Difference, Discourses, and Animism: A Critical Engagement with Murray Bookchin’s Social Ecology

Sean Wilson

swilson30@elon.edu A version of this paper is to be presented at the Annual Conference for the International Society for Environmental Ethics, Pace University, NYC, June 28-July 2, 2016.

Abstract

The notion of difference features heavily in Murray Bookchin’s social ecology. Bookchin routinely gives value to recognizing difference within the human social world, among the beings inhabiting the more-than-human world, and (most controversially) between humans and other kinds of living beings. In this essay, I home in on Bookchin’s emphasis on difference and build upon it in two ways that are inchoately hinted at in Bookchin’s works. First, I use Bookchin’s emphasis on difference to analyze and critique certain environmental discourses. In particular, I argue that discourses that allude to an undifferentiated transcendental humanity or to overpopulation as the cause of the environmental crisis serve to shift undue blame for the environmental crisis onto disadvantaged social groups. Second, I consider Bookchin’s insistence on ontological difference within his project of developing an animistic way of being in the world (i.e., a worldview that reveals an ethical, sacred or otherwise spiritual essence in plants, animals, and/or objects). Following Bookchin, I argue that recognizing ontological difference between humans and other kinds of livings beings is valuable for avoiding the potential dangers in the development of animism and in ensuring that human-type essences are not privileged or taken to be the transcendent norm within an animistic worldview. After arguing in favor of the value of recognizing ontological difference in the development of animism, I turn to the works of feminist theorist Luce Irigaray in order to suggest that “wonder” may be the proper attitude to guide the development of an animistic worldview.1 I. Introduction

I begin with a brief anecdote in order to articulate the aims of this paper. A few

years ago, as an undergraduate philosophy student, I had a conversation with an

environmental philosopher in the department about my plans to embark upon a research

project examining the interconnections between environmental degradation and issues of

1 While I had originally hoped to incorporate the works of Irigaray, this ended up being a bit too ambitious for the scope of this paper. However, I am still interested in how Irigaray’s work on wonder may be used to articulate an animism-of-difference.

social justice. At the time, I had scarcely oriented myself in the subfield of environmental

philosophy. Nevertheless, I had gleaned from a few review articles (and Wikipedia-

surfing sessions) that the work of Murray Bookchin represented the foundational texts in

a field known as “social ecology,” the basic premise of which is that “the very notion of

the domination of nature by man stems from the very real domination of human by

human” (Bookchin 2005, originally published 1982). Thus, it seemed reasonable to me,

as an undergraduate, to start this research project by reading the works of Bookchin.

However, when I told this environmental philosopher in the department about my plans

to begin with the work of Murray Bookchin, I remember getting the impression that he

was trying to hold back a wince of skepticism.

Certainly, this skepticism may have been due to the philosophical disagreement

that this philosopher had with Bookchin’s work. However, looking back on this

interaction, I now interpret this restrained wince of skepticism to have been due to the

current lack in conversation around Bookchin’s thought. To put it bluntly, outside of a

relatively small group working within this school of social ecology (Price 2012; Tokar

2014; Brincat and Gerber 2015), I have scarcely been able to find authors are who are

bringing Bookchin’s ecological thought into conversation with the wider conversation of

environmental philosophy (though see Best 1998; White 2003).

To be sure, I think there are many good reasons why Bookchin’s social ecology

may have faded from relevance, including empirical and methodological problems in his

social-historical theorizing (White 2003), his apparent unwillingness to engage with

competing systems of thought in a non-polemical way, his one-size-fits-all political

solution (Bookchin 1992),2 and his inheritance of “problematic aspects of the humanist,

Enlightenment, Hegelian and Marxist traditions” (Plumwood 1994, 16). And yet, as

Bookchin’s thought has seemingly faded from relevance, there also seems to be

increasing public recognition that environmental issues are linked to various sorts of

oppressions in human society. Consider the (somewhat) widespread use of the term

“environmental racism” to describe the (ongoing) Flint water crisis. Indeed, as evinced by

our co-presence in this very room, there is certainly an interest in whether environmental

philosophy can “avoid a sustained critique of the current political-economic system and

remain sincere participants in the environmental community.”3 It is in Bookchin’s work

on social ecology that we find some of the earliest attempts to address this question and

articulate these connections.

Thus, it is my purpose in this essay to enter a critical engagement with

Bookchin’s early writings on social ecology and uncover those aspects of his thinking

that may continue to be of use to environmental thought and practice. To borrow an

analogy from Hannah Arendt, we might liken this approach to that of a pearl diver.

Arendt used pearl diving as a metaphor to describe a manner of thinking about the history

of ideas, in which the “pearl diver” explores the “sea” of history “not to excavate the

bottom and bring it to light but to pry loose the rich and strange, the pearls and the coral

in the depths and carry them to the surface” of the present (Arendt 1968, 50-51). That is,

the pearl diver looks to history to find those “rich and strange” ideas that may be brought

out of their context to serve our present purposes. The metaphor of “pearl diving” implies

2 It is interesting to note, however, that Bookchin’s political program has begun to receive more attention due to its implementation by a number of Kurdish groups in northern Syria (see Enzinna 2015) 3 This being the guiding question to our conference.

that most of what we find will be less-than-useful, although our search may be justified

by the few gems that happen to stick out.

Thus, by entering into a critical engagement with Bookchin’s environmental

thought, I mean to recover those enduring or peculiar components of his work – that is,

those “pearls” of this work – and us them as a springboard into a larger conversation

surrounding environmental ethics. In particular, for this essay, I will argue that

Bookchin’s emphasis on difference is a pearl of his work that may be built upon in ways

that contribute to contemporary environmental thought and practice.

I structure my arguments in the following manner. First, I briefly introduce

Bookchin’s work, centering his notion of difference in my summary. I then move into the

body of my arguments. I provide two, overarching arguments. First, I argue that

Bookchin’s emphasis on social difference continues to be useful in analyzing and

critiquing environmental discourses that absolve difference by appealing to categories

such as “humanity.” Second, I use Bookchin’s emphasis on difference as a starting point

to argue for the importance of recognizing ontological difference between humans and

non-humans within the context of developing an animistic worldview.

II. Bookchin’s Social Ecology and Difference

In many ways, Bookchin’s emphasis on difference is rooted in his dialectical

conception of nature. Under this dialectical conception, nature (including humans and

non-humans) is seen as having an open-ended teleology that leads the developmental

processes of nature towards ever-increasing diversification, complexity, and uniqueness,

rather than a fixed, final state. Bookchin seeks to ground these themes of differentiation

and heterogeneity as ethical foundations inherent in the processes of nature. In

Bookchin’s view, the science of ecology verifies this conception of nature. Moreover,

ecology demonstrates that difference – such as difference among species in an ecosystem

– can be seen as a good in communities, as something that allows for stability, for

interdependence, and for continued ontological unfolding. In other words, ecology

reveals that difference may be “complementary,” ethical, and positively enabling, rather

than conflictual and consumptive.

On Bookchin’s account, such an ethical notion difference or otherness can also be

found in early human societies. According to Bookchin, this notion of difference is

apparent in what he calls “the outlook of organic societies,” which includes a way of

seeing or recognizing humans as well as non-humans as richly alive, differentiated,

unique, and – in this regard – valuable in their own right. However, difference as a value

has been increasingly eroded with the emergence of “hierarchical outlooks” in Western

society. Under the hierarchical mode of conceptualizing the world, difference or

otherness is not seen as valuable, but as antagonistic – as something to be overcome,

eliminated, ignored, or eschewed. Indeed, seemingly influenced by Arendt’s (1958)

account of “the social,” Bookchin problematizes the homogenizing effects of Western,

capitalist society, as they work against what Bookchin sees as an ethical differentiation

and diversification inherent in the natural world. Bookchin implies throughout his social

ecology that (to borrow (Heidegger's phrase [1962, 165]) the “leveling down of all

possibilities of being” is reflected within both the human and non-human worlds under

contemporary, Western conditions. For instance, the reduction of the non-human world

under monocultural and industrial farming practices is reflected in the homogenization of

the urban and suburban landscape. Bookchin’s political answer to the environmental

crisis – a sort of radical democratic municipalism – emphasizes the ability for individuals

to distinguish themselves in the public sphere – that is, to appear as unique to others.

Such a politics is intended to cultivate an ethical notion of difference that may ultimately

be extended to the non-human world as well.

III. The Erasure of Difference in Environmental Discourses

Bookchin’s emphasis on difference appears in his critique of deep ecology, which

he criticizes for using terminology that collapses all social identities and positions into

the category of the human. As Bookchin (2005, 33) writes,

To use such ecumenical words as humanity, we, people, and the like… when we discuss social affairs is grossly misleading… This ecumenical view of the human species places young people and old, women and men, poor and rich, exploited and exploiters, people of color and whites all on par that stands completely at odds with social reality. Everyone, in turn, despite the different burdens he or she is obliged to bear, is given the same responsibility for the ills of our planet.

In other words, the erasure of social difference in discussions of environmental issues is

evinced by the use of words such as “humanity.” To use such terms, Bookchin asserts,

downplays the different roles that various groups of people play in the economic,

political, and social systems that contribute to environmental degradation.

Of course, to accept Bookchin’s argument here, one must take as axiomatic that

capitalism, patriarchy, and white supremacy play a significant role – directly and

indirectly – in advancing the environmental crisis. It is beyond the scope of this paper to

provide an argument for these interconnections. However, if one accepts that these

systems play a significant role in environmental degradation, then Bookchin’s argument

bears weight. The use of “ecumenical” terms such as humanity would seem to downplay

the role that various systems of oppression play in driving environmental degradation

itself or in creating the conditions of scarcity and need that drive environmental

degradation.

Although Bookchin’s argument in favor of recognizing social difference is framed

in the context of the debate between social ecology and deep ecology, it may be extended

into our contemporary context. For instance, it is not uncommon to hear a more general

discourse that blames ‘humanity as such’ in conversations on environmental issues. In

my own experience as a student in classroom discussions, I have often heard other

students employ this sort of discourse, implying that it is humanity as a whole is to blame

for the crisis. Yet, this sort of discourse fails to place sufficient blame on those actors,

groups, and systems that have a higher stake in maintaining the systemic roots of

environmental degradation. In fact, inasmuch as this ecumenical terminology equally

distributes responsibility for the environmental crisis across social groups, it may be said

to shift undue blame onto disempowered social groups.

Indeed, when such a discourse is employed by individuals in social groups that

benefit from aforementioned systems of domination, this sort of discourse may be

considered a sort of distancing strategy. That is, the discourse which blames humanity as

such for the environmental crisis functions to distance privileged identities both ethically

– from accepting an adequate level of environmental responsibility – as well as

materially – by reinforcing a social privilege which includes a physical distance from

environmental harm.

The logic of “non-differentiation” that roots the discourse that blames humanity

as such for the environmental crisis motivates a related discourse: namely, the discourse

that blames overpopulation as the cause of the environmental crisis. In other words, the

idea that overpopulation is the primary cause of the environmental crisis is the logical

outcome of discourses that designate a singular humanity as responsible for

environmental degradation. As with the discourse that employs terms such as

“humanity,” I understand the discourse that blames overpopulation as the source of

environmental crisis as implicitly shifting blame and responsibility away from the

economic and social processes that are primarily maintained by white men in

industrialized countries and placing blame and responsibility on people of color in less-

developed countries. Thus, this additional discourse likewise functions as a distancing

strategy when people living in more developed or Western countries employ it.

In fact, to the extent that population rates are significantly higher in the formerly

colonized and majority non-white regions of the world, the discourse that blames

overpopulation as the fundamental environmental problem reinforces the notion of non-

white peoples as ontologically problems (i.e., problems in their very existence). In this

way, the logic of non-differentiation complements a logic of racism. As a whole,

discourses which fail to acknowledge social difference ultimately reinforce social

privilege and oppression.

IV. Towards an Animism-of-Difference

So far, I have used Bookchin’s work to argue for the importance of emphasizing

differences among humans as it relates to discussions surrounding environmental issues

and allocations of responsibility or blame. Now, I wish to turn to Bookchin’s emphasis on

the difference between humans and non-humans, and use Bookchin’s thought as a

springboard into a discussion on animism. I will first discuss what I mean by “animism,”

before turning to a discussion of how Bookchin’s emphasis on difference offers insights

into the development of an animistic outlook toward the more-than-human world.

A: The Aims of Animism

I take animism to be a way of being in the world that recognizes or imparts a

subjectivity or intelligence to the more-than-human world or does not restrict mindlike

qualities human beings. Discussions surrounding animism are often related to

anthropologies of non-Western, indigenous cultures in which such a mode of being in the

world is more commonplace than in contemporary Western society. A number of well-

known environmental philosophers – including Val Plumwood (Plumwood 1994;

Plumwood 2008) and David Abram (2012) – have written about the importance of

developing or recovering an animistic outlook toward the more-than-human world. These

authors generally understand the deanimization of the world as a product of the Cartesian

mind/body dualism (and associated dualistic structures found throughout the history of

Western world, such as the mind/matter dualism and the human/nature dualism) as well

as positivistic or "detached" scientific thought and discourse. These authors also imply

that the lack of animistic characteristics imparted into the more-than-human world

renders difficult an ethical responsiveness to non-humans beings, including non-human

objects. We might therefore understand the deanimization of the wider natural world as

both an effect of the wider conceptual motors of environmental and social crises

(dualistic thinking and scientific positivism) as well as a further cause of non-ethical

relationships between humans and the more-than-human world. A more-than-human

world that is deanimized, devoid of intentionality, and utterly deprived of meaning is

more easily arrogated, instrumentalized, exploited, and polluted than one which is

conceived of as containing or expressing mindlike, active, or intelligent qualities of its

own. The development of an animistic outlook toward the more-than-human world may

therefore be taken as a strategy of environmental ethics, in that it opens up the possibility

for an ethical and embodied engagement with the non-human world and disrupts the

Western correlation of the “mind” or ”intentionality” with “human” and the negations of

“matter” or ”passivity” with “nature.”

Like a number of environmental authors, Bookchin also expresses an interest in

developing an animistic outlook toward the world in his earlier writings. Bookchin turns

to non-Western, oral societies for clues on how to develop an animistic sensibility.

Although there may be empirical flaws in his claims (White 2003), Bookchin asserts that

common features of an animistic outlook in these societies involve an ethical notion of

difference. For instance, Bookchin writes, “animism may have been a form of solicitation

rather than coercion… Game, it was assumed, could then be lured to ‘accept’ the hunters’

spears and arrows” (2005, 49). In this conception, non-humans are not understood as

mere instruments to a human ends nor as possessing human-like ends, but rather as

beings with separate ends who must be ‘reasoned with’ – so to speak. Bookchin’s notion

of particularity or uniqueness also comes into play in his understanding of early animism.

As Bookchin writes, “To the animist, bears were bears and not bisons or human beings.

The animist discriminated between individuals and species as carefully as we [humans]

do” (170). As such, Bookchin’s understanding of animism latches onto the value of

difference that may be found throughout his theory of social ecology.

Yet, apart from these few musings in his early works, Bookchin does not offer his

reader much by way of animism. On the contrary, Bookchin seems to distance himself

from various attempts of animism later in his life. Indeed, in an introduction to his

Ecology of Freedom written twenty years after its original publication, Bookchin

expresses an aversion to various animist forms of thinking and insists more strongly upon

human apartness from the wider natural world.

Ultimately, Bookchin seems to move away from an animist position entirely. As

Best (1998, 350) writes, Bookchin speaks of the need for “a new spirituality, a reverence

of nature, and a new animism” in his 1970 works, though by the late 1990s, “all of this

[caused] Bookchin to wince” as he had moved “towards an even firmer, pro-rationalist,

pro-enlightenment position” (ibid., 349). Throughout this shift away from animism and

related sorts of positions, Bookchin also seems to argue more stringently in favor of a

fundamental difference between the human and non-human world.

I would agree with Best that much of Bookchin’s rejection of animistic thinking

and increasing emphasis on the difference between humans and non-humans is inherited

from modernist and Enlightenment thinking. However, I wish to offer different, possible

reading of Bookchin’s move away from animism alongside his increasing insistence on

human apartmentness. Namely, I wish to suggest that Bookchin may have moved away

from his earlier positions due to his fear that animism results in ontological reductionism.

In what follows, I clarify what I mean by ontological reductionism and show how it fits

into Bookchin’s larger project.

Recall that for Bookchin, there is an interaction between how humans understand

and treat the human world and how humans understand and treat the “nature.” A

conception of “nature” that is seen as essentially homogenous, passive, and despiritized is

a reflection of, and serves to reinforce, a similar conception of humanity. Steven Best

draws an analogy to the work of Feuerbach to explain the connection that Bookchin is

hoping to draw out: as Feuerbach “argues that human beings project their psychological

states into a hypostatized world of gods, with all their anthropomorphic qualities, so

Bookchin claims that they [humans] project the characteristics of their social life into

their relations with nature” (Best 1998, 343)

Thus, while Bookchin’s insistence upon the fundamental distinctness of humans

from non-humans and his ultimate rejection of animism may be due to a turn towards

modernist and rationalist thinking, another reading of Bookchin’s shift from animism is a

fear of ontological reductionism – that is, a fear that the non-human world may be

reduced to that which is recognized as similar to a human way of being. On Bookchin’s

account, such a reduction to the human would constitute a fundamental ontological

restriction to humans as well as non-humans, for a reduction of the more-than-human

world to the human would metaphysically restrict the diversity of human forms to

something more singular.

To put this all another way, Bookchin may have feared that any Western effort to

develop an animistic way of being would be doomed to fail as long as Western peoples

live within a homogenizing society. Indeed, following Bookchin’s account, such an

animism would be risky because it would, in turn, reinforce a singular, homogenous

conception of humanity. In Bookchin’s view, humans must begin by valuing and

recognizing difference and uniqueness within the human world, so that they may then

transfer such views onto their conception of “first nature.”

B: Animism-of-Likeness and the Critique of Anthroporeductionism

Rather than affirm Bookchin’s repositioning away from animism, I will instead

redirect Bookchin’s concerns of ontological reductionism towards a productive critique

of animism. That is, I will argue that Bookchin’s concerns with animism may be

employed in such a way that it pushes animism away from potential pitfalls. To do so, I

will introduce the term “anthroporeductionism” which I define as the phenomenon of

looking for and privileging human-like qualities in non-humans at the expense of

marginalizing or backgrounding those non-human qualities that are also possessed by

non-human beings.

In short, I argue that the term “anthroporeductionism” provides a vocabulary for a

productive critique of the familiar animistic outlook that focuses the similarity of non-

humans to humans – what I shall call an “animism-of-likeness.” To clarify the “critique

of anthroporeductionism,” I distinguish it from the more common (though less

productive) “critique of anthropomorphism.” In order to develop this argument, I argue

for the legitimacy of the critique of anthroporeductionism that does not depend on

Bookchin’s Feuerbachian thesis. Instead, I provide three alternative grounds for the

critique of anthroporeductionism against animisms-of-likeness. These alternative grounds

include that an animism-of-likeness (1) risks reinforcing the human-nature dualism (2)

puts practical limits on the extent to which animism is possible, and (3) that it obscures

the need to recognize new types of intelligences in the animist project.

As noted above, I define anthroporeductionism as the phenomenon of looking for

and privileging human-like qualities in non-human beings at the expense of

marginalizing or backgrounding those non-human qualities that are also possessed by

non-human beings. In order to elucidate this term, I will distinguish it from the critique of

anthropomorphism. As Val Plumwood points out, charges of anthropomorphism are often

used to police the language of animating the non-human world (Plumwood 2008).

Critiques of anthropomorphism basically deny any significant continuity between

humans and non-humans. That is, they deny that animals, plants, or non-living beings can

possess any sort qualities that are also apparent in many humans. The charge of

anthropomorphism implies a sort of delusional or wishful thinking on the part of the

animist – a fanciful hope to see humanness in the non-human.

There are a number of responses that may be employed against the charge of

anthropomorphism that I will not reiterate here (see Plumwood 2008). Rather, I will take

as axiomatic that other-than-human beings can and do share a number of qualities that are

also found in many humans.4

On the other hand, anthroporeductionism implies that an animist may be reducing

non-humans to something that is essentially human-like; of a centering on the “familiar”

qualities of a non-human being, while backgrounding those qualities understood as

“natural,” in an attempt to develop an ethical relationship with non-human beings.

Indeed, via anthroporeductionism, the “more-than-human world” is reduced to a

partially-human world. Thus, the critique of anthroporeductionism may be distinguished

4 To be sure, Plumwood notes that the critique of anthropomorphism may bear weight when sufficient difference is not recognized between humans and non-humans (Plumwood 2008). I have sought to frame this problem with the term “anthroporeductionism.”

from that of anthropomorphism in that the critique of anthroporeductionism affirms

difference without denying continuity. Indeed, under the critique of

anthroporeductionism, the charge is not against the bringing of non-humans into the

realm of the human, but rather in reducing non-humans this sphere. In this sense, the

critique of anthroporeductionism affirms a more-than-human excess. The charge of

anthroporeductionism is therefore concerned with the forgetting of what is not human

with the projection of human-like essences upon non-humans.

D. Defining Animisms-of-Likeness

The critique of anthroporeductionism may be leveled against animistic mindsets

or positions that privilege the human-like qualities of non-humans at the expense of

difference. For the purposes of this paper, I will call these animistic positions “animisms-

of-likeness.” To be sure, I am doubtful that animism-through-likeness is an articulated

philosophical position. Nevertheless, animism-through-likeness appears to be a common

or popular way of trying to animate the nonhuman world, to the extent that such attempts

are made in the Western world at all. Anthony Weston (1999, 60) provides an example of

this phenomenon in a discussion of interspecies respect, writing:

Ten years or so of research aimed at getting captive apes to talk dead-ended when it finally dawned on someone that they don’t have our kind of vocal equipment. Now we try to get them to manipulate symbols, or use sign language (ASL), and the success of some animals has been stunning. Still, why should we suppose that they even care about using symbols?

The harm here is not simply anthropomorphism, in the sense that researchers may have

simply imparted human qualities to apes (i.e., proper vocal organs). More pointedly, I

would argue, the harm is anthroporeductionism, in the sense that researchers focused on

the development of essentially human capacities (i.e., human language) in order to reveal

the animated character of the apes while simultaneously relegated those non-human

characteristics of the ape (i.e., a likely apathy regarding the acquisition of human

language) to non-importance. Thus, the apes in question were reduced to the human, as if

only a similarity to humans mattered, while those qualities that are more particular to

apes are quickly backgrounded or forgotten.5

I suggested above that one could interpret Bookchin’s eventual disavowal of

animism as a caution against ontological reduction with justification. This interpretation

inspires the terminology of “anthroporeductionism” and “animism-of-likeness.”

However, I also suggested that Bookchin’s fear of ontological reductionism is premised

on the Feuerbachian idea that humans project their social relations onto nature. Yet, this

is a highly contested notion of Bookchin’s thought (Best 1998, 343). For instance,

Erkersley (1992, 156) contests this thesis by alluding to “the many historical examples of

hierarchical societies that have lived in relative harmony with the nonhuman world” and

“by the theoretical possibility of an egalitarian, nonhierarchical society that nonetheless

continues to dominate the nonhuman world.” Thus, it would seem that Bookchin provides

5 I have also come across this phenomenon in my personal experiences. Since I enjoy bird watching, my friends and family will sometimes try to engage with me on this interest. In these interactions, my friends and family members will often tell me a number of facts about different birds. Almost always, these facts imply a similarity to humans (or what is supposed to be human-like). A few frequent examples include: “penguins are monogamous” and “bald eagles live in the same nest their whole lives.” In each case, these facts are implied to be attractive or fascinating because they reveal a supposed similarity to the human side of the human/nature dualism. It is interesting to note that when I tell people that penguins are not, in fact, generally monogamous, I am often met with disappointment. The supposed monogamy of penguins apparently grants them an aura of “culture” or “non-eroticism” that distinguishes them from “nature” and therefore pushes them toward a sort of humanness (see Gaard [1997] for a discussion of the identification with the natural with the erotic).

poor grounds upon which to base the critique of anthroporeductionism against animisms-

of-likeness. Thus, in what follows, I seek to provide new ground for the critique of

anthroporeductionism by offering three alternative reasons why hopeful animists should

avoid an animism-of-likeness.

i: The potential reinforcement of the human-nature dualism

First, animism-through-likeness functions with a framework of assimilation. The

boundaries for animism become coterminous with that which is considered to be human.

In this way, animism-through-likeness assumes a framework for the animistic that

privileges the human and aims to incorporate the non-human into the human. An animism

through likeness therefore contributes to the backgrounding of the “natural” components

of the more-than-human world. Only those “human” aspects of “nature” are portrayed as

properly animistic, whereas the “natural” components are relegated to non-importance.

As such, through a framework of assimilation in which the humanness defines the

animated, animism-through-likeness reinforces the human-nature dualism.

The challenge here is that the human-nature dualism itself supports connected

Western dualisms – including mind-body, mind-matter, active-passive – that themselves

function against the animist project. Thus, an animism-of-likeness subverts animism itself

in being tied to the conceptual structure of Western dualisms.

ii: Practical Limits to Animism-of-likeness

A second, closely related critique is that animism-through-likeness puts practical

limits on the extent to which the more-than-human world may be animated. By aligning

the category of the animistic with the category of the human, it becomes difficult to

conceive as animated those non-human beings that share little recognizable continuity

with humans. For instance, under such a framework, it may be relatively easy to see as

animate mammals that are evolutionarily related to humans due to such physical

similarities. However, it renders difficult the animation of nonmammalian living beings,

not to speak of nonliving things themselves.

iii: Obscures new forms of intelligence

Lastly, I wish to suggest that the critique of anthroporeductionism highlights that

animisms-through-likeness risk preventing humans from acquainting themselves with

new forms of intelligence. To be sure, coming to recognize new forms of intelligence

within the more-than-human world has been noted as an important feature of animistic

outlooks. As Deborah Rose Bird (2013, 103) argues, non-human forms of intelligence

require a sort of “active listening” in order to be recognized. This sort of intelligence may

take a number of forms. For instance, Rose Bird discusses how, in one region of

Australia, a particular type of insect begins to bite humans at the same time that alligators

lay their eggs. Rose Bird describes this type of insect as a “teller” in this situation. She

writes, “Tellers are those who provide information: they give news of what is happening

in the world” (Rose Bird 2013, 103). Examples such as these indicate that there is a sort

of intelligence in the non-human landscape that is not only non-human, but also not even

accessible to humans. However, an animism-of-likeness, in centering similarity to

establish an ethical relationship, risks overlooking the types of intelligence that are not

familiar or even accessible to human forms. That is, in seeking a familiar essence one

may prevent themself from experiencing how the non-human reveals its mind-like

qualities through a language that thoroughly non-human. Indeed, the more-than-human

world might be “saying” something that has no bearing on humans at all!

V. Conclusion

In sum, I have turned back to the early work of Bookchin and recovered an

emphasis on difference that may be built upon in useful ways that are only hinted at in his

works. Following this emphasis on difference, I first argued that Bookchin is right to

critique discourses which blame humanity as such for the ecological crisis, because such

discourses fail to recognize the various roles that different actors, social groups, and

systems play in maintaining political, economic, and social systems that underlie the

ecological crisis. Indeed, such discourses function as a distancing strategy to those who

benefit from such systems. I also sought to link discourses that employ “humanity” as an

undifferentiated category with discourses that blame “overpopulation” as the primary

source of environmental degradation. This latter sort of discourse, I have argued, is

problematic in similar ways.

In the second section, I have argued that Bookchin may have given up hopes of

developing an animistic outlook toward the world due to a fear of ontological

reductionism. This motivated the introduction of the term “anthroporeductionism,” as

distinct from anthropomorphism, which may be used to critique against what called

“animism-of-likeness” – or modes of animating the non-human world that center

similarity to the human. I ultimately argued that the critique of anthroporeductionism

should be made against animisms-of-likeness because animisms-of-likeness risk

reinforcing the human/nature dualism, placing practical limits on who/what can be

animated, and overlooking new forms of non-human intelligence.

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