Laki, Then Eyjafjallajökull in 2010: We Don’t Map unless It’s Important.
If you are not aware of potential danger, you risk succumbing when the potential becomes the actual. In 1783, few people knew about the nature of geologic features and potential, geologically driven disasters. The “Father of Modern Geology,” James Hutton, was an eighteenth century naturalist who understood that the processes that shaped Earth continue to shape the planet. From mountain building to erosion, earthquakes to volcanic eruptions, landslides to subtle sedimentation, the processes pass inexorably from past through present to future. Hutton’s principle for this continuation of process is called uniformitarianism. His understanding led him to write, "We find no vestige of a beginning, no prospect of an end." He knew the planet was very old and that it would become very much older. Hutton also knew that its processes would continue to both the detriment and benefit of its inhabiting organisms.
While Hutton was alive, Iceland’s Laki volcano erupted continuously over a period of eight months. The eruption was a disaster for Iceland. About a fourth of its residents died from an ensuing famine because the volcano produced about 80 million tons of sulfuric acid, and the resultant acid rain caused widespread crop failure. The disaster spread to England, also, where an estimated 30,000 people died because of poisonous gas and hazardous ash. And the rest of Europe was not immune. More than 100,000 people died on the continent as either the direct or indirect result of the eruption.
But, alas, memory’s short, and distant volcanoes don’t pose a threat in the minds of those who have not witnessed a volcanic eruption. So, when in 2010 an ice-‐ covered Icelandic volcano called Eyjafjallajökull (EY-‐ya-‐fyat-‐lah-‐YOH-‐kuhtl) erupted and sent ash toward the UK, travelers were surprised that thousands of flights had to be cancelled and that authorities asked residents to stay inside to avoid breathing the fine ash.
Is there a lesson in this? Maybe. At the very least the people affected by a distant volcano learn that they don’t have to live in the shadows of a “Vesuvius” or “Mt. St. Helens” to be jeopardized. Some events are global. Two key lessons are that we seldom learn what others have personally learned, and we don’t map a place until it is important to us. Laki meant nothing to the British, French, and Italians until they began to die. The same goes for Eyjafjallajökull and its interruption of flights. The latter volcano, thanks to both its filmed eruption and satellite images of its ash plume, lies in the mental map library of millions who are alive today, even though they can’t pronounce the name. Prior to their eruptions neither Laki nor Eyjafjallajökull would have been considered a part of Britain or Mainland Europe’s region in mental maps. We map what we consider to be important in either a positive or negative sense: things we gravitate toward and things we propel away from.
There’s a twofold lesson in this: By mapping and by examining our own mental maps we learn how we know both Self and World, and we learn what we know about Self and World.
If you are not aware of potential danger, you risk succumbing when the potential becomes the actual. In 1783, few people knew about the nature of geologic features and potential, geologically driven disasters. The “Father of Modern Geology,” James Hutton, was an eighteenth century naturalist who understood that the processes that shaped Earth continue to shape the planet. From mountain building to erosion, earthquakes to volcanic eruptions, landslides to subtle sedimentation, the processes pass inexorably from past through present to future. Hutton’s principle for this continuation of process is called uniformitarianism. His understanding led him to write, "We find no vestige of a beginning, no prospect of an end." He knew the planet was very old and that it would become very much older. Hutton also knew that its processes would continue to both the detriment and benefit of its inhabiting organisms.
While Hutton was alive, Iceland’s Laki volcano erupted continuously over a period of eight months. The eruption was a disaster for Iceland. About a fourth of its residents died from an ensuing famine because the volcano produced about 80 million tons of sulfuric acid, and the resultant acid rain caused widespread crop failure. The disaster spread to England, also, where an estimated 30,000 people died because of poisonous gas and hazardous ash. And the rest of Europe was not immune. More than 100,000 people died on the continent as either the direct or indirect result of the eruption.
But, alas, memory’s short, and distant volcanoes don’t pose a threat in the minds of those who have not witnessed a volcanic eruption. So, when in 2010 an ice-‐ covered Icelandic volcano called Eyjafjallajökull (EY-‐ya-‐fyat-‐lah-‐YOH-‐kuhtl) erupted and sent ash toward the UK, travelers were surprised that thousands of flights had to be cancelled and that authorities asked residents to stay inside to avoid breathing the fine ash.
Is there a lesson in this? Maybe. At the very least the people affected by a distant volcano learn that they don’t have to live in the shadows of a “Vesuvius” or “Mt. St. Helens” to be jeopardized. Some events are global. Two key lessons are that we seldom learn what others have personally learned, and we don’t map a place until it is important to us. Laki meant nothing to the British, French, and Italians until they began to die. The same goes for Eyjafjallajökull and its interruption of flights. The latter volcano, thanks to both its filmed eruption and satellite images of its ash plume, lies in the mental map library of millions who are alive today, even though they can’t pronounce the name. Prior to their eruptions neither Laki nor Eyjafjallajökull would have been considered a part of Britain or Mainland Europe’s region in mental maps. We map what we consider to be important in either a positive or negative sense: things we gravitate toward and things we propel away from.
There’s a twofold lesson in this: By mapping and by examining our own mental maps we learn how we know both Self and World, and we learn what we know about Self and World.
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