I’m still entranced by Robin Wall Kimmerer’s Braiding Sweetgrass and am thinking about how animacy/animism dovetails with a concept from philosopher Martin Buber. He wrote a book called I and Thou, which I haven’t read, and I only conducted a cursory search on the internet about it, so my apologies to the philosophy nerds who know way more about this than I do.
Anyway, from what I understand, Buber says we engage with the world in one of two ways: I/it and I/thou. In the I/it relationship, we collect data, analyze it, classify it, and theorize about it. The object is viewed as a thing to be used or put to some purpose. This makes sense when we encounter something like a hammer: “What can I do with this? What do I need it for?” It also makes sense when we’re conducting research, or any time when detachment is necessary.
In the I/thou relationship, we engage with the encountered object in its entirety, not in pieces. The I/thou relationship asks us to make ourselves available to another, to understand them, to share with them, to have a dialogue. In essence, to see the other as a human rather than an object.
This plant isn’t an “it.” Photo by Samuel Austin on Unsplash
Wall Kimmerer flips this object/human perspective on its head when she writes:
“Imagine seeing your grandmother standing at the stove in her apron and then saying of her, ‘Look, it is making soup. It has gray hair.’ We might snicker at such a mistake, but we also recoil from it. In English, we never refer to a member of our family or indeed to any person, as it. That would be a profound act of disrespect. It robs a person of selfhood and kinship, reducing a person to a mere thing. So it is that in Potawatomi and most other indigenous languages, we use the same words to address the living world as we use for our family. Because they are our family.”
They are our family. They are our siblings, even if we struggle to recognize them as such. We are in relationship with all of them, whether we want to admit that or not. My spiritual teacher says, “Why should the love and affection of developed human minds be restricted to human beings only? Why should it not include all living beings, including plant life?” Why indeed? Because there’s a sort of speciesism occurring where only certain species are deemed worthy and valuable to the detriment to all the rest.
Later, my teacher says, “[W]e never realized – and still do not – that this wanton destruction of the animal and plant worlds will be of no benefit to human beings. Rather, it will be a great loss for human society.”
He calls this philosophy neohumanism because it includes love, care, and respect not only for humanity but for every living being, whether animate or inanimate. Wall Kimmerer calls this philosophy indigenous wisdom, or perhaps animism. And Buber calls it the I/thou approach. Whatever you call it, I see the benefit. Humans are not separate, alone, or isolated from other species. We are not apart from nature; we are nature itself. Whatever we need to do to feel that is fine, just as long as we feel it.
I dream of a world where we recognize non-humans are not objects, even if the English language doesn’t recognize that. A world where we approach everything we interact with – whether animate or inanimate – as a being worthy of care, attention, respect, and consideration. A world where we embrace egalitarianism of all species rather than hierarchy.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I planted a “fairy meadow” mix in a pot outside my front door and the first flowers to bloom are California bluebells. I am utterly enchanted by these royal blue, purple flowers. Is the fact I’m so enthralled a happy quirk or is it by design?
I’m finally reading Robin Wall Kimmerer’s book Braiding Sweetgrass, where she talks about this phenomenon. Her book blends scientific knowledge with Indigenous wisdom, exploring the reciprocal relationship between humans and the natural world through essays on botany, ecology, and Potawatomi culture. In it, she describes how much she adores the combination of goldenrods and asters. The vibrant purple and yellow combination attracts her eye. Is that just true for her? Or for everyone?
Scientist and poet Goethe wrote an 1890 treatise on color perception and said “the colors diametrically opposed to each other … are those which reciprocally evoke each other in the eye.” Purple and yellow are one such reciprocal pair and that means our eyes are more drawn to them. But does it really matter what we humans are attracted to? Don’t the flowers care much more about the bees and other pollinators?
There is a reason for all this beauty. Photo by Ingo Doerrie on Unsplash
Wall Kimmerer writes:
“Bees perceive many flowers differently than humans do due to their perception of additional spectra such as ultraviolet radiation. As it turns out, though, goldenrod and asters appear very similarly to bee eyes and human eyes. We both think they’re beautiful. Their striking contrast when they grow together makes them the most attractive target in the whole meadow, a beacon for bees. Growing together, both receive more pollinator visits than they would if they were growing alone.”
That means beauty serves a purpose. Beauty keeps us alive. My spiritual teacher says, “Each unit being is vulnerable to attraction but the cause of this attraction is the imperative urge for self-preservation . . . And this urge for self-preservation, too, arises due to the desire for happiness in every living being. So it is clear that behind every attraction between one entity and another, which we call by the name of káma, lies the pure desire for attaining happiness.”
“Kama” in this sense isn’t the sexual or sensual passion that we so often think of when we hear that word because of the Kama Sutra. It’s attraction in its simplest form. It’s the attraction of a bee to a flower or a moth to a flame.
Returning to beauty specifically, when I’m in my low moments, it’s beauty that pulls me from the depths. Beauty is an enchantress that brings me closer to the feeling of magic, joy, happiness. Noticing the soft petals of a California bluebell, or the play of shadows on the wall, reminds me there is good in the world, that there’s more to life than the horrors we witness with far too much frequency. And that’s something I think we could all use more of.
I dream of a world where we understand beauty isn’t just beauty – it’s also self-preservation and a gateway to something more. A world where we understand nature is beautiful by design. A world where we not only stop to smell the roses, but we acknowledge them for what they are. A world where we can say hello to beauty.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.