Climate Emergency and Spiritual Ecology

“On this side, where our world stands now, we each live our separate lives, isolated within our individual, anxious self. On the other side, we feel the patterns of interrelationship that support and nourish us, and can commune together as a single living community; we feel the mystery and magic of a world full of sacred meaning and purpose. It is only when we stand on this other shore that we can hope to heal our world, to help it to become free of this nightmare of materialism that is destroying its fragile and magical beauty. Only then can we return to our ancient heritage as guardians of the Earth” (Vaughn-Lee 2013: iii).

Sorry for the long hiatus, my passion for anthropology dwindled a bit during these long COVID months. I think we’ve all lost parts of ourselves during this time, no? I am now in the period of remembering who I am and re-imagining my future.

Of course, COVID isn’t far from the mind when thinking about the future, nor is climate change – now officially recognized as a climate emergency. I have just begun the essay anthology Spiritual Ecology: The Cry of the Earth, written in 2013 but more poignant now than ever. I read it with a sadness and a fear in my heart; what will our future look like? How will generations to come view the earth, both literally, with their eyes, and figuratively, with their hearts? 

Where do you stand with your relationship to the earth? What steps are you taking to mend the fissures between you and nature? This past year–despite COVID–has been great for me in regaining a relationship with my childhood landscapes. I moved back in with my parents and have been exploring the woods, field, and lake on their land. I have learned the names of many plants, found which ones are edible, and I have found another passion that has taken up much of my time this past year: natural dye. In many ways, I feel like coming back to Minnesota and being forced to stay in place was good for me.

My thirst for travel and experience didn’t go away, however, and I recently traveled to the island of Tahiti to meet with some friends from my fieldwork days. I spent a month and a half there not as an anthropologist but merely another tourist (albeit a tourist that stayed with a local family and not in hotels). I brought some yarn and t-shirts along with me and asked Tatie Tahia, the matriarch of the household, which plants could be used for dye. It was refreshing to connect once again to another culture’s traditions and remember how much I love hearing stories about the past and how we can bring these stories into the future. Listening to and working with the past will be vital in the process of imagining a sustainable nature-oriented future.

References:

Vaughn-Lee, Llewellyn. 2013. Introduction. In Spiritual Ecology: The Cry of the Earth (pp. i-iv). Point Reyes, CA: The Golden Sufi Center.

How Storytelling Makes Us Human

“The social function of shared stories gave rise to what we may call the ‘story memory’ of homo sapiens where our memories are both recalled and shared as stories, creating the ‘social memory,’ and hence identity, of groups. We now recall (through story memory) not only episodes of our own experiences, but also the experiences of long-ago others. This allows for human culture to develop over time in a way unimaginable in the non-hominid kingdom, and allows our stories to function as a vast reservoir of memories, experiences, and aesthetics. We humans now rely on stories, on our discrete categorizations of time, for much of our thoughts about the past. Not only are past events thought of and expressed predominantly in terms of stories, but also the future as well” (Thompson 2010:412).

What makes us human? Many philosophers, sociologists, anthropologists and biologists have asked this question, wondering if and how humans are different from the rest of the animal kingdom. In Tok Thompson’s (2010) essay, “The Ape that Captured Time” he conclusively states that stories are what makes us human: “Without the story, it is clear we would not be human” (412). He backs up this statement by looking at the narrative capabilities of animals and also the history of storytelling among early hominids. Thompson explains that while animals have narrative capabilities – as in, they may be able to narrate information that is presently happening – there is no evidence that they have the ability to tell stories – that is, the ability to communicate episodes from the past or the future.

Anthropologists in the field of multi-species ethnography have also looked at the differences between human and animal communication, exploring further how humans and animals can have inter-species communications. A good book to read if you are interested in this concept is Eduardo Kohn’s “How Forests Think.”

Thompson’s work has interesting implications also for the concept of traditional ecological knowledge, or TEK (which I explained in the previous post). Thompson and anthropologist Tim Ingold might have some very interesting conversations on the storied nature of experience and knowledge. Thompson writes, “Humans can pass down stories; animals do not, and, because of this, the capacity for animal cultures to develop complexity over multiple generations is much more limited” (Thompson 2010:412). Basically, stories are how we pass down information across generations in a meaningful and understandable way. In Ingold’s (2011) essay “Stories against classification,” he sees human knowledge as a matrix of relational stories, passed down and recreated through experience. Ingold writes, “To tell, in short, is not to represent the world, but to trace a path through it that others can follow” (Ingold 2011:162). Both anthropologists see stories as a way to transmit important knowledge from one generation to another.

The ability to connect the present to the past or future, and to communicate this to others, is found to be uniquely human. Stories are how this information is communicated, and we rely heavily on stories to understand our world and to pass information on to future generations. It seems right to say, then, that storytelling makes us human. “We are the only storytellers on Earth” (Thompson 2010:414).

References

Ingold, T. 2011. Stories against classification: transport, wayfaring and the integration of knowledge. In Being Alive: Essays on movement knowledge and description (pp. 156-179). London: Taylor and Francis.

Kohn, E. 2013. How Forests Think: Toward an Anthropology Beyond the Human. Berkeley, CA: Univ. of California Press.

Thompson, T. 2010. The Ape That Captured Time: Folklore, Narrative and the Human-Animal Divide. Western Folklore 69(3-4), pp. 395-120.

Vonnegut’s Galápagos

“There is another human defect which the Law of Natural Selection has yet to remedy: When people of today have full bellies, they are exactly like their ancestors of a million years ago: very slow to acknowledge any awful troubles they may be in. Then is when they forget to keep a sharp lookout for sharks and whales.

This was a particularly tragic flaw a million years ago, since the people who were best informed about the state of the planet, like *Andrew MacIntosh, for example, and rich and powerful enough to slow down all the waste and destruction going on, were by definition well fed.” – Kurt Vonnegut’s Galápagos

The more I read this book the weirder it gets but damn Vonnegut has a way of weaving in all different types of ills our world faces, and although written almost forty years ago it remains relevant today. Narrated by a being that resides a million years in the future, Galapagos tells the story of human destruction as it happened a million years in the past (i.e. Vonnegut’s present day the mid 1980’s). The “well-fed” rich people Vonnegut references above sit happily on their thrones and have nothing to worry about, right? Vonnegut’s satire kills me. Let’s do something about climate change, plastic pollution, deforestation, etc. while we still can. Even if these problems don’t seem to directly affect you now, like an unseen shark they will gobble us up.

(* Note – the star in the quote is a special writing style Vonnegut uses in this book and was not meant to be a reference to a footnote, although it apparently has turned into one anyway)