Want to know more about new animism and the six conversations we have with nature?
I’ve recently published an article on new animism. This post explains what it is and identifies six ways that we communicate with nature when we produce tourism and events. I have always been aware of my encounters with flora and fauna, but like everyone, spend most of my time completely distracted by daily tasks, unmindfully chuntering along, oblivious to the world around me. Researching this latest article flipped my perspective on my entanglements with nature and left me asking how we can go beyond our current work on biodiversity strategies and environmental impact assessments to build non-human voices more deeply into our awareness and policymaking.
New animism emerged from spiritual animistic beliefs (e.g. in the UK, Druidry) centred on the consciousness of natural phenomena. The focus of new animism adopts the view of animistic societies that nature is not a human resource, but that natural phenomena are living beings. This is important because personhood can grant rivers, as Robert MacFarlane argues in a forthcoming book, legal status, offering protection against pollution or other damage. Practicing new animism starts with a shift in perception. A specialist in environmental humanities, MacFarlane (2012) states, ‘We are adept, if occasionally embarrassed, at saying what we make of places, but we are far less good at saying what place makes of us’ (p.27). Shifting the universe towards other perspectives requires going beyond considering non-human persons simply as tools for human ends, even when those ends are human wellbeing and re-enchantment (although there are obvious regenerative symbiotic benefits to being-in-nature). New animism requires re-attunement.
The article emerged from research on light installations and trails taking place in natural locations, from remote mountains to the gardens of stately homes. These events may seem to be artificial intrusions into outdoor terrains, but their creation involved multi-level encounters with wildlife, landscapes, even the air. From interviews with light event designers a picture emerged of a complex night time ecosystem of intuiting, sensing, attuning, listening and involving, which I describe as conversational entanglements because they take different forms, often non-verbal. When my hall was recently invaded by ants, a mindfulness teacher advised me to politely ask them to leave (they ignored me).
So how do we talk to nature?
First, we talk about nature by planning to protect species in environmental protection policies. For example by constructing “bat corridors” (areas blocked off from visitors around which you are often asked to be quiet) that you may have seen in attractions like Leeds Castle in the UK. But in addition, there was far more care taken when planning these events than I had anticipated; the mountain light trails involved granular detail about ecological issues (equipment, light design, pathways, transport, litter, food, even clothing). Also, the planning induced an awareness-raising of the underfoot and the immanence of sky and terrain. In the case of Green Spaces: Dark Skies organised by Walk the Plank, a pause was introduced into the event where participants were asked to be silent and still to better experience the night. Placing non-human persons’ needs first immediately starts to reset the human-centric mindset, but also leads to further entanglements on the ground.
Second, light installations, like any artwork, have a presence in the world which is separate from their creator. This nods to new materialism’s argument against divisions between humans and objects. A light installation created from nature (picture an a 50-foot high installation of a flower) is a hybrid, unsettling non-human presence with a relationship to those that encounter it (both human and non-human persons). Placing non-human persons at the centre of the installation as subject prioritises them.
Third, and following on from this point, my research also argues that stories are not simply things. With increasing frequency, as Nitasha Sharma and I have discussed, events and attractions are given locational meaning through folklore. Folklore is authored by the resident community in which it takes place, coming from and pouring spirits back into places. Writers take inspiration from places which become settings (and sometimes a character) in stories and in turn such places take on extra-textual qualities - for example, Oxford, the crucible of fantasy authors. The conversational entanglements we have with stories are vital and meaningfully intertwined with atmospheres, characters, settings and histories.
Fourth, conversational entanglements with non-human persons occur in a variety of different forms. Trees communicate and, as our knowledge of the mycelium network (interconnecting fungal strands that allow signals to pass between trees involving the inter-supply of nutrients) evolves, and the benefits of talking to our houseplants expands, we are only just starting to understand the complexity of communicative ecosystems. Being in nature invites multi-sensory connections with wind, rain, berries, crunching underfoot, the birds, or stars looking down on us in our gardens, the deer that came close to look at a light projectionist in the night, the hooting parliament of owls. In the dark, and the vast, immense night, we dwindle in stature, and the presence of non-human persons grows, makes our skin prickle and ancient hackles rise, restoring forests thick with predators and glowing eyes.
Fifth, it’s not all about us. Non-human persons have conversations with each other in which we are not included, of which we are often unaware, but sometimes (luckily) which we can observe, as did the light creators.
Sixth, we may have pre-existing philosophies about animism that shape the world. These can emerge from animistic folklore-derived childhood fantasy fiction, as in the books of Alan Garner and Susan Cooper where old roads respond and initiate. Our lifeworld is shaped by many experiences and spiritualities such as Buddhism that predispose us towards the non-human.
So, how can we put new animism into practice in tourism and events management?
We need to start including our non-human hosts more prominently in our tourism planning and policy-making, and recognising (including giving legal status to) non-human personhood. Ask yourself which conversational entanglements would take place in your destination? How does your management plan reflect local folklore? The bat corridor at Leeds Castle created a pause in the event, a chance to be quiet, listen and feel trees loom, to be outside the man-made. How can you similarly encourage tourists to attune themselves to non-human persons? Beyond interpretative stories, could you ask visitors to stop and listen to the sounds of the wind in the trees? Or to feel the ground underfoot? Or to tune into the cries of the Kestrel nesting in Bell Harry Tower? Or to look up at the stars? New animism involves making room for interconnectedness. I grant that this might be easier to do outside on a frosty night under a full moon during a light trail.
Some humanists argue that new animism involves throwing the Enlightenment baby out with the bathwater. Yet placing the non-human alongside the human at the centre of the universe, and paying attention to life in all its forms, is surely rational. And sometimes, like a small relative wishing the moon goodnight as she went to bed, communicating with the world doesn’t always have to be a rational endeavour.
Dr Jane Lovell is a Reader at Canterbury Christ Church University specialising in heritage, authenticity, storytelling, literary, film and magical tourism. Contact at Jane.Lovell@Canterbury.ac.uk
If you want to know more about new animism, she recommends a selection of articles that reassess human exceptionalism:
Bird-David, N. (2002). Animism Revisited: Personhood, environment, and the relational. Readings in indigenous religions. London: Continuum, pp.72-105.
Daya, S. (2019). ‘Words and worlds: Textual representation and new materialism.’ Cultural geographies, 26.3: 361-377.
Lovell, J., (2024). Conversational entanglements in new animistic tourism. Annals of Tourism Research, 109, p.103855.
Lovell, J. and Sharma, N. (2023). Fairy tourism: negotiating the production of fantasy geographies and magical storyscapes. Tourism Geographies, 25(8), pp.1929-1946.
Ingold, T. (2006). Rethinking the animate, re-animating thought. Ethnos, 71(1), pp.9-20.
Macfarlane, R. (2012). The old ways: A journey on foot. (3rd ed.). Penguin
MacFarlane, R. (2019). Should this tree have the same rights as you. Accessed on 17 April 2023 at 18:40 from https://www.theguardian.com/books/2019/nov/02/trees-have-rights-too-robert-macfarlane-on-the-new-laws-of-nature
Rantala, O., Valtonen, A., & Salmela, T. (2020). Walking with rocks-with care. In Valtonen, A., Rantala, O., & Farah, P. D. (Eds.). (2020). Ethics and Politics of Space for the Anthropocene. Edward Elgar Publishing. (pp. 35-50).
Rose, H.J. (1935). Numen inest:‘animism’ in Greek and Roman religion. Harvard Theological Review, 28(4), pp.237-257.