In recent years, news headlines have been a blur with stories about the threat of climate change and whether or not it will affect us. From the lay perspective, the opinions of experts seem to change with the moon’s phases. The overwhelming deluge of conflicting studies and the incessant lapping of pundits drove most of us from the debate a long time ago. Meanwhile, conservative estimates say our planet forever looses another animal species every eight hours. According to Norman Myers, a leading ecological expert, around 600,000 species have disappeared since the year 1950. This tragic die-off, which some have labeled a “biotic holocaust,” seems to be taking place just beyond reach of the nightly news cameras. Despite the lack of attention it has garnered, this problem’s causes are no mystery. Scientists’ blame factors such as the exponential growth of the human population, the destruction of habitat, and the use of pesticides to name a few. It is my fear that our society’s fixation on the contentious climate change debate is blocking any real discourse on these more pressing, tangible concerns. While the public awaits a final verdict, we are losing precious time to make needed changes. Most importantly, we need to ask the deeper theological question of what a healthy human relationship with God’s creation should look like.
Figures like the ones above have appropriately aroused the alarm of some who have set out to find answers. In 1967, one such person, scholar Lynn Townsend White, Jr., released an article linking the modern ecological crisis to what he describes as the exploitive attitudes fostered by the theological tenets of the Judeo-Christian religions. His thesis hinges upon the assertion that, “What people do about their ecology depends on what they think about themselves in relation to things around them.” White, along with a host of other ecological theorists, asserts that the creation accounts found in Genesis have traditionally been used to establish humanity’s dominion over nature and its set apartness as “made in God’s image.” He contrasts this doctrine with his understanding of St. Francis’ view of humanity’s place in nature. According to White, “The key to an understanding of Francis is his belief in the virtue of humility—not merely for the individual but for man as a species.” White intends his message to be a wakeup call for Christians, prompting them to recognize their complicity in creation’s pillaging and begin searching for solutions. Believing the cause our predicament to be spiritual in origin, his words act as a challenge to theologians, charging them with the task of rethinking our relationship with creation and redeeming our historically blemished record. To those who would question White’s assessment I offer that the frightening numbers noted earlier alone provide sufficient warrant for addressing this matter. If the way we view ourselves in relation to our surrounding world affects our treatment of it, then I believe the radical, yet simple insights of the Jewish philosopher Martin Buber could be of help.
In 1923, a man named Martin Buber published his dynamic manifesto, I and Thou, unveiling a new way of conceptualizing one’s identity in relation to others. His message highlights humanity’s interdependence, both as a cornerstone for self-understanding and as our hope for survival. The key to his theory is the weight he assigns to the intrinsic reciprocal aspects embedded within all relationships—the crux of which relies on one’s acknowledgment and acceptance of a relationship’s implied responsibilities. Also, Buber’s conception of the world is one that is holistically integrated. He blurs conventional lines separating humanity, creation, and God, thereby calling into question our ability to objectify and commodify things. Historically, I and Thou was hailed as providing a much needed perspective to the burgeoning study of identity and social relations. On a deeper level, it forged a bold new understanding of humanity’s place in the Universe with relation to the Divine. The lines of connection drawn by Buber’s theories lend much wisdom to righting the problems raised by White’s polemic.
The key premise of Buber’s concept is that there are two basic ways we can understand ourselves in relation to others. To explain this he uses two phrases he calls the “primary words” I-It and I-Thou. As Alexander Kohanski explains, “When man says I, he means either I-Thou or I-It, for whenever I is spoken, the second word of one or the other word pair is implied.” Within this framework, the word I-It represents an individual’s view of an “other,” be it object or person, as a different and quantifiable entity. Whether the subject in question is an inanimate thing or a living being, the mental act of differentiation carries with it an implied objectification. It is also this facet that allows the mind to make convenient generalizations. Despite these qualities, the I-It perspective is not viewed negatively. As Lowell Streiker explains, “To perceive, to feel, to imagine, to will, to think—all of these I-It relations are essential operations of our daily existence.” Without I-It, our ability to perform routine functions would not be possible.
The alternative primary word to I-It is I-Thou. From the I-Thou perspective, all attempts to exhaustively distinguish between oneself and an “other” are abandoned and replaced by a relational reality. Details fill space once occupied by generalizations. Here, emphasis is paid to the natural give-and-take that is universally present and mutually shared. As Streiker explains, “Although I live by virtue of my I-It objectivity, it is only when I address another being as “you” and am myself so addressed that my distinctive nature, my life as a person standing in relation to another person, is realized.” I-Thou then refers to the way of seeing another that takes note of their intricacy—it requires proximity and intention.
In the following passage, Buber demonstrates the two ways of thinking:
“I consider a tree. I can look on it as a picture: stiff column in a shock of light, or splash of green shot with the delicate blue and silver of the background. I can perceive it as movement: flowing veins on clinging, pressing pith, suck of the roots, breathing of the leaves, ceaseless commerce with earth and air—and the obscure growth itself. I can classify it in a species and study it as a type in its structure and mode of life. I can subdue its actual presence and form so sternly that I recognize it only as an expression of law… I can dissipate it and perpetuate it in number, in pure numerical relation. In all this the tree remains my object, occupies space and time, and has its nature and constitution. It can, however, also come about, if I have both will and grace, that in considering the tree I become bound up in relation to it. The tree is now no longer It… It is not necessary for me to give up any of the ways in which I consider the tree… Rather is everything, picture and movement, species and type, law and number, indivisibly united in the event.”
Here Buber exhibits the variety of vantage points at our disposal and makes clear our agency in the matter. He can choose to see the tree as a measurable and discrete It, or relate to the tree as a Thou, thus acknowledging their boundless ability to affect one another. His awareness of their relationship confers this possibility. Expounding upon this Strieker notes, “Where life touches life deeply as in a good marriage or a genuine friendship, each partner steps forward in the unique singleness of his nature, achieving an extent of personal development which otherwise remains hidden and unrealized.” These examples reveal the significance Buber assigns to relationship. Strieker adds that, “Through such relationships and only through them can the healing, teaching, reforming, and redeeming of persons be accomplished in either the individual or the corporate spheres of man’s life.” Applied more broadly, it is only by our acknowledgment of and participation within community that large scale transformation and growth can occur. Buber’s ideas were spawned during a unique period of ideological sparring between Marxist, influenced collectivism and individualism. Gleaning truths from both perspectives, Buber asserts that people needn’t abandon their singular selfhood, while simultaneously affirming community’s vital role in the formation of that selfhood. Whereas the French philosopher Renee’ Descartes posits, “I think, therefore I am,” Buber seems to be saying, “We are, therefore you can.” From within this framework of relational interdependence, we can move to understand how our choices affect one another.
Inherently, the mind’s decision between I-It and I-Thou requires that a value judgment be made. The detachment of I-It allows for a commodification not afforded by I-Thou. Herein we realize the potential embodied by the two primary words. Within I-It there is separation, but in I-Thou we find relation. Here we derive our ability to make assessments and form emotions. I-Thou provides edification and transcendence, while I-It allows for categorization and commodification. To illustrate this Buber contends that, “Only part of a being can be hated,” because for one to really see an “other,” a full recognition of the “other’s” intricacy must take place. Therefore, to view an “other” negatively, one must disassociate from the entity as only the I-It perspective allows. Conversely, with I-Thou, we see the possibility for positive evaluation and love.
The meeting of one’s being with another is the birthplace of care and compassion. These are the primordial byproducts of Thou. Thus, our ability to love and show affection stems from our capacity to see. It is this facet of Buber’s philosophy that seems to bolster White’s assertion that our treatment of the environment is dependent upon how we view ourselves within it. But for one to willfully assume this relation of care, one’s vision must be attuned. The transcendence from I-It to I-Thou requires a gained familiarity. To Buber, the lines of connection between himself and others ultimately trace back to God. While I-Thou’s validity is not dependent upon one’s acceptance of this spiritual component, its inclusion is greatly enriching.
By tethering everything to the Divine, all things become anchored as one. To Buber, “There is no such thing as seeking God, for there is nothing in which He could not be found.” But to some, this may be a tough theological pill to swallow. For me, the metaphysical recalibration we are being asked to accept is more easily understood when compared with two practices from other faith traditions. The first is the Hindu concept of Namaste. In many South Asian countries where Hinduism is the dominate religion, people greet one another by putting their palms together with their fingers pointing upwards, bowing their heads, and speaking the word Namaste. While there is no exact English translation for this, Namaste is generally understood to mean, “The light of God in me sees and recognizes the light of God in you.” Similarly, from the Christian faith, there is a discipline known as “practicing His presence.” This concept, first popularized by a monk named Brother Lawrence, teaches the meditative practice of maintaining one’s awareness of God’s presence at all times. In part, this is done in the hope of seeing the world through God’s eyes. Both concepts involve conscious decisions to foster an awareness and appreciation of the Divine spark animating us all. The similarities between these aims and that of I and Thou are manifold.
For some, the theological insinuations of Buber’s perspective are laden with troubling implications. The lines of connection he uses to link God and creation do more to highlight oneness, than to spell out distinctions. Or as he puts it, “Of course God is the “wholly Other”; but He is also the wholly Same, the wholly Present.” In theological terms, Buber’s perspective is described as panentheistic: “not that everything is God, but that God may be in everything.” When looking at how humanity might care for creation differently if it viewed the natural world as imbued with God’s presence we positive potential of this conception. From Buber, “To look away from the world, or to stare at it, does not help a man to reach God; but he who sees the world in Him Stands in His presence.” This innately intertwined view of things, offers a rapturous prescription for humanity to live in relation with God. For one to live in such mindfulness, surely their vision must be altered. Embedded within Buber’s conception of relational reciprocity is the requisite of respect.
These words may lead one to assume the aim in this relational endeavor is the cultivation of warm feelings, but that is not the case. Buber reminds us that, “Feelings are ‘entertained’: love comes to pass.” But for anything to transpire, action is necessitated. Thus, inherent to the reciprocal dynamic of a relationship, which Buber expresses as, “My Thou affects me as I affect it,” a cost is introduced to the equation. In love’s case, that cost is the, “responsibility of an I for a Thou.” It is precisely this reciprocal facet of the I-Thou relationship that proves relevant in our discussion on humanity’s right relation with the natural world.
Earlier, I gave some figures revealing our planet’s relatively poor health. If we accept the notion of humanity’s reciprocal relationship with the earth and that our relationship is shaped by our vision, then at least part of White’s hypothesis is true—our attitudes towards the environment are made manifest in our treatment of it. After all, what is viewed as sacred, we prize, and what is viewed neutrally, we’re indifferent to. As Buber’s account points out so well, a tree can be seen as a simple, inanimate object, bound by nature’s laws, or as a captivating and mysterious being whose experience of life is wholly unknown to our minds. So then we might ask, is a forest solely a resource for the meeting of our needs or is it a habitat in which to live? A deer might say it depends upon whom you ask. Bearing all this in mind, and in keeping with Buber’s tree theme, what can be discovered about our society’s perspective by taking a closer look at modern forestry practices?
Sadly, we learn that loggers still routinely clearcut entire forests—a practice whose devastating impact has not only affected the survival and ecological health of forests globally, but also the millions of other living organisms whose survival is threatened by loss of habitat. Stephen Bouma-Prediger writes that, “Half of the forests that once covered the earth are now gone. Between 1980 and 1995 alone at least two hundred million hectares of forests vanished—an area larger than Mexico.” Already, we begin to see the heavy hand with which humanity has left its mark. This fact is made worse by knowing that, “In the United States nearly 20 percent of all lumber is used to make shipping pallets and crates, most of which are quickly discarded.” I’m reminded of all the junk mail that lays daily siege to my mailbox. Truly, our recklessness compounds our wastefulness.
If we were to take a closer look at a single facet of this complex issue, for example logging for new home construction, we would uncover an entire sector of the market propped up by government subsidies, laziness, greed, and unforgivable wastefulness. Simply put, it is far less expensive and easier for lumber companies to obtain wood by felling new trees than to salvage boards from the vast stockpiles of still usable wood sitting unused in the form of abandoned homes and buildings. This also neglects the amount of lumber wasted in inefficient saw mills (estimates say it’s over 50 percent) and deposited in landfills after demolitions. Thus, the decision to cut down what is left of our remaining woodlands is made in spite of the needs and priorities of non-human creatures. True to Buber’s reciprocal understanding of things, our planet’s deforestation is directly linked its growing roster of extinct species. So, how do we view and therefore value our forests?
Although we only glanced at one small variable within the larger equation, this kind of dismal news runs par for the course. With the exception of a few remaining indigenous cultures, our meager observations have made the prevailing I-It view of nature plain. Aside from the presence of a few token national and state parks, our land ethic has been detached utilitarianism. There is no other explanation for our rapacious liquidation of what once was nature’s bounty. It is from here that we return to our original question—asking what a healthy human relation with God’s creation should look like. Secondly, if we truly believe scriptures that proclaim the earth to be “full of God’s glory,” what has our negligence communicated to God?
Our survey also stumbled across a vastly held, yet questionable assumption that humanity’s interests supersede that of other creatures. In a sense, we have usurped God’s authority and declared ourselves to be lords and masters of creation. We now decide what has value and what does not; who will live and who will die. On this, White argues that our self-exalted ideals are the unfortunate remnants of errant theological interpretations. Buber seems to make no such assumptions, but neither is the issue ever directly raised. What we can see, is the dangerous playing out of this kind of reasoning in our own history. One need only look back as far as the Jewish Holocaust to understand the potential pitfalls of this logic. As finite creatures with such limited perspectives, we ought not play God. With that in mind, returning focus to our tattered planetary sphere, it does not take a great imagination to see we may have been mistaken.
I and Thou’s primary message can be characterized as an attempt to teach us sight. Buber’s ostentatious claim that, “if you hallow this life you meet the living God,” is an invitation to us all. We are being called to leave behind our broken I-It mindsets so that we might embrace the eternal Thou. The need for this conversion extends far beyond care for the environment and into our very souls. As R.G. Smith clarifies, we’re not, “being invited… to impose a veil of sacrality upon our experiences,” but as Buber explains, “to step into pure relation is not to disregard everything but to see everything in the Thou, not to renounce the world but to establish it on its true basis.” Thus, the world we have always known remains unchanged, but we come to see it as it truly is. There is a mythical Jewish saying that, “In the mother’s body man knows the universe—in birth he forgets it.” If we are to remember, it will take intentionality. And it is from this action that our perception of the natural world and our treatment of it can be redeemed.
There will be no false scenario laid before you urging your response. The numbers representing the story of humanity’s ecological transgressions cannot be bargained with and will not go away. We have seen the repercussions of viewing creation as an It, and we now know where that paths leads. The question remains—will we pick up the I-Thou lens recognizing the infinite interconnectedness and possibility of the natural world and assume the inherent responsibility of care that comes alongside that acknowledgment, or will we persist in seeing things from the detached I-It vantage?
It should be clear that at least some of our relational and therefore reciprocal responsibilities to ourselves as well as our fellow creatures have gone ignored under current practices. I believe that a wellspring of creative solutions to the problems at hand have, so far, been overlooked because our present priorities were formulated by asking the wrong questions. Our inability to properly view the world has distorted our discernment of its value. For much of humanity, and especially in Western countries, instead of harmonizing our lifestyles with God’s equitable and just nature, we have cast prudence aside and consumed with reckless abandon. For convenience sake, we have denied the sacredness of our surrounding world trading the eternal possibilities of Thou for the instant gratification of It. While a lasting consensus in our search for a workable theology of responsible creation care may still linger slightly out of reach, the recommendation to incorporate this small, but potent shift towards the I-Thou mindset must certainly play a key role in whatever remedy it eventually ratifies.
My call then is not merely that we should be better about enjoying more sunsets or remembering to recycle. Enjoyment and intentionality do matter, but we’ve reached a point of crisis. It wouldn’t even be enough to suggest a sweeping mandate for a wholesale switch to electric-hybrid vehicles, although that would help. For us to recognize God’s will in God’s continual action as the sustainer of all things and begin taking our ecological responsibilities seriously, an entirely new outlook is in order. Not only must we recognize creation as Thou, we must also reckon with the full humility that view entails. As White so poignantly alludes to, perhaps we should give the wisdom of St. Francis a second hearing. And from that place of humility a sustainable harmony with the rest of creation may be found.
Bibliography
Brother Lawrence. The Library of Spiritual Classics: Vol.1. Practicing His Presence. Jacksonville, FL: The Seed Sowers.
Bouma-Prediger, Steven. 2001. For the Beauty of the Earth. Grand Rapids, Michigan: Baker Academic.
Buber, Martin. 1970. I and Thou. Trans. Walter Kaufmann. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons.
Kohanski, Alexander. 1982. Martin Buber’s Philosophy on Interhuman Relation. Rutherford, Madison, Teaneck: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press & London and Toronto: Associated University Press.
Myers, Norman. "What Must We Do to Counter the Biotic Holocaust?" International Wildlife. Mar. 1999. Web. 29 Jan. 2010.
R.G. Smith. 1967. Martin Buber. Richmond, Virginia. John Knox Press.
Streiker, Lowell. 1969. The Promise of Buber: Desultory Philippics and Irenic Affirmations. Philadelphia and New York: J.B. Lippincott Company.
White, Lynn. "The Historical Roots of our Ecological Crisis." 1967. MS. University of California. University of Vermont. University of Vermont. Web. 29 Jan. 2010.
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