This might seem like semantics, but I don’t think of this as an other-than-human self–I think you’ve perfectly described the very core of our human selves. Civilization hates nothing quite so much as our humanity; it demands that we look upon it as “fallen,” a synonym for the flawed, weak and broken, as “only human” or “all too human”; it calls us to “transcend” our humanity and leave it behind, whether by spiritual enlightenment, holy salvation, or the elevation of Reason and Science. We’ve often spoken of the many ways in which civilization tries to strip us of our humanity–Tim Ingold writes of this in strong, academic terms in The Perception of the Environment if anyone still doubts the how’s and why’s of it. But we should always remember that civilization chases an oxymoron here. If it ever succeeded in eradicating our humanity, it would destroy its own foundation in doing so; so we exist, necessarily, between a civilization that tries to repress our humanity, and our wild humanity itself, and its refusal to ever submit entirely. Oh, sure, our civilization strives for the dynamic equilibrium that leaves the most weakened and repressed level of our humanity possible before entirely falling apart, but that means that in the most sinister heart of civilization, you will find a beating, wild, human heart.
I come from the place where people once built a longhouse together, so I have to speak to this in terms this land knows. The Haudenosaunee spoke of uki and utkon, all too often mistranslated by anthropologists as synonyms for “good” and “evil.” Now, I can’t claim to understand this concept entirely, but it seems to come in some ways from things like bird songs, or voice.
Like Manitou, orenda is understood as a kind of unifying notion. Everyone has orenda, but it is also differentiating in that different people have different orendas. One way to understand this concept is suggested by the linguistic root for orenda, -ren-, which is also the root for the terms for "song," "to sing," and "voice," or "speech." From this angle, orenda marks the song or voice of particular things.35 While my voice and yours are distinctively our own, they also are similar in important ways. One can distinguish between individuals on the basis of their characteristic song or voice, and one can also link individuals together through similarities of voiceâ€â€much as one might link the sounds of several drums, where each makes its own sound, but together the sounds are like enough that they literally resonate. Listening to the sound together, the resonating drums are a unity of sound; listening for the characteristic expression of a single drum makes individuals emerge from the collective sound. It is important to note that while each drum has its own sound, it is both a sound dependent upon the drum’s origin (the skins and wood of which it is made) and its interaction with other agentsâ€â€the drummer, the listeners, even the other drums in its hearing. In this sense, the distinctive character or power of a given individual is also dependent upon a host of relations and other persons. The bond with others is an indissoluble one in that the characteristic expression of one person is what it is only in a complex of relations.
The Haudenosaunee placed enormous emphasis on the importance of honoring that voice–if I understand the notion properly, staying true to yourself. I see this in their understanding of dreaming, as well. Indeed, the healthy relationship of self to society that I’ve learned from so many wild, native societies took this as a key component, that we must remain true to ourselves.
I had a bit of a revelation a few days ago, when, in questioning what we really mean by “wild,” I investigated its etymology, and found it surprisingly simple. The Great Vowel Shift moved the pronunciation of many of our vowels, and made “wild” from “willed.” Wild simply meant self-willed. Self-willed animals, self-willed places. Civilization subdues our own will, and replaces it with another’s. I believe, in this, that I’ve found the fundamental act of domestication: to replace another willed person’s will with your own. Take away the will of the wolf, and force your own upon him, and you turn him into a dog. Take away the will of a forest, and force your own upon him, and you turn him into a field of crops. Take away the will of a human being, and force your own upon him, and you turn him into a slave–whether a wage slave, or the traditional kind, hardly matters.
When you pursue the things you feel passionate about, you restore your own will. You become self-willed. You give heed to and honor your own voice. You restore your humanity against civilization. You rewild, in the truest sense of the word.
Quote from Scott L. Pratt quoted from “Persons in Place: The Agent Ontology of Vine Deloria, Jr.”
