I would feel more optimistic about a bright future for man if he

Hear the gentle yet prophetic voice of E. B. White, who wrote with simplicity but saw with clarity: “I would feel more optimistic about a bright future for man if he spent less time proving that he can outwit Nature and more time tasting her sweetness and respecting her seniority.” In this saying he lifts a mirror to humanity, showing both our pride and our folly. For man, in his restless ambition, has long sought to master Nature, to conquer her rivers, her mountains, her storms, her soil. Yet White warns that such conquest is not wisdom, for the earth is older than us, stronger than us, and to live against her order is to invite ruin.

The meaning is profound: Nature is not an enemy to outwit but a mother to revere. She has nourished life for countless ages, long before man walked the earth. When man spends his years proving his cleverness—cutting forests, poisoning waters, reshaping climates—he does not prove greatness but blindness. But when he stops to taste the sweetness of the earth—the fragrance of a flower, the flight of a bird, the stillness of a night sky—he discovers the truth: that reverence, not domination, is the path to peace. To respect her seniority is to live wisely, to understand that man is but a child in comparison to the ageless earth.

History offers us the tragedy of Easter Island. The people there, driven by ambition, cut down their forests to build monuments of stone. For a time they gloried in their achievements, believing they had triumphed over their land. But in stripping the island bare, they stripped away their own survival. Hunger, collapse, and ruin followed. They had sought to outwit Nature, but in the end, they destroyed themselves. Their fate is a parable of White’s warning—that arrogance against the earth leads only to despair.

There is also the story of Rachel Carson, who, in her book Silent Spring, revealed the dangers of unchecked pesticides. Man had thought himself wise, controlling pests with chemicals, bending Nature to his will. Yet the result was poisoned rivers, dying birds, and sickness. Carson called the world back to humility, reminding us that to dishonor the seniority of Nature is to invite silence where there should be song. Through her work, laws were changed, and many species were spared—but only because humanity paused to listen to the earth.

White’s words are not merely warning but invitation. He asks us to taste the sweetness of life—the joy of walking in forests, the wonder of watching tides, the peace of breathing clean air. These things are gifts, older than civilization, greater than invention. To treasure them is to find optimism, for a man who reveres the earth will not destroy it; and a society that honors Nature will endure.

O children of tomorrow, take this lesson deeply: measure not your greatness by how much you subdue the world, but by how much you live in harmony with it. Seek not only to build higher towers, but to plant deeper roots. Strive not only to conquer storms, but to learn from their power. If you wish for a bright future, walk as guests upon the earth, not as masters.

Therefore, let your practice be this: plant trees where there are none; guard rivers from poison; walk with reverence, seeing in each creature a fragment of eternity. When you are tempted to boast of man’s power, remember the mountains that stood before you, and the oceans that will remain when you are gone. Respect Nature’s seniority, and she will grant you abundance. Defy her, and you will inherit ashes.

Thus E. B. White’s words endure as both plea and prophecy: “I would feel more optimistic about a bright future for man if he spent less time proving that he can outwit Nature and more time tasting her sweetness and respecting her seniority.” Let them be a lamp to your steps, reminding you that the earth is not your servant but your mother, not your rival but your guide. To honor her is to safeguard not only her life, but your own.