It turns out that Arana Gulch, located in the City of Santa Cruz, has its own entry in Wikipedia. Click this link to read all about it. The Wikipedia entry told me something that I didn't know, which is that the bridge that I have pictured, above, leading into the City's Arana Gulch Park, has an official name. It is called "The Hagemann Gulch Bridge." I walk around town quite a bit, and I feel certain that I cross this bridge at least once or twice a week. When special friends come to visit, I might take them right across. This bridge, in fact, may well be my favorite bridge, anywhere.
It is hard to tell from the picture, but what I guess is officially called "Hagemann Gulch," which is spanned by this bridge, is really, really deep. It is surprisingly deep. You can't actually tell unless you are out on the bridge, and on Thursday, May 16, 2024, when I took the picture that you see, above, I was out on the bridge. I was out on the bridge, and that's when I had a thought.
This bridge, I thought, is just like human civilization - or human civilization at its best, perhaps. The bridge is elegant, and well-engineered, and it carries us over the profound depths of a world in which Nature, not human design and industry, determine what happens. Were we all to fall into the depths of Nature, below the bridge, it is unclear whether we would survive, or how well we'd do. This narrow bridge of "civilization" is what we rely upon, and many of us never look at the depths of Nature, below.
I refer, not infrequently, to my so-called, "Two Worlds Hypothesis." This blog, in fact, used to be titled "Two Worlds," and the explanatory legend at the very top of my blog's current iteration explains why that was true (and why the current title, "We Live In A Political World," is also true):
We live, simultaneously, in two different worlds. Ultimately, we live in the World of Nature, a world that we did not create and the world upon which all life depends. Most immediately, we inhabit a "human world" that we create ourselves. Because our human world is the result of our own choices and actions, we can say, quite properly, that we live, most immediately, in a “political world.” In this blog, I hope to explore the interaction of these two worlds that we call home.
The thought I had, as I crossed the Hagemann Gulch Bridge on that Thursday in May, is that our human civilization, besides being amazing in the beauty and complexity of its own design, is, very much, what keeps us from the dangerous conditions in which we would otherwise have to live, if we were to be cast back in to that "World of Nature" upon which we do ultimately depend.
As those who have taken a course or two in political theory might remember, there is not any real agreement about what kind of conditions might actually prevail in the genuine, pre-civilization, "State of Nature," were we to have to live there - to live there without our "civilization" to insulate and protect us. Rousseau thought everything was wonderful there in the "State of Nature," and that "civilization" really screwed things up. Hobbes, on the other hand, thought the "State of Nature" was "red in tooth and claw." Some modern investigations seem to tilt towards Rousseau; however, there does seem to be a legitimate concern that without civilization to sustain us, the "State of Nature" might be pretty brutal.
I suggest that we should respect the "World of Nature," but that we should treasure and take care of all the works of our own collective efforts, as well. It has taken us thousands to years to build a "Human World," a "human civilization" that can carry us safely over the depths. Let's be careful to treasure both of the worlds upon which we utterly depend.
I have mentioned "The Hagemann Gulch Bridge" at least once before - before I knew its official name. In a blog posting published on the last day of December, 2022, I posted another picture of the bridge - a picture looking in the opposite direction from the picture I have presented above, and a picture taken in the evening, as I was returning from a long walk. The picture from that earlier blog posting is presented below, accompanied by the thought I had about the bridge on that occasion:
Up the hill, through the fields, over the bridge and home. Memento Mori.
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