Nature in “The Revenant”

The Revenant is a film directed by Alejandro G. Iñárritu, also known for Amores Perros (2000), 21 grams (2003), Babel (2006) and, more recently, Birdman (2014). If you still haven’t found three hours on your day to dedicate to this beautiful film, here is the plot. Based on real facts, The Revenant tells the story of the explorer Hugh Glass (Leonardo DiCaprio) who is attacked by a bear during an expedition in 1823 in the unexplored territory of Louisiana (USA). After being severely wounded, he is abandoned by his partner John Fitzgerald (Tom Hardy) who not only leaves him to die but also murders Glass’ son in front of him. Glass survives, however, and adventures alone in the wild territory in search for revenge.

The Revenant and Spinoza

The entire narrative of The Revenant revolves around the relationship between the characters and the physical space in which they found themselves: the wild world of the American Old West of the XIX century, which here shows a very different side of the classic desert of westerns. More than a simple background, nature works as a space in which the vulnerability of the characters is exposed, especially in face of the power of this environment, put in evidence by the coldness of the snow, by the strength of the rivers or yet by the aggressiveness of the bears. This form of expression of nature is, above all, result of the exceptional work of the always great cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki (famous for films like The Tree of Life (2011) by Terrence Malick and the nauseating Gravity (2013) by Alfonso Cuarón). The images are extremely beautiful, but raw. Each frame exposes nature both in the simplicity of its beauty (just observe the initial shot of the water running down the river or the multiple shots of the great trees seen from below) as well as in its magnificence (something we can perceive in Glass’s long shot in his smallness wandering in the snow and by the sequence in which Glass is attacked by a bear. This sequence is, by the way, uncomfortably realistic). Thus, through his camera, Lubezki not only inserts us in nature, he also expresses the grandiosity of this space, which encompasses everything and everyone. The images seem to transmit us, in this sense, the idea of a divine encounter, something manifested by the various shots in which the camera is in low-angle, as if we were small against this totality that surround us. And even when the focus is on the character framed by the shot, the angle chosen often puts this character “below” the nature that surrounds him.

But which idea of “nature” this form of expression of the space manifests? The philosopher Baruch de Spinoza (1632 – 1677, see picture below) proposes a definition of nature that seems to be in perfect tune with what The Revenant show us. Take a deep breath and let’s hit the road! Spinoza defended, among other things, that the Universe is constituted by one single substance. This substance is God: “All things are in God and depend on God in such a way that without God they can’t exist or be conceived” (Ethics, I, Appendix). Since nothing exists outside God, Nature and God become terms that designate the same thing, i.e. the same Substance. Therefore, as the philosopher affirms, Deus sive Nature (“God, i.e. Nature”, in latin), in both cases we are dealing with the same thing. You may be thinking that Espinoza sounds more like some kind of modern-day hippie. Far from it. He seeks simply to point out a definition of God that is not the religious God of the Judeo-Christian tradition, for God as Substance has no purpose or will. On the contrary, it is a God/ Nature that is the very essence of all existence. Consequently, the physical and mental dimensions that make up our reality do not constitute two parallel worlds, but two overlapping spheres that coexist in that same single substance that is everything. We, human beings, as part of this Nature and manifestation of God, are also in coexistence with this Substance and we are, therefore, determined by its forces, to which we are attached.

In The Revenant a very similar conception of nature seems to be at stake. Deus sive Natura, the characters are constantly in the presence of something that exceeds them and affects them. That we call it “Nature” or “God”, it does not matter in the film, but the feeling is nonetheless the same: there is a Substance here that penetrates everything and defines the beings that are there. This influence can be perceived by how the characters are affected by the space. If, on the one hand, the rude dimension of nature can be perceived in the very actions of the characters, who are often hostile to each other, on the other hand there is also a delicate dimension of the natural environment (in the falling snow drops, in the sunsets, etc.) that seems to be reflected in certain moments of tenderness between the characters, as in the scenes between Glass and his wife and in the relation of the captain with Glass. For better or for worse, human behavior often seems to mirror the way nature manifests itself. It is not a matter, then, of a merely random space, but rather of a substance greater than each person, river, plant and animal framed and from which none of these can be disengaged. And yet the magnificence of the divine nature does not appear here as a critique of value – nature is not “evil” because it manifests itself with hostility – but as a demonstration of its uncompromising force, against which no being can fight. Not the bear, that by its own natural constitution attacks to protect its offspring, nor the human, who hunts to support his family or who kills to protect their interests. The psychological dimension of each character cannot be separated from the physical dimension of the space in which they are because both dimensions coexist and affect one another. In a rough environment, it is only with hostility that men learn to respond, just as in moments of harmony with the world (as in Glass’ memories), the reaction is of tranquility. This connection between the natural and the human can be perceived above all in the way Lubezki moves the camera: there are innumerable fluid and well-crafted shot-sequences, creating some kind of connection between all things. Space and characters seem to be always intertwined, in such a way that the diverse behaviors can be understood to a large extent as a reaction to the environment.

Nature and affection

The behavior of the characters, whether it is rude or gentle, can be seen precisely as a result of the manner these men are affected (physically and mentally) by the world around them. In this context the aggressiveness of the animal, the ruthlessness of the mercenaries or even Fitzgerald's greed are not signs of an innate evil, but simply dimensions that are naturally part of the world. They are ways in which these beings respond to the environment and context in which they are. And yet the naturalness of this response does not exempt men from the responsibility of their choices. The murder of Hawk does not seem acceptable to us, for example, simply because it is a "natural" reaction of Fitzgerald. Our repudiation is justifiable precisely because, as Espinoza points out, we may have no control over how we are affected by the world, but we have the capacity to learn to understand and moderate it. How?

According to Espinoza we often believe that the affections we feel are external to us, but since we ourselves are the expression of nature, these affections are nothing more than the manifestation of our own nature, because being affected means having a body in the world and feeling something in relation to this world (it is worth noting that inside the category "affection" Spinoza distinguishes two sub-genres, affects and passions, but I won't take this distinction into consideration here, I will speak of affections in a general manner, referring to feelings like fear, anger, love, boredom, etc.). For example, when we feel fear, we believe there is something in the world that poses a threat to our life or safety, such as someone who may be following us on the street, or simply the feeling that the gigantic spider in the corner of the room is about to attack us. But the truth is that this affection is internal to us, for it is the way our body reacts to this context. In this sense, fear is a way of being in the world in which our body reacts by releasing certain toxins that create the feeling we call "fear". This reaction is therefore internal to us and not external. The fear of the spider’s attack lies in me and not in the situation itself. Proof of this is that there are certainly people who in this context would have no problem at all. Fear is the way in which human beings, by their natural constitution, react to certain situations and therefore it is, like any affection, a manifestation of our own nature. For this reason, for Spinoza such affections should not be repressed or eliminated, they are natural. But they can and should be understood and moderated. This capacity for understanding our affections and dealing with them in a more rational way is precisely what justifies our repudiation by Fitzgerald’s actions. He may not control how he feels, but he could certainly control how he acts.

Glass’ acceptance as freedom

According to Spinoza, whatever affections we feel, we all have a constant will to act, to remain alive (what he calls conatus). In the case of fear, for example, our will to act diminishes because we often tend to paralyze. Imagine a tiger about to attack us: we get “caught between a rock and a hard place”. This paralyzes us. But since we have this innate desire to persist in life, when we face a situation of fear we will above all act in order to protect our existence. At some point, either we will find a way to escape or we will try to eliminate the cause of the fear so we can move on with our lives in peace. Spinoza’s perspective is, in this sense, deterministic, since for him our actions are determined by the way Nature affects us and, consequently, define our actions. In this context, human freedom appears as our ability to understand the natural determination of our being, i.e. the reasons we act as we act. Regarding fear, our freedom is not to choose to feel it or not, this is a condition that is part of our being and therefore cannot be suppressed. What we have is the freedom to understand what fear is and, through this knowledge, decide how to deal better with it when it surfaces. According to Spinoza, when we understand the origin of our affections, we become less susceptible to be blindly guided by them and we live, therefore, better. Freedom concerns thus not our power of choice, but of acceptance and understanding. The wise is distinguished from the ignorant by his ability to accept to be what he is, a determination of Nature, and to understand how he is affected by it: “A thing is called ‘free’ if its own nature — with no input from anything else — makes it necessary for it to exist and causes it to act as it does” (Ethics, I, Definition 7).

Glass’ perseverance appears in this manner also as a natural response, as an expression of the will to act inherent to every man, which makes us strive to stay alive. Certainly throughout the film his survival does not seem so much a desire (conatus) for life, but more like a blind search for revenge “à la John Wick”. However, in the end, when he leaves the death of another man in the hands of God, we realize that Glass acquires a new attitude. He understands that his vengeful reaction is a simple affection felt by him as a result of a specific context of injustice that the world and life imposed upon him, but that there is no control on his part. Killing someone who caused him suffering would not bring the relief and freedom sought by Glass, precisely because, in Spinozistic terms, freedom does not concern a power of choice, but of understanding of our determination as part of something greater. In this sense, despite sharing a same affection, i.e. hatred, Glass’ final action is opposite to Fitzgerald’s action. While the latter is unable to moderate his anger and commits murder in the name of such sentiment, Glass becomes aware of the source of his feeling, freeing the one who is the target of his hatred, and thereby releasing himself from the slavery of this affection. The moment Glass releases Fitzgerald’s body on the river expresses this instant of understanding: he finally seems to accept his role as part of something larger. When this acceptance happens, even the harmony between him and other beings (in this case, the Amerindian tribe) is restored. If during his long journey, Glass was slave to his thirst for revenge, the final reunion with his wife is just representative of this understanding acquired by the character. “Revenge is in the hands of God, not mine”, he says. Glass’ wisdom sets him free.

In The Revenant Iñárritu offers us, thus, the experience of a unitary world in which its components – men, animals and plants – affect each other mutually and constantly. We reflect Nature / God because we are part and expression of them. In this sense, our affections, whether positive or negative, should not be seen as intrinsically bad, just as the characters in The Revenant are not to be viewed as purely evil. We do not have before us men who are necessarily cruel, but human beings affected in different ways by the hostile world in which they find themselves and who find difficulty in dealing with these affections that afflict them. As Spinoza shows us, these affections are the manifestation of our interaction with the world and they are therefore natural. But instead of becoming simple slaves of them, as Glass does initially regarding his revenge or Fitzgerald does regarding his feelings of greed, we can always try to understand them and moderate them and thus free ourselves from what is bad for us. When we understand this deterministic dimension of our human nature, we begin to better understand our relationship with the world and we can then establish healthier encounters (with things, with people, with places) and, consequently, a more harmonious relationship with Nature / God. Perhaps, in Spinozistic terms, Glass's final acceptance is precisely what lacks us: the understanding that there is a connection between everything and everyone from which we cannot detach ourselves and while we act selfishly, simply blindly following our personal affections, we will never be free. It seems that we need more “Lubezkian” sequences in our lives, allowing an understanding of our connection with the Spinozistic substance that constitutes us and defines who we are.