Monday, September 15, 2008

Fundamental difference between the Western and indigenous ways of life

I have been reading, and thinking so much on what I have been reading that I have not posted here for sometime. Stumbling on an interview I had bookmarked some time ago, I spotted something worth sharing here. This is an from an interview between Derrick Jensen and well-known Native American author Vine Deloria.

Jensen: What would you say is the fundamental difference between the Western and indigenous ways of life?

Deloria: I think the primary difference is that Indians experience and relate to a living universe, whereas Western people - especially scientists - reduce all things, living or not, to objects. The implications of this are immense. If you see the world around you as a collection of objects for you to manipulate and exploit, you will inevitably destroy the world while attempting to control it. Not only that, but by perceiving the world as lifeless, you rob yourself of the richness, beauty, and wisdom to be found by participating in its larger design.

In order to maintain the fiction that the world is dead - and that those who believe it to be alive have succumbed to primitive superstition - science must reject any interpretation of the natural world that implies sentience or an ability to communicate on the part of nonhumans. Science insists, at a great price in understanding, that the observer be as detached as possible from the event he or she is observing. Contrast that with the attitude of indigenous people, who recognize that humans must participate in events, not isolate themselves.

Ironically, although science prides itself on being a search for knowledge, Indians can obtain knowledge from birds, animals, rivers, and mountains that is inaccessible to modern science. And Indians can use this knowledge to achieve better results. Take meteorology. Scientists know that seeding clouds with certain chemicals will bring rain, but this method of dealing with nature is wholly mechanical and forces nature to do our bidding. Indians achieved the same results more peacefully by conducting ceremonies and asking the spirits for rain. The two methods are diametrically opposed. It's the difference between commanding a slave to do something and asking a friend for help.

Being attuned to their environment, Indians could find food, locate trails, protect themselves from inclement weather, and anticipate coming events thanks to their understanding of how all things are related. This knowledge isn't unique to American Indians. It's available to anyone who lives primarily in the natural world, is reasonably intelligent, and respects other life-forms for their intelligence. Respect for other life-forms filters into our every action, as does its opposite: perceiving the world as lifeless. If you objectify other living things, then you are committing yourself to a totally materialistic universe - which is not even consistent with the findings of modern physics.

The central idea of science, as it has been developed and applied, is to get machines or nature to do the work human beings don't want to do. This is immensely practical, but in a shortsighted way.


As Deloria states, this kind of way of knowing and being in the world is not limited to Native Americans. It is the birth right of all peoples of the Earth. It is unfortunate that many carry the attitude that such a life is a pipe-dream. That such ideas are mere fantasies of those suffering from middle class guilt or an obsession with tribal peoples.

Deloria and Jensen continue with:

Jensen: How so?

Deloria: Developing the automobile, for example, allowed people to get quickly from place to place, but at what cost, both in terms of accidents and of damage to the natural world? And what effect have automobiles had on our spiritual life?

In a capitalist system, whoever supplies the money de-termines the technology. This means that science, as it's applied, is never really for the good of humankind, but instead for the good of the financial elite or the military. It also means that science will be dominated by the authorities who have found institutional favor, whether they have the best evidence for their beliefs or not.

When beliefs and knowledge harden and become institutionalized, we turn to institutions to solve all our problems: people purchase food grown by others, settle their conflicts in courts and legislatures rather than by informal, mutually agreed-upon solutions, and wage extended and terrible wars over abstract principles instead of minor battles over the right to occupy land for hunting and fishing. Similarly, beliefs about the world are processed into philosophical and rational principles rather than anecdotal experiences, and religion is reduced to creeds, dogmas, and doctrines.

Now, every society needs educated people, but the primary responsibility of educated people must be to bring wisdom back into the community and make it available to others. Because of hierarchies, European thinkers have not performed their proper social function. Instead, science and philosophy have taken the path already taken by Western religion and mystified themselves. The people who occupy the top positions in science, religion, and politics have one thing in common: they are responsible for creating a technical language incomprehensible to the rest of us, so that we will cede to them our right and responsibility to think. They, in turn, formulate a set of beautiful lies that lull us to sleep and distract us from our troubles, eventually depriving us of all rights - including, increasingly, the right to a livable world.

Rather than trusting our own experiences and senses, we often look to scientists for explanations of the world. In giving explanations, these scientists defer to the dogma and doctrine they learned in universities and colleges. It's gotten to the point where almost anything anyone with a Ph.D. says is taken as gospel, rather than as someone's opinion...




We can be blind to the limits of the scientific perspective on the natural world as the only perspective. Okay. Obvious enough, I suppose. But what does he suggest is an alternative?

Jensen: What are some better ways of perceiving and living in the world?

Deloria: I would say one alternative to forcing nature to tell us its secrets is to observe nature and adjust to its larger rhythms. This alternative is practiced by many other cultures, but it scares a lot of people in the West because it derives information from sources that may be tinged with mysticism. For example, many centuries ago, three sisters appeared to the Senecas and said they wished to establish a relationship with "the two-legged people." In return for the performance of certain ceremonies that would help them to thrive, the sisters would become plants and feed the people. The three sisters became beans, corn, and squash. And the soil of the Seneca farmlands was never exhausted, because these three plants, in addition to sharing a spiritual relationship with one another, also formed a sophisticated natural nitrogen cycle that kept the land fertile and productive.

The white man came later, planted only corn and wheat, and soon exhausted the soil. Then, after conducting many experiments, scientists "discovered" the nitrogen cycle and produced chemical fertilizers to replace the natural nitrogen. But now we know that these chemicals have unpleasant side effects that may be even worse for us than they are for the soil.

The point is that, for every scientific "discovery," there may exist one or more alternative ways of understanding natural processes. But we can't know what these alternatives are until we absolutely reject the idea of forcing nature to reveal its secrets and instead begin to observe nature and listen to its rhythms.


With this blog I am attempting to encourage the accessibility of another way of looking at life and seeking understanding. Perhaps our connection to that knowledge never ceased, even among our best scientists...

Jensen: I've heard about South American tribes who can take a poisonous plant and, by some complex process - boiling it three times, skimming off the froth, and so on - turn it into medicine. Usually, the tribes are assumed to have arrived at these processes through trial and error, but this seems ludicrous to me, because the original plant is a deadly poison. By contrast, you've written that "getting information from birds and animals regarding plants is an absurdly self-evident proposition for American Indians."

Deloria: There are plenty of Indian stories where a plant will appear in a dream and speak to someone, or a person is walking through the forest, and suddenly a plant will say, "I'm edible, but you've got to do these various things in order to eat me."

When I was much younger, I would bring Indian plant knowledge to scientists for them to investigate. But they always wanted to take the plant apart, break it down to see what its constituents were. Their efforts were pointless, because that's not the way the medicine men use it. They use it whole, and then they get the natural product out of it by making a tea, or a poultice. You can't chemically disassemble it, because it's the whole of the plant that cures, not any one ingredient.

Jensen: This seems to get at the heart of the fundamental difference between Western and indigenous cultures: seeing the plant as a whole and letting it literally speak to you, versus putting nature, as Francis Bacon said, "on the rack and extracting her secrets from her."

Deloria: That's true, although most of the greatest scientists dabbled considerably in spiritual matters and believed that mystical and intuitive experiences provided them with knowledge. This is true even of Descartes, the first materialist, who is famous for articulating the mind/body, human/nature split. He said an angel came and explained things to him. Heisenberg, Einstein, and Bohr all had sudden insights. What's the difference between that and the Indian performing a ceremony and hearing the plant say, "Do this"?

Thursday, August 21, 2008

An Inuit Poem

At the end of the movie NEVER CRY WOLF, there is a poem. It touched me in a powerful way I can not put into words. It is an Inuit poem who's author is unknown. It is a good one to contemplate.

I think over again my small adventures,
My fears,
Those small ones that seemed so big,
For all the vital things
I had to get and to reach;
And yet there is only one great thing,
The only thing,
To live to see the great day that dawns
And the light that fills the world.

Anonymous (Inuit, 19th century)

Saturday, August 9, 2008

More from: A LANGUAGE OLDER THAN WORDS

A few more quotes from Derrick Jensen's book.

As is true for most children, when I was young I heard the world speak. Stars sang. Stones had preferences. Trees had bad days. Toads held lively discussions, crowed over a good day's catch. Like static on a radio, schooling and other forms of socialization began to interfere with my perception of the animate world, and for a number of years I almost believed that only humans spoke. The gap between what I experienced and what I almost believed confused me deeply. It wasn't until later that I began to understand the personal, political, social, ecological, and economic implications of living in a silenced world.





Attitudes about interspecies communication are the primary difference between western and indigenous philosophies. Even the most progressive western philosophers still generally believe that listening to the land is a metaphor. It's not a metaphor. It's how the world is.

Friday, August 8, 2008

A Langauge Older Than Words

Per recommendation from a friend, I picked up Derrick Jensen's book A LANGUAGE OLDER THAN WORDS from my local library. It is an intense, powerful book that speaks of the challenges of helping heal this planet, and more specifically our relationship to it.

I feel I will post at least a few times with quotes from this book, because there is so much good stuff found in it.

One section that particularly struck me as profound was early on in the book were Derrick is remembering a conversation with Jim Nollman. They are discussing why the animist view point is so hard to accept for people from western culture.

I stepped away from the conversational fire, and asked, knowing well the answer, why the notion of communicating with coyotes, whales, plants, is threatening to the culture.

"If the Earth is dead, it feels no pain. If the Earth weren't considered dead, we couldn't build the Empire State Building, because we couldn't bring ourselves to hurt the planet so much just to make a big building. The entire culture is based on the belief that the earth is inanimate."

...

"We need to distinguish between listening and hearing. I believe I listen better than many people, but I still don't hear very well. I have a lot of friends around the world who are able to actually hear the natural world. Still, whether or not we hear, listening is important. Until we start to listen - and, I hope eventually hear - the natural world for ourselves, nonhumans will be regarded as objects. Just the act of trying to listen can change a lot of our perceptions about nature, and that can change the way we live."


I found these words a great thing to meditate on...

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

Communicating with insects

I just wanted to share two quick stories about communicating with insects which has happened in the past 2 days.

The first occurred while my wife and I were up on a forested hill, in a grassy meadow over looking a nearby lake here in the Seattle area. She was feeling very sleepy and had put her head down in my lap as I read. I asked here if she would like me to read to her out loud. She agreed, so I started reading some paragraphs from the book in my hands which was Derrick Jensen's A LANGUAGE OLDER THAN WORDS. It is essentially a book about the animist experience and having conversations with nature that are beyond the limitations of language and words. It is an excellent read.

Just as I began, a beetle that had been flying around us for several minutes landed on my wife's shoulder.

My wife was concerned it would crawl into her shirt and she might squish it or otherwise harm it, so I nudged it gently a few inches away from her collar. I offered the beetle to stay there and listen to the story if it would like. Then, I continued reading.

The beetle remained waiting there barely moving at all except for occasional waves of an antennae or subtle movements with its mandibles. I read slowly, paragraph after paragraph. At least 25 minutes passed, and the beetle remained. It had taken two slow steps forward, but was clearly not going anywhere.

I read on until I reached a point where I needed to digest what had been shared in the book. I looked out over the forest, at the nearby stinging nettle and sword ferns and finally down at the beetle. It waved its antenna once more and then popped its black and yellow wing-case open and its wings sprang forward. Then it lifted off into the air and did not return again. I felt a strong intuitive understanding that not only was this beetle curious to hear what was being said and enjoyed being welcomed to listen in, but that there was another side to its visit.

This might sound strange to you but, I felt that through this little beetle the whole forest was scrutinizing us. It was one of the forest spirits coming to see how we were progressing in our work in communicating with nature as an equal partner. If you are open to the possibility that the planet as a whole and everything on it is alive, aware and responsive then this is not so far fetched.

Ever since I dropped the idea that the natural world is dumb and mechanical, other possibilities have made themselves visible. You could say that over time, in place of that view I accepted the idea that the world can communicate with us, and we with it. Now, I have had so many experiences that demonstrate to me personally that this is so that I no longer feel the need nor see any necessity in having to believe that this is so.

It simply IS.

The second story took place today at work, as I was instructing a group of 11 kids at summer camp. During snack, one of my kids plopped his bag down near a small hole in the ground and ran off to play. I had not noticed, until one of the kids pointed out all of the "flies" flying around this particular bag. They were not flies, but were ground nesting yellowjackets swarming into the air angrily!! If you have ever worked at an outdoor summer camp, you know that young kids and wasps don't usually mix well. More to the point, they can lead to some of a summer camp instructor's worse nightmares.

Well, my assistant and I scramble to move the kids out of the general area as quickly as possible. Thankfully, none of them got stung in the process.

There was still a problem though. The wasps were still swarming around the now abandoned backpack, which to make things more interesting was opened and had a open lunch bag in it! I chose to leave the bag there for sometime to see if they would calm down. But they did not stop flying around the bag and buzzing intensely.

It was at this point that I had a feeling it was time to put my money were my mouth was, and see if some direct communication with the wasps would be effective. I have talked with ravens, lizards and other animals so why not? The memory of the beetle from the day before helped give me a bit of confidence.

I took a few deep breaths, and started by apologizing out loud to the yellowjackets about this disturbance. I told them of my plan to walk up slowly, peacefully and remove the offending bag from the spot right near their nest. I had some flashes of violent retaliation from the wasps, and had some rather vivid pictures of big welts swelling up on my bare legs and having one of my eyes swell shut from their stings. I couldn't continue with that kind of imagery. So, I immediately rewound the mental movie and gave it a peaceful ending, free of stings or wasp grudges.

Next, I started towards the nest at about 9 meters distance. I moved very slowly, all the while speaking to them softly about my peaceful intentions and asking them not to sting me. As I near to within about 2 meters from the bag, I hesitated a little. Surprisingly I was not feeling any fear, but I had a sense that I needed to take some deep breaths right then and there in order to relax my body even more. As I did so, a few of the wasps flew away from the nest and circled near my bare calves, then flew on. As my hand tightened around the bag, I slowly lifted it up and back away from the nest. Then took a slow step back and tossed the bag at good 10 meters to my right. Meanwhile, I took some more rapid steps in the opposite direction away from the nest. I checked my person carefully. No wasps and no stings.

*PHEW!*

Then, I gathered some long sticks and made a wide circle with them around the nest. Lastly, I contacted the camp director and told her to spread the word about this nest. When all was done, the bag was retrieved without mishap. The wasps were happy, and all was well again.

I can tell you honestly, I have never had an experience like this before. I felt in good report with the yellowjackets. I have been stung by them in the past. The communication was clear both ways. Until today, I did not know it was possible. But, today I could not have afforded to be close-minded about it being possible either.

Insects are generally seen as more simple minded and mechanical than almost all of the other "higher" animals. Even by those people in our western paradigm who are open to the idea of animals being more aware than mainstream culture might believe. But from the animist perspective, neither size nor physical structure limits the awareness of an entity in the natural world. Insects are as aware as dogs or parrots or dolphins or people. They simply have their own individual ways of experiencing the same world that we might take for granted.

There is no hierarchy or superiority of species in the fundamental animist world view. All are on an equal playing field.

Wednesday, July 2, 2008

Animism is a belief...?

More and more everyday, I feel convinced that animism is not a belief or belief system.

Rather, it is a form of experience that springs from being present in and with the natural world. If I say to you that yesterday I felt the trees watching me, and could feel their warm care surround me as I walked slowly through the forest you might be inclined to think I was being poetic. If I told you the story of the time a raven flew in front of my mom's old jeep and told me in no uncertain terms that the car was going to break down and that we were in danger, you might think that was weird and even fantastic. The car did break down very shortly afterwards, and because of the warning I was watching out for it and therefore kept my family safe.

Do I experience the natural world that I am part of in this way, because I believe that it is aware and can communicate with us? I do not think so.

Let's stop and consider some definitions for a moment...

According to dictionary.com, animism is defined as:

1)the belief that natural objects, natural phenomena, and the universe itself possess souls.

2)the belief that natural objects have souls that may exist apart from their material bodies.

3)belief in spiritual beings or agencies.

The first two definitions show a strong bias by the Judeo-Christian world view. Generally, peoples around the world who see the world from the animist perspective would not say that the universe and the things or beings in it have "souls." The concept of a soul is generally viewed as an entity or essence separate from the body. It is the Western world view which separates the world into parts and bits, like pieces of a machine.

Tribal cultures don't see the universe or nature or human beings as machines, rather they seem them as vital with life. They see life itself as a energy full of awareness. In Hawai'i for instance, Pele' is not the "spirit of the lava" rather, she IS the lava. There is no separation between her and the lava. It is not a possession for her, it is rather one form she manifests in. It is the western conceptualization that separates essence from form.

All things considered, I think it is our conviction as westerners that the natural world can not possibly be aware and responsive that keeps us from experiencing it as such.

The 3rd definition of animism also has interesting implications. People in many tribal cultures have regular, often daily, interactions with what in our culture we might call "spirits." If you asked those same people - say for example people from the heart of the amazon such as the Shuar or from a tribe in Papua New Guinea whether they believed in these spirits, they would look at your like you were crazy or stupid. Using the faculty of belief is not necessary for them to speak with the natural world and all the beings that make up that world. They simply do it. Tribal peoples have an equal need to speak with the natural forces and entities around them as we have a need to speak with other human beings in our communities, be they large or small.

I'd like to try a little exercise in awareness. I don't know what the results will be, but give it a try and let me know.

Play along with me for a moment... pretend for this little instant in time that you are not certain that the world is already predictable, pretend (although you might be sure you know better) that nature and everything in it is not dumb and mechanical, play along with me now and drop the assumptions you have that when you know the name of something you can ignore it as unimportant. If you already see it otherwise great, if not just humor me for a moment. Consider this a fun little meditation, if you like.

Now...

Look into the eyes of this animal. Imagine yourself being were I was when I took this picture, hanging out on a rocky cliff side above the Lamar River. Notice how it considers you with its eyes.

Set aside your preconceived notions and just look. Enjoy the quiet exchange. That is where the animist experience blossoms from.



Friday, June 20, 2008

The World Transformed


A little more on the animistic vision of the world...

For those of us who were not born into an animistic culture, often what awakens us to this perspective are world-shifting experiences. Those experiences are as individual as each of us, but there are certain threads of consistency and similarity that can be found in all of them.

Daniel Quinn shares just such an experience in his book Providence.

I went last, stepped over the threshold, turned around to close the door, then turned back to face the sunshine.

And the god spoke.

I put it this way. I could put it other ways. I could say that, when I turned to face the sunshine, the veil that clouds our vision was gone from my eyes, and for the first time I saw the world as it is.

There are no words for it.

Someone blind from birth can't imagine what the sighted mean by color, can't fathom what this property might be. If all language were the product of a blind race, the word color would not exist, and if one of that blind race were suddenly to become sighted, he would be unable to describe what he saw; the words would simply not be there for him to use, and this is the way it is for me: The words are simply not there.

But I can put it other ways, and I will, because that's what I can do.

I turned and faced the sunshine, and the breath went out of me as if someone had punched me in the stomach. That was the effect of receiving this sight, of seeing the world as it is. I was astounded, bowled over, dumbfounded.

I could say that the world was transformed before my eyes, but that wasn't it--and I knew that that wasn't it. The world hadn't been transformed at all; I was simply being allowed to see it the way it is all the time. I, not the world, had been transformed.

I'm trying. Be patient. We've reached the single most important hour of my life, and I have to get it right, have to come as close as I can to getting it right.

I gasped, literally gasped. I lost my breath, seeing that.

Everything was on fire.

I can say it that way, but when you say that something's on fire, you think of the fire as being on it,--as a substance that is on the thing.

That wasn't it.

Everything was burning. Yes, that's better. From within, everything was burning.

Every blade of grass, every single leaf of every single tree was radiant, was blazing--incandescent with a raging power that was unmistakably divine.

I was overwhelmed. In a single second of this, of seeing this truth, tears flooded my eyes and poured down my face as I walked along behind the novices. It was strange to see fence posts sitting dead and silent and cold in the midst of this tremendous, thrumming effulgence.

In this vast, scintillating landscape, my nearsightedness was of no account at all. For as far as I could see, for hundreds of yards, thousands of yards, I could distinguish with absolute clarity each leaf, each blade of grass--no two alike anywhere. Each was crackling and trembling and all but exploding with the raging power that animated it.

Again I describe that power as raging. Look into a furnace blazing at its top capacity. Look into the heart of a nuclear reaction perhaps. The power that I saw thundering around me makes all our stock images of power seem feeble. But there was no violence or hatred in this rage. This was a rage of joy, of exuberance. This was creation's everlasting, silent hallelujah.

You know the sparklers they sell around July 4th. The world was ablaze with sparklers. Every blade of grass, every leaf of every tree wascharged with energy--packed, jammed, evanescent with energy, which radiated forth into the air irresistability. The whole landscape pulsed, breathed, moved, was made iridescent with this energy. I think, with what can be done in film today, I could produce a cinematic approximation of what I saw. It would be magnificent, but you would of course know it was just a trick. What I was seeing was reality, was the world as it actually is, every moment of every day....

No, no, I wasn't in a trance. I wasn't in anything remotely like a trance. I was gathering kindling, for God's sake! I had trailed the novices for awhile, walking through the madly radiant land, then had been signed[The novices only used sign language] to head off into the brush to get started. So there I was, stooping and picking up sticks, and breaking them across my knee or leaning them up against a rock to stamp them into smaller lengths, and making pile that would later be loaded into a cart, and all the while tears were pouring down my cheeks like a waterfall. I was lucky I was working alone, though I don't think I would have felt the least self-conscious about my tears if there had been dozens around me. Who could have cared? Certainly not me.

It lasted for about an hour. The radiance just faded away, gradually subsided, and the world resumed its normal appearance. The rest of the crew came along, and we loaded up the kindling and headed back.