I am writing this post on the brink of a "Super Blood Moon" -- the only such lunar celestial event in the half-century between 1982 and 2033. As an historian teaching a class on the "History of he American Wilderness" I see a lesson coming in tonight's sky  about wilderness and civilization.

One of the fundamental concepts in my course comes from Roderick Nash's influential book, Wilderness and the American Mind.  Nash argues that, in view of the difficulty of establishing a universal definition of what is and what is not wilderness, we should agree that there exists a "spectrum of conditions or environments ranging from the purely wild on the one end to the purely civilized on the other— from the primeval to the paved."

          "A Spectrum of Wilderness Conditions"

I have written about varieties of wilderness in several posts on this blog: there is wilderness to be found  in New York's Central Park and in a Japanese garden in Tokyo. Of course, those places have many manmade features, but they also include the wild --  forces, flora, and fauna that we do not control.

Arguably, our civilization exists as a kind of bubble within the larger forces of nature.  God humbles Job with this question:

Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation?
    Tell me, if you understand.
Who marked off its dimensions? Surely you know!
    Who stretched a measuring line across it?
On what were its footings set,
    or who laid its cornerstone--
while the morning stars sang together
    and all the angels shouted for joy?

The quintessential feeling of wilderness is a feeling of something great and wondrous beyond our control. 

We tend to be most aware of the natural world when we are far away from human distraction, but even in civilization, we are surrounded by a natural world at extremes of size: down deep among the microbes that inhabit our bodies and far out into the solar system and universe.

A solar eclipse provides an invitation to look and be aware of forces far beyond human control.  Perhaps a once-in-fifty-years super blood moon eclipse will bring with it a sense of wonder. 

I will know soon.

Addendum: Soon Afterwards:

With its 400 years of history, the Japanese Garden at Hotel New Otani is one of the most renowned gardens in Tokyo. The vast ten-acre ground, surrounded by the outer moat of the historic Edo Castle, houses numerous kinds of trees, flowers and foliage. Stone gardens and lanterns, carp ponds and waterfalls offer a taste of Japanese tradition and culture to our visitors. People come by to escape from the hustle and bustle of the city, and to enjoy a moment of peace and relaxation in the profound abundance of nature

One fine summer day in 1868 the young John Muir stood by a cliff edge hung over the Yosemite Valley. A half mile below, the land “seemed to be dressed like a garden—sunny meadows here and there, and groves of Pine and Oak.” Nearby the Yosemite River cascaded through a channel in the rock, sped down a short incline, and sprang “out free in the air.” Muir wanted a clear sight of the waterfall and began to work his way down the rock. Below he could see a narrow shelf that might support his heels over the sheer cliff. He filled his mouth with artemisia leaves, hoping the bitter taste would prevent giddiness. He then worked his way along the ledge; it held him, and he was able to shuffle twenty or thirty feet to the side of the falls. There he found what he wanted—“a perfectly free view down into the heart of the snowy, chanting throng of comet-like streamers, into which the body of the fall soon separates.” In camp after dark that night he recorded in his journal that “the tremendous grandeur of the fall” had smothered all fear. He had had a “glorious time.”

We were being constantly held up, Aldrich wrote, to let trainloads of soldiers and horses pass. In the station we saw a long train being made up of men going to some point on the line to join their regiments….They were in their working clothes, many of them almost in rags, each carrying in a bundle, or a twine bag, his few belongings, and some of them with a loaf of bread under the arm. It looked as little martial as possible but for the stern look in the eyes of even the commonest of them. I waited on the platform to see the train pull out. There was no one to see these men off…. I remembered the remark of the woman regarding her husband when she saw him go: "After all, I am only his wife. France is his mother.” 

Nothing going on here except the passing now and then of a long line of Paris street busses on the way to the front. They are all mobilized and going as heroically to the front as if they were human, and going to get smashed up just the same. It does give me a queer sensation to see them climbing this hill. The little Montmartre-Saint-Pierre bus, that climbs up the hill to the funicular in front of Sacre-Coeur, came up the hill bravely. It was built to climb a hill. But the Bastille-Madeleine and the Ternes-Fille de Calvaine, and Saint-Sulpice-Villette just groaned and panted and had to have their traction changed every few steps. I thought they would never get up, but they did.

Another day it was the automobile delivery wagons of the Louvre, the Bon Marche, the Printemps, Petit-Saint-Thomas, La Belle Jardiniere, Potin —all the automobiles with which you are so familiar in the streets of Paris. Of course those are much lighter, and came up bravely. As a rule they are all loaded.