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Wild Urges
Wildness isn’t something we overcome. It defines us.
Long before towns, agriculture, or the first hints of civilization, humans were scratching out lives for themselves in this world. In the hubris of being civilized, we consider those people lesser creatures. We generally think of those earlier versions of ourselves as either childlike innocents or ignorant savages wallowing in bloodlust and carnal abandon. We assume that their wildness is something we have outgrown, that the urges occasionally emerging from deep within us are only self-indulgent fantasies harkening back to times when we were something less than human. After all, being civilized means having all of ones thoughts, emotions and actions somewhat under control.
Clothes make the man, they say. So do tools. If I am well groomed, well dressed, sporting electronic gadgets, and driving a brand new car, then I am civilized. Or so it appears. If I am courteous, well spoken, and follow all the societal rules — both written and unwritten — then people call me a gentleman. Add to this any propensity towards reason, along with a taste for the finer things in life, and my sophistication is beyond all doubt. Yet none of these attributes or accoutrements addresses my essential humanity — that which supposedly distinguishes those of us living today from our distant ancestors.
