The Spell of the Sensuous: Perception and Language in a More-Than-Human World

“The simple premise of this book is that we are human only in contact, and conviviality, with what is not human.”

This statement asserts a foundational premise through a declarative sentence, emphasizing the necessity of interaction with the nonhuman world for the realization of human identity. The phrase “contact and conviviality” implies a relationship characterized by warmth and friendliness, suggesting that humanity’s essence is rooted in its ability to form interspecies connections.

“For magicians—whether modern entertainers or indigenous, tribal sorcerers—have in common the fact that they work with the malleable texture of perception.”

This comparison draws a parallel between magicians of different cultures, highlighting their shared manipulation of perception. The phrase “malleable texture of perception” uses metaphor to depict perception as something that can be shaped and transformed, suggesting that the essence of magic lies in altering how reality is experienced. The metaphor also emphasizes the tactile aspect of perception, which supports Abram’s message. This analysis underscores Abram’s suggestion that influencing and reinterpreting the sensory inputs that define one’s engagement with the world is a universal human capacity.

“The traditional or tribal shaman, I came to discern, acts as an intermediary between the human community and the larger ecological field, ensuring that there is an appropriate flow of nourishment, not just from the landscape to the human inhabitants, but from the human community back to the local earth.”

In the description of the traditional or tribal shaman’s role, the text again uses metaphor to depict the shaman as a bridge facilitating a reciprocal exchange of nourishment between the human community and the ecological environment. This metaphor not only signifies the physical sustenance that humans derive from the landscape but also underscores a bidirectional flow of spiritual and existential nourishment, highlighting the interconnectedness of human societies and their surrounding natural world.

“Magic, then, in its perhaps most primordial sense, is the experience of existing in a world made up of multiple intelligences, the intuition that every form one perceives—from the swallow swooping overhead to the fly on a blade of grass, and indeed the blade of grass itself—is an experiencing form, an entity with its own predilections and sensations, albeit sensations that are very different from our own.”

The depiction of magic in this passage imbues various elements of the natural world, from swallows to blades of grass, with the capacity for experience and sensation, thus using personification. This literary device challenges the conventional human-centric perspective, suggesting a universe populated by myriad experiencing subjects, each possessing its own intrinsic value and capacity for interaction. Personification here emphasizes the diversity of intelligence within the natural world, advocating a more empathetic and inclusive understanding of existence, experience, and intellect.

“I realized that there were many overlapping webs coming into being, radiating out at different rhythms from myriad centers poised—some higher, some lower, some minutely closer to my eyes and some farther—between the stone above and the stone below.”

The visualization of overlapping webs of existence uses spatial metaphor to convey life’s complexity and interconnectedness. This metaphor paints a picture of reality as a multifaceted lattice, wherein various rhythms and entities intersect and diverge across multiple dimensions. This passage relies on imagery to evoke a sense of the layered and textured nature of the world, highlighting the multitude of perspectives and experiences that contribute to the mosaic of life. This spatial metaphor articulates the diversity and intricacy inherent in the natural world, emphasizing a holistic view of existence as composed of interconnected and interdependent elements.

“Our spontaneous experience of the world, charged with subjective, emotional, and intuitive content, remains the vital and dark ground of all our objectivity.”

Abram uses juxtaposition to contrast the “vital and dark ground” of subjective experience with the concept of “objectivity.” His juxtaposing of these concepts posits the foundational role of personal, emotional, and intuitive perceptions as underpinning what is commonly understood as objective knowledge. The phrase “vital and dark ground” uses metaphorical language to suggest that the depths of human experience, often overlooked or undervalued in favor of rational objectivity, are essential to the very constitution of that objectivity. This metaphor suggests that the richness of subjective experience is not separate from but integral to the understanding of the world.

“Ultimately, to acknowledge the life of the body, and to affirm our solidarity with this physical form, is to acknowledge our existence as one of the earth’s animals, and so to remember and rejuvenate the organic basis of our thoughts and our intelligence.”

This quote embodies didacticism by seeking to impart a moral lesson about the importance of recognizing and affirming one’s physical embodiment and interconnectedness with the natural world. The instruction to acknowledge the life of the body and affirm solidarity with the physical form carries a clear educational intent, aiming to encourage an ethical engagement with one’s existence as part of the earth’s broader ecological system.

“Perception, in Merleau-Ponty’s work, is precisely this reciprocity, the ongoing interchange between my body and the entities that surround it. It is a sort of silent conversation that I carry on with things, a continuous dialogue that unfolds far below my verbal awareness.”

This passage invokes Merleau-Ponty’s extensive philosophical exploration of perception, embodiment, and the phenomenological relationship between the self and the world. This allusion not only situates the discussion within a broader philosophical discourse but also invites those familiar with Merleau-Ponty’s work to engage with the quote on a deeper level. Abram uses metaphor to convey the idea that perception is a dynamic interchange, emphasizing active participation of the body in the construction of knowledge and experience. This portrayal advocates a view of sensory experience as an interactive, dialogical phenomenon that transcends verbal articulation.

“If perception, in its depths, is truly participatory, why do we not experience the rest of the world as animate and alive? If our own language is truly dependent upon the existence of other, nonhuman voices, why do we now experience language as an exclusively human property or possession?”

The text’s rhetorical questions provoke thought and reconsideration of the presumed boundaries between human and nonhuman entities, suggesting a more integrated and inclusive view of existence. The questions underscore a dissonance between the theoretically participatory nature of perception and the contemporary experience of the world as inert, asking why language, which emerges in a symphony of natural voices, is seen as a solely human attribute. This device effectively invites reflection on the cultural and cognitive shifts that led to a narrowed perception of animacy and agency within the natural world.

“The earthly terrain in which we find ourselves, and upon which we depend for all our nourishment, is shot through with suggestive scrawls and traces, from the sinuous calligraphy of rivers winding across the land, inscribing arroyos and canyons into the parched earth of the desert, to the black slash burned by lightning into the trunk of an old elm.”

The description of earthly terrain uses imagery to evoke the landscape’s dynamic and expressive qualities, likening natural formations to artistic inscriptions. Extensive use of metaphor draws parallels between the natural world and written text, describing rivers as “sinuous calligraphy” and a lightning strike’s mark as a “black slash” on a tree. This metaphorical language suggests a reading of the environment as a living text imbued with meaning and agency. The landscape is portrayed not as a passive backdrop but as an active participant in the dialogue of existence, inviting engagement that transcends mere observation and enters the realm of interpretation and interaction.

“When the local tomcat comes to visit, I do not have distinctive experiences of a visible cat, an audible cat, and an olfactory cat; rather, the tomcat is precisely the place where these separate sensory modalities join and dissolve into one another, blending as well with a certain furry tactility.”

The encounter with the local tomcat illustrates the concept of synesthesia, a blending of sensory experiences that challenges the compartmentalization of perception into discrete categories. The use of synesthesia here emphasizes the interconnectedness of sensory modalities, suggesting that the act of perceiving is not a fragmented process but holistic engagement with the world. This blending of senses, along with the metaphor of the cat as a “place” where these modalities dissolve into one another, underscores the complexity of sensory experience, advocating an embodied, relational view of perception.

“Trees rarely, if ever, speak to us; animals no longer approach us as emissaries from alien zones of intelligence; the sun and the moon no longer draw prayers from us but seem to arc blindly across the sky. How is it that these phenomena no longer address us, no longer compel our involvement or reciprocate our attention?”

In exploring the diminished dialogue between humans and the natural world, the text uses rhetorical questions to probe the reasons for the growing silence. These questions highlight the contrast between a past wherein the natural world was imbued with voice and agency and the present, wherein such phenomena have ceased to elicit the same depth of response or attention. The questions not only invite reflection on the changes in human perception and value but also critique modern disengagement from the more-than-human world, suggesting the loss of a once-vibrant reciprocity between humans and their environment.

“As a Zuñi elder focuses her eyes upon a cactus and hears the cactus begin to speak, so we focus our eyes upon these printed marks and immediately hear voices. We hear spoken words, witness strange scenes or visions, even experience other lives. As nonhuman animals, plants, and even ‘inanimate’ rivers once spoke to our tribal ancestors, so the ‘inert’ letters on the page now speak to us! This is a form of animism that we take for granted, but it is animism nonetheless—as mysterious as a talking stone.”

The text draws a parallel between the ancient practice of listening to nonhuman entities and the contemporary act of reading. Metaphor and analogy liken the engagement with written text to a form of animism. By suggesting that just as a Zuñi elder might hear a cactus speak, modern readers hear voices emerge from the “inert” letters on a page, the text underscores the animistic quality inherent in the act of reading. This analogy extends the concept of animism beyond its traditional bounds to include the written word, framing reading as a dynamic interaction with a living presence. The passage challenges the argument that animism is an archaic or superstitious worldview, instead presenting it as a fundamental aspect of human experience that transcends time and cultural boundaries.

“For to assemble the letters that make up the name of a thing, in the correct order, was precisely to effect a magic, to establish a new kind of influence over that entity, to summon it forth! To spell, to correctly arrange the letters to form a name or a phrase, seemed thus at the same time to cast a spell, to exert a new and lasting power over the things spelled.”

The discussion of spelling as an act of magic uses metaphor to equate the arrangement of letters with the casting of spells. This comparison illuminates the power of language not just as a tool for communication but as a means of exerting influence over the world. By suggesting that to spell is to “summon forth” and “cast a spell,” the text highlights the transformative potential of writing and naming. This perspective celebrates the written word as a potent form of engagement with the world, capable of creating and altering reality. The use of the terms “magic” and “spell” elevates the act of writing to a mystical plane, suggesting that language harbors an intrinsic power that modern society often overlooks or takes for granted.

“The wild does not have words. The unwritten pages spread themselves out in all directions!”

Metaphor here compares the “wild” to “unwritten pages” that extend infinitely in all directions. This metaphor not only evokes the image of nature as a vast, unauthored text but also emphasizes the intrinsic value of the natural world beyond human inscription. The wild, as portrayed here, offers endless potential for interpretation and engagement, suggesting that the absence of human words does not equate to lack of meaning or significance. The metaphor of “unwritten pages” invites reconsideration of how meaning is construed and valued, proposing that the natural world communicates in ways that transcend conventional language.

“In the absence of any written analogue to speech, the sensible, natural environment remains the primary visual counterpart of spoken utterance, the visible accompaniment of all spoken meaning. The land, in other words, is the sensible site or matrix wherein meaning occurs and proliferates. […] We can no more stabilize the language and render its meanings determinate than we can freeze all motion and metamorphosis within the land.”

The exploration of the natural environment as the primary visual counterpart to speech uses metaphor and analogy to conceptualize the land as a dynamic “site” or “matrix” where meaning is both generated and proliferated. This perspective frames the landscape not just as a backdrop for human activity but as an active participant in the construction of meaning. The analogy between the fluidity of language and the constant motion within the land highlights the impossibility of fixing meaning, whether in linguistic or ecological terms. This posits an inherent dynamism and interactivity in both language and the environment, challenging attempts to render them either wholly static or determinate.

“We have learned from Saussure that a human language is structured not so much as a collection of terms, each of which possesses a determinate meaning, but as a complexly ramified web, wherein the knots, or terms, hold their specific place or meaning only by virtue of their direct and indirect relations to all other terms within the language.”

Alluding to Saussure’s structuralist theory of language, the text employs analogy to describe human language as a “complexly ramified web.” This analogy emphasizes the relational nature of meaning within language, where terms gain significance not in isolation but through their connection to other terms. By likening language to a web, the text highlights the interdependence of words and the fluidity of meaning, suggesting that language is a living, evolving entity shaped by the interplay of its constituent parts. This perspective on language, informed by Saussure’s semiotics, constructs communication as a dynamic process, mirroring the intricate relationships and exchanges that characterize the natural world.

“Particular mountains, canyons, streams, boulder-strewn fields, or groves of trees have not yet lost the expressive potency and dynamism with which they spontaneously present themselves to the senses. A particular place in the land is never, for an oral culture, just a passive or inert setting for the human events that occur there. It is an active participant in those occurrences.”

The text emphasizes the active participation of the landscape in human events through personification. Mountains, canyons, streams, and groves of trees are described as possessing “expressive potency and dynamism,” suggesting that these elements of the natural world engage with the human senses in a manner far from passive. This personification elevates the landscape from merely a backdrop for human activity to an active participant, imbued with agency and the capacity to influence and be part of all that unfolds within its bounds. This view challenges views of nature as inert or static, instead proposing a world in which every element is lively and interactive, involved in the cultural and spiritual life of a community.

“The Dreamtime is not, like the Western, biblical notion of Genesis, a finished event; it is not, like the common scientific interpretation of the ‘Big Bang,’ an event that happened once and for all in the distant past. Rather, it is an ongoing process—the perpetual emerging of the world from an incipient, indeterminate state into full, waking reality, from invisibility to visibility, from the secret depths of silence into articulate song and speech.”

This description of the Dreamtime uses juxtaposition to delineate the differences between Australian Aboriginal understandings of creation and time and those prevalent in Western and scientific paradigms. By contrasting the Dreamtime with the “finished event” of Genesis and the “Big Bang,” the text highlights the concept of creation as a continuous, unfolding process. This ongoing emergence of the world is portrayed through a series of movements (from invisibility to visibility, from silence to song and speech), emphasizing the dynamic and ever-evolving nature of existence as understood in Indigenous cosmology. This contrast not only illustrates distinct worldviews but also underscores the Dreamtime’s significance as a living, perpetual process of creation and revelation.

“Or as Bruce Chatwin writes, ‘an unsung land is a dead land.’”

This allusion to Chatwin enhances the argument that land without story or song is devoid of life, suggesting that storytelling and vocal expression are crucial to the vitality and identity of a place. By referencing Chatwin, the text acknowledges his authority and insights to emphasize the idea that language and song imbue the landscape with a sense of presence and significance.

“The printed stories seem curious at best, and very poorly plotted at worst; something seems missing, some key that would unlock the abstruse logic of these tales. And that key is nothing other than the living land itself, the expressive physiognomy of the local earth. What is missing is the silent topography, the sensuous hillsides and streambeds that pose the place-specific questions to which these stories all reply.”

This critique of printed stories for their perceived lack of depth and coherence uses metaphor to suggest that the “key” to fully understanding these stories is the “living land” itself. The landscape’s “silent topography” and “expressive physiognomy” are presented as essential components missing from written tales, implying that the land provides context, meaning, and logic to stories that may otherwise seem disjointed or incomplete. This metaphorical key opens the stories, revealing that they are deeply interwoven with the specific features and spirit of the local environment. The metaphor suggests a connection between storytelling and place, wherein the landscape’s physical and sensuous characteristics are integral to the stories’ meanings and their capacity to communicate with those who know how to read the land. This perspective reveals a symbiotic relationship between stories and geography, wherein the land itself is a vital character in the cultural and mythological fabric of a community.

“[F]or the idea of history is itself a western invention whose central theme is the rejection of habitat. It formulates experience outside of nature and tends to reduce place to only a stage upon which the human drama is enacted. History conceives the past mainly in terms of biography and nations. It seeks causality in the conscious, spiritual, ambitious character of men and memorializes them in writing.”

This quote employs contrast to juxtapose the concept of history as understood in Western traditions and the connection of life with its habitat. The use of personification further deepens this contrast, attributing to history the capacity to “reject habitat” and “formulate experience outside of nature.” The quote critiques the historical focus on biography and nations over the ecological and communal contexts, suggesting that such a perspective diminishes the role of the natural environment in shaping human experiences. The personification of history as an entity with its own agenda, as well as the contrast between different ways of conceiving the past, prompts questions about the adequacy and completeness of historical narratives that overlook the interconnectedness of humans and their environments.

“Stories hold, in their narrative layers, the sedimented knowledge accumulated by our progenitors. To hear a story told and retold in one’s childhood, and to recount that tale in turn when one has earned the right to do so (now inflected by the patterns of one’s own experience and the rhythms of one’s own voice), is to actively preserve the coherence of one’s culture.”

Again, the text uses metaphor, this time to describe stories as repositories of “sedimented knowledge.” This metaphor likens the accumulation of cultural wisdom and experience to the geological process of sedimentation, suggesting that stories layer and compact valuable insights over time. In addition, the passage illustrates the tradition of storytelling as an active practice of cultural preservation, wherein the retelling of tales is a means to maintain and reinforce a community’s collective identity and coherence.