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Humans Are Humus
However, Fouke (2011) uses morality in much the same way that other agricultural philosophers have
done in the past, which is a very anthropocentric way of relating to soil (through human-conceived
morals) in order to justify its demand on our attention (see also Paden, 1990). While admirable in
their intentions, many of these efforts succumb to problematic assumptions, so rooted in Western
culture, as to be inherent in the language used to try and talk about these problems. Even though it
is true that ‘soils provide services worth trillions of dollars annually’, to frame it in such a way is
problematically anthropocentric because it portrays soil not as a collection of innumerable beings,
but as an object in service to humans, to say nothing of the issue of its commodifcation (Fouke,
2011: 149). While we might risk ‘getting into the weeds’ over the debate around genetic engineering,
it should be noted that there is a tension between the ideas of ‘healthy soil [as] a self-organizing system’ and the soil ecosystem as ‘one of the richest sources of compounds for biotechnology’ (ibid),
even though biotechnology is intrinsically against self-organisation. If we view soil as a vessel for
possible biotechnological pursuits, through which humans reorient organisms towards particular
aims that are of interest to themselves, isn’t it by defnition no longer self-organising?
Another example of academia’s struggle to accurately articulate human/soil relationships can be
found in inherited language. Kirschenmann (2009) writes about the necessity of having a conversation with the soil, thereby granting the soil some agency through its ability to enter into a conversation with humans. However, elsewhere in the same article, Kirschenmann (ibid) uses the term soil
management, even though it is obvious that this term betrays the very intent of his theory. It should
be noted, however, that Kirschenmann has a long record of working with numerous stakeholders
around issues of soil, and so concessions should be given, knowing that the use of language like soil
management would be the norm for most players in the modern agricultural system. These concessions are especially warranted when the position that Kirschenmann is ultimately asking farmers to
take is a revolutionary one: ‘we can only engage farmers in a process that involves them in conversation with their own soils’ (ibid: 237).
Nonetheless, this invokes a quintessential dilemma for environmental ethics, best typifed in the
last page of Bateson’s (1972) book of essays, Steps to an Ecology of Mind: ‘Is it important that the
right things be done for the right reasons?’ (ibid: 512). There is a distinct possibility that using the
term ‘management’ reinforces a particular understanding of and relationship to soil. For example,
if a conversation is taking place and one party is attempting to ‘manage’ the other, then what is the
quality of that conversation? Even advocates of true agriculture reform still fnd themselves caught
within this ethical dilemma and way of thinking, in which they partially rely on, and give power
to, the worldview of industrial agriculture through their language. This dissonance is also an indication of society’s current transitional period, where culture is trying to break free of dualism. A
good example of this conscious attempt to liberate society from a one-dimensional framework can
be found in Robin Wall Kimmerer’s work. As Professor of Environmental and Forest Biology at the
State University of New York College of Environmental Science and Forestry, Kimmerer advocates
for using the term Ki when referring to an individual of another species (especially where the gender
is unknown) with Kin being the plural, as a way of avoiding the word ‘it’, which has a connotation
of a dead object as opposed to living subjects (Storrs, 2018). With this language, the life in the soil
becomes our Kin.
Part of the reliance on dualistic language comes from the use of modern science as the sole legitimate epistemology. The nature of this problem, and eco-psychology’s usefulness as an antidote,
will be addressed later in this chapter. It will suffce here to mention a very succinct, yet inclusive,
characterisation of the problem as a way of highlighting the issue before moving beyond it. The
philosopher David Ray Griffn (1988) put it this way:
Recognition that the scientifc community seeks truth is fully compatible with the recognition that the
truths it seeks are selected according to various interests and prejudices. Recognition that science has
discovered a wide range of truths is compatible with the conviction that a wide range of truths it has
not discovered exists, and that its formulations of the truths it has discovered are one-sided, presenting
only abstractions from the full truth. Recognition that there must be some truth to the ‘modern scientifc
Humans Are Humus
However, Fouke (2011) uses morality in much the same way that other agricultural philosophers have
done in the past, which is a very anthropocentric way of relating to soil (through human-conceived
morals) in order to justify its demand on our attention (see also Paden, 1990). While admirable in
their intentions, many of these efforts succumb to problematic assumptions, so rooted in Western
culture, as to be inherent in the language used to try and talk about these problems. Even though it
is true that ‘soils provide services worth trillions of dollars annually’, to frame it in such a way is
problematically anthropocentric because it portrays soil not as a collection of innumerable beings,
but as an object in service to humans, to say nothing of the issue of its commodifcation (Fouke,
2011: 149). While we might risk ‘getting into the weeds’ over the debate around genetic engineering,
it should be noted that there is a tension between the ideas of ‘healthy soil [as] a self-organizing system’ and the soil ecosystem as ‘one of the richest sources of compounds for biotechnology’ (ibid),
even though biotechnology is intrinsically against self-organisation. If we view soil as a vessel for
possible biotechnological pursuits, through which humans reorient organisms towards particular
aims that are of interest to themselves, isn’t it by defnition no longer self-organising?
Another example of academia’s struggle to accurately articulate human/soil relationships can be
found in inherited language. Kirschenmann (2009) writes about the necessity of having a conversation with the soil, thereby granting the soil some agency through its ability to enter into a conversation with humans. However, elsewhere in the same article, Kirschenmann (ibid) uses the term soil
management, even though it is obvious that this term betrays the very intent of his theory. It should
be noted, however, that Kirschenmann has a long record of working with numerous stakeholders
around issues of soil, and so concessions should be given, knowing that the use of language like soil
management would be the norm for most players in the modern agricultural system. These concessions are especially warranted when the position that Kirschenmann is ultimately asking farmers to
take is a revolutionary one: ‘we can only engage farmers in a process that involves them in conversation with their own soils’ (ibid: 237).
Nonetheless, this invokes a quintessential dilemma for environmental ethics, best typifed in the
last page of Bateson’s (1972) book of essays, Steps to an Ecology of Mind: ‘Is it important that the
right things be done for the right reasons?’ (ibid: 512). There is a distinct possibility that using the
term ‘management’ reinforces a particular understanding of and relationship to soil. For example,
if a conversation is taking place and one party is attempting to ‘manage’ the other, then what is the
quality of that conversation? Even advocates of true agriculture reform still fnd themselves caught
within this ethical dilemma and way of thinking, in which they partially rely on, and give power
to, the worldview of industrial agriculture through their language. This dissonance is also an indication of society’s current transitional period, where culture is trying to break free of dualism. A
good example of this conscious attempt to liberate society from a one-dimensional framework can
be found in Robin Wall Kimmerer’s work. As Professor of Environmental and Forest Biology at the
State University of New York College of Environmental Science and Forestry, Kimmerer advocates
for using the term Ki when referring to an individual of another species (especially where the gender
is unknown) with Kin being the plural, as a way of avoiding the word ‘it’, which has a connotation
of a dead object as opposed to living subjects (Storrs, 2018). With this language, the life in the soil
becomes our Kin.
Part of the reliance on dualistic language comes from the use of modern science as the sole legitimate epistemology. The nature of this problem, and eco-psychology’s usefulness as an antidote,
will be addressed later in this chapter. It will suffce here to mention a very succinct, yet inclusive,
characterisation of the problem as a way of highlighting the issue before moving beyond it. The
philosopher David Ray Griffn (1988) put it this way:
Recognition that the scientifc community seeks truth is fully compatible with the recognition that the
truths it seeks are selected according to various interests and prejudices. Recognition that science has
discovered a wide range of truths is compatible with the conviction that a wide range of truths it has
not discovered exists, and that its formulations of the truths it has discovered are one-sided, presenting
only abstractions from the full truth. Recognition that there must be some truth to the ‘modern scientifc