of a man’s life but the life of generations. And even this, were it by some
miracle possible, would be futile, for the new chemicals come from our laboratories in an
endless stream; almost five hundred annually find their way into actual use in the United States
alone. The figure is staggering and its implications are not easily grasped—500 new chemicals
to which the bodies of men and animals are required somehow to adapt each year, chemicals
totally outside the limits of biologic experience.

Among them are many that are used in man’s war against nature. Since the mid-1940s over 200
basic chemicals have been created for use in killing insects, weeds, rodents, and other
organisms described in the modern vernacular as ‘pests’; and they are sold under several
thousand different brand names. These sprays, dusts, and aerosols are now applied almost
universally to farms, gardens, forests, and homes— nonselective chemicals that have the power
to kill every insect, the ‘good’ and the ‘bad’, to still the song of birds and the leaping of fish in
the streams, to coat the leaves with a deadly film, and to linger on in soil—all this though the
intended target may be only a few weeds or insects. Can anyone believe it is possible to lay
down such a barrage of poisons on the surface of the earth without making it unfit for all life?
They should not be called ‘insecticides’, but ‘biocides’. The whole process of spraying seems
caught up in an endless spiral. Since DDT was released for civilian use, a process of escalation
has been going on in which ever more toxic materials must be found. This has happened
because insects, in a triumphant vindication of Darwin’s principle of the survival of the fittest,
have evolved super races immune to the particular insecticide used, hence a deadlier one has
always to be developed—and then a deadlier one than that. It has happened also because, for
reasons to be described later, destructive insects often undergo a ‘flareback’, or resurgence,
after spraying, in numbers greater than before. Thus the chemical war is never won, and all life
is caught in its violent crossfire.

Along with the possibility of the extinction of mankind by nuclear war, the central problem of
our age has therefore become the contamination of man’s total environment with such
substances of incredible potential for harm—substances that accumulate in the tissues of
plants and animals and even penetrate the germ cells to shatter or alter the very material
of heredity upon which the shape of the future depends.

Some would-be architects of our future look toward a time when it will be possible to alter the
human germ plasm by design. But we may easily be doing so now by inadvertence, for many
chemicals, like radiation, bring about gene mutations. It is ironic to think that man might
determine his own future by something so seemingly trivial as the choice of an insect spray.
All this has been risked—for what? Future historians may well be amazed by our distorted
sense of proportion. How could intelligent beings seek to control a few unwanted species by a
method that contaminated the entire environment and brought the threat of disease and death
even to their own kind? Yet this is precisely what we have done. We have done it, moreover,
for reasons that collapse the moment we examine them. We are told that the enormous and
expanding use of pesticides is necessary to maintain farm production. Yet is our real problem
not one of overproduction? Our farms, despite measures to remove acreages from production
and to pay farmers not to produce, have yielded such a staggering excess of crops that the
American taxpayer in 1962 is paying out more than one billion dollars a year as the total
carrying cost of the surplus-food storage program. And is the situation helped when one branch
of the Agriculture Department tries to reduce production while another states, as it did in 1958,
‘It is believed generally that reduction of crop acreages under provisions of the Soil Bank will
stimulate interest in use of chemicals to obtain maximum production on the land retained in
crops.’ All this is not to say there is no insect problem and no need of control. I am saying,
rather, that control must be geared to realities, not to mythical situations, and that the
methods employed must be such that they do not destroy us along with the insects.

. . . The problem whose attempted solution has brought such a train of disaster in its wake is an
accompaniment of our modern way of life. Long before the age of man, insects inhabited the
earth—a group of extraordinarily varied and adaptable beings. Over the course of time since
man’s advent, a small percentage of the more than half a million species of insects have come
into conflict with human welfare in two principal ways: as competitors for the food supply and
as carriers of human disease. Disease-carrying insects become important where human beings
are crowded together, especially under conditions where sanitation is poor, as in time of
natural disaster or war or in situations of extreme poverty and deprivation. Then control of
some sort becomes necessary. It is a sobering fact, however, as we shall presently see, that the
method of massive chemical control has had only limited success, and also threatens to worsen
the very conditions it is intended to curb.

Under primitive agricultural conditions the farmer had few insect problems. These arose with
the intensification of agriculture—the devotion of immense acreages to a single crop. Such a
system set the stage for explosive increases in specific insect populations. Single-crop farming
does not take advantage of the principles by which nature works; it is agriculture as an engineer
might conceive it to be. Nature has introduced great variety into the landscape, but man has
displayed a passion for simplifying it. Thus he undoes the built-in checks and balances by which
nature holds the species within bounds. One important natural check is a limit on the amount
of suitable habitat for each species. Obviously then, an insect that lives on wheat can build up
its population to much higher levels on a farm devoted to wheat than on one in which wheat is
intermingled with other crops to which the insect is not adapted. The same thing happens in
other situations. A generation or more ago, the towns of large areas of the United States lined
their streets with the noble elm tree. Now the beauty they hopefully created is threatened with
complete destruction as disease sweeps through the elms, carried by a beetle that would have
only limited chance to build up large populations and to spread from tree to tree if the elms
were only occasional trees in a richly diversified planting.

Another factor in the modern insect problem is one that must be viewed against a background
of geologic and human history: the spreading of thousands of different kinds of organisms from
their native homes to invade new territories. This worldwide migration has been studied and
graphically described by the British ecologist Charles Elton in his recent book The Ecology of
Invasions. During the Cretaceous Period, some hundred million years ago, flooding seas cut
many land bridges between continents and living things found themselves confined in what
Elton calls ‘colossal separate nature reserves’. There, isolated from others of their kind, they
developed many new species. When some of the land masses were joined again, about 15
million years ago, these species began to move out into new territories—a movement that is
not only still in progress but is now receiving considerable assistance from man.

The importation of plants is the primary agent in the modern spread of species, for animals
have almost invariably gone along with the plants, quarantine being a comparatively recent and
not completely effective innovation. The United States Office of Plant Introduction alone has
introduced almost 200,000 species and varieties of plants from all over the world. Nearly half of
the 180 or so major insect enemies of plants in the United States are accidental imports from
abroad, and most of them have come as hitchhikers on plants. In new territory, out of reach of
the restraining hand of the natural enemies that kept down its numbers in its native land, an
invading plant or animal is able to become enormously abundant. Thus it is no accident that our
most troublesome insects are introduced species. These invasions, both the naturally occurring
and those dependent on human assistance, are likely to continue indefinitely. Quarantine and
massive chemical campaigns are only extremely expensive ways of buying time. We are faced,
according to Dr. Elton, ‘with a life-and-death need not just to find new technological means of
suppressing this plant or that animal’; instead we need the basic knowledge of animal
populations and their relations to their surroundings that will ‘promote an even balance and
damp down the explosive power of outbreaks and new invasions.’

Much of the necessary knowledge is now available but we do not use it. We train ecologists in
our universities and even employ them in our governmental agencies but we seldom take their
advice. We allow the chemical death rain to fall as though there were no alternative, whereas
in fact there are many, and our ingenuity could soon discover many more if given opportunity.
Have we fallen into a mesmerized state that makes us accept as inevitable that which is inferior
or detrimental, as though having lost the will or the vision to demand that which is good? Such
thinking, in the words of the ecologist Paul Shepard, ‘idealizes life with only its head out of
water, inches above the limits of toleration of the corruption of its own environment...Why
should we tolerate a diet of weak poisons, a home in insipid surroundings, a circle of
acquaintances who are not quite our enemies, the noise of motors with just enough relief to
prevent insanity? Who would want to live in a world which is just not quite fatal?’

Yet such a world is pressed upon us. The crusade to create a chemically sterile, insect-free
world seems to have engendered a fanatic zeal on the part of many specialists and most of the
so-called control agencies. On every hand there is evidence that those engaged in spraying
operations exercise a ruthless power. ‘The regulatory entomologists...function as prosecutor,
judge and jury, tax assessor and collector and sheriff to enforce their own orders,’ said
Connecticut entomologist Neely Turner. The most flagrant abuses go unchecked in both state
and federal agencies. It is not my contention that chemical insecticides must never be used. I do
contend that we have put poisonous and biologically potent chemicals indiscriminately into the
hands of persons largely or wholly ignorant of their potentials for harm. We have subjected
enormous numbers of people to contact with these poisons, without their consent and often
without their knowledge. If the Bill of Rights contains no guarantee that a citizen shall be secure
against lethal poisons distributed either by private individuals or by public officials, it is surely
only because our forefathers, despite their considerable wisdom and foresight, could conceive
of no such problem.

I contend, furthermore, that we have allowed these chemicals to be used with little or no
advance investigation of their effect on soil, water, wildlife, and man himself. Future
generations are unlikely to condone our lack of prudent concern for the integrity of the natural
world that supports all life. There is still very limited awareness of the nature of the threat. This
is an era of specialists, each of whom sees his own problem and is unaware of or intolerant of
the larger frame into which it fits. It is also an era dominated by industry, in which the right to
make a dollar at whatever cost is seldom challenged. When the public protests, confronted with
some obvious evidence of damaging results of pesticide applications, it is fed little tranquilizing
pills of half truth. We urgently need an end to these false assurances, to the sugar coating of
unpalatable facts. It is the public that is being asked to assume the risks that the insect
controllers calculate. The public must decide whether it wishes to continue on the present
road, and it can do so only when in full possession of the facts. In the words of Jean Rostand,
‘The obligation to endure gives us the right to know.’