In off-topic and environmentally unrelated news, the 600-year-old southern gate of Seoul has burned to the ground. Investigators suspect faulty wiring or perhaps an arsonist is to blame. Since it’s safe to guess that most people haven’t been to Seoul or its southern gate, let me offer some context.

Seoul is a very old city but you would hardly guess that today; the city is as modern as they come. During the Korean War in the 1950s, large parts of the city were destroyed. Many cultural treasures in both north and south Korea were leveled. Many symbols of Korea were targeted to destroy troop morale.

The city gates were symbols of power and prestige, and as such they were brightly painted and ornately decorated. Their huge stone foundations gave you a sense of stability and might while their towers were decorated with layers of identically-carved and painted fingers of wood. Looking up you felt as though you were gazing into a deeply symbolic sky: the curving wood seemed like the clouds and the dark, vaulted roof like the crown of heaven. At least, that’s how I felt. How disconcerting it must have been to walk under the shadowed gaze of guards in that tower!

I can’t pretend to understand the full significance of the flowers painted in repeating patterns, the greens, reds and yellows used, or the aging animal figures that guarded it.  I don’t know why they used so much repetition, except that the sheer number of identical decors overwhelmed the eye. But it was obvious that the gate was old and important in its day, and it was honored in its downtown Seoul location. Namdaemun (which means “Southern Gate” and implies something big) was the last great undamaged symbol of Seoul and the last Korean dynasty. It also marked the entrance to a famous market where you could go for the best prices in town.

So why wax sentimental in an environmental  blog? Because symbols like Namdaemun litter the world. And by “litter” I mean mark, express, and mirror the cultures and environments that build them. I do not adhere to the dichomatic separation between “nature” and “culture”. Those who say that mankind is destructive to nature forget that nature is also destructive to mankind, and that both are also productive for each other and trapped in infinitely complex systems that intertwine and reinforce each other. Global warming is perhaps the most pungent proof of that fact. We can no more “escape” to or from “nature” than nature can escape or rush towards us. Even the most developed, urban, concrete landscape hosts lichens, plants and critters which seek equilibrium in new niche environments. Even the most remote wilderness has felt the distant touch of mankind. We are linked like siamese twins.

When people in any part of the world build great structures or landmarks, they are limited and shaped by the environment in which they live, and as in Namdaemun, they also draw reason and symbolism out of the natural world. In the west we would never think to paint pretty flowers all over a military installation, but Namdaemun was in bloom for 600 years. In many ways our monuments are as much mirrors of our concepts of the natural world as they are memories of a time, place, or intention. The Egyptian Pyramids are an excellent example; the precision measurements to accurately track the stars is still remarkable today. So when a symbol is destroyed, we lose also an insight into our culture and ourselves. It may not be a tragedy for the environment, but it’s certainly a tragedy for our cultures and civilization as a whole.

When we protect the environment we also protect our heritage. Many monuments around the globe are threatened or even crumbling from the damaging effects of pollution. Perhaps it is the nature of time for all things to eventually crumble and fall, but I don’t see any reason to speed up the process if we don’t need to.