Declaration on Soil

The ecological discourse about planet earth, global hunger, threats to life, urges us to look down at the soil, humbly, as philosophers. We stand on soil, not on earth. From soil we come, and to the soil we bequeath our excrements and remains. And soil – its cultivation and our bondage to it – is remarkably absent from those things clarified by philosophy in our western tradition.

As philosophers, we search below our feet because our generation has lost its grounding in both soil and virtue. By virtue, we mean that shape, order and direction of action informed by tradition, bounded by place, and qualified by choices made within the habitual reach of the actor; we mean practice mutually recognized as being good within a shared local culture that enhances the memories of a place.

We note that such virtue is traditionally found in labor, craft, dwelling and suffering supported, not by an abstract earth, environment or energy system, but by the particular soil these very actions have enriched with their traces. Yet, in spite of this ultimate bond between soil and being, soil and the good, philosophy has not brought forth the concepts that would allow us to relate virtue to common soil, something vastly different from managing behavior on a shared planet.

We were torn from the bonds to soil – the connections that limited action, making practical virtue possible – when modernization insulated us from plain dirt, from toil, flesh, soil and grave. The economy into which we have been absorbed – some, willy-nilly, some at great cost – transforms people into interchangeable morsels of population, ruled by the laws of scarcity.

Commons and homes are barely imaginable to persons hooked on public utilities and garaged in furnished cubicles. Bread is a mere foodstuff, if not calories or roughage. To speak of friendship, religion and joint suffering as a style of conviviality – after the soil has been poisoned and cemented over – appears like academic dreaming to people randomly scattered in vehicles, offices, prisons and hotels.

As philosophers, we emphasize the duty to speak about soil. For Plato, Aristotle and Galen it could be taken for granted; not so today. Soil on which culture can grow and corn be cultivated is lost from view when it is defined as a complex subsystem, sector, resource, problem or “farm” – as agricultural science tends to do.

As philosophers, we offer resistance to those ecological experts who preach respect for science, but foster neglect for historical tradition, local flair and the earthy virtue, self-limitation.

Sadly, but without nostalgia, we acknowledge the pastness of the past. With diffidence, then, we attempt to share what we see: some results of the earth’s having lost its soil. And we are irked by the neglect for soil in the discourse carried on among boardroom ecologists. But we are also critical of many among well-meaning romantics, Luddites and mystics who exalt soil, making it the matrix, not of virtue, but of life. Therefore, we issue a call for a philosophy of soil: a clear, disciplined analysis of that experience and memory of soil without which neither virtue nor some new kind of subsistence can be.

(A joint statement, drafted in Hebenshausen, Germany, December 6, 1990, by Ivan Illich in collaboration with Sigmar Groeneveld, Lee Hoinacki and other friends.)

My Top Ten Reasons for Attending PASA’s Annual Conference

Okay, many of you likely know about the organization PASA, the Pennsylvania Association for Sustainable Agriculture … as well its annual conference held each first weekend of February at the Penn Stater Conference Center. My “top ten” list is NOT for you! Rather, my list is for those who don’t know and/or don’t go to this annual event. I’m taking a stab at convincing you to give yourself the gift of this conference—this year and every year after. Here goes … and these are in no particular order …

1. First, no need to get dressed up! That’s right, wear anything you wish … blue jeans, overalls, a skirt. It’s all fine. Now, you can get gussied up if it makes you feel good or something. It’s just that there’s no unspoken requirement, clothing adds nothing to your legitimacy or status here. In short, be and dress yourself at all times!

2. The whole event happens in State College (the Penn Stater Conference Center, to be exact). Yippee. No long commute. No maps. Just hop on the bus or your car and come on over! It’s as if some of our region’s and nation’s “best” thinkers and doers are coming to YOU … your neighborhood!

3. The food! If you sign up for meals, what an amazing treat you’re in for. If you don’t, you’re still in for an amazing treat as they offer snacks (for FREE) all through the event, between sessions and the like. They call it, “Sustainable Socializing” and for me, socializing is all the more sustainable (fun, enduring, and endearing) with snacks (ones sustainably grown or produced, at that)!

4. You’ll see a wide cross section of our world at the conference, and along with it all of its inherent beauty. You’ll see old people (elders). You’ll see young people (kids, adolescents, and twenty-somethings there having a professional development experience). You’ll see white folks and people of color. You’ll see infants at their mother’s breast. You’ll see suited-up people and all manner of Amish and Mennonite folks. Mostly, though, you’ll see in all people “the salt of the earth” and it’s just beautiful to behold!

5. You’ll experience engaged people in a new way! What I mean is that, unlike the overwhelming majority of meetings, classes, conferences etc. that I’ve attended, PASA people are THERE! They nod their heads. They whoop and holler. They express their boos and their yays, their hmms and their gaffaws. They call out a question … even an “Amen.” I don’t know if “revival” is an accurate descriptor … what I do know is that I am certainly revived in the midst of so many people who are so attentive and expressive and expectant! It’s impressive, indeed.

6. There’s something for everyone to learn at the conference. Seriously. If you’re growing or raising something, obviously you can learn. If you’re not, no problem. You’re eating something SO you bet you can learn something! Presenters (and exhibitors) offer information about topics ranging from nutrition, ecology, national policies, environmental sustainability, community enhancement (and activism), and so much more. There’s just so many PASAbilities for learning—formally and informally (which is why I endeavor to get as many students to the conference as possible)!

7. At PASA, you witness all manner of folks actively addressing the maddening issues of our time by “solving for pattern.” Now, what this means is that PASA presenters and attenders are thinking both deeply and widely—considering the patterns that connect multiple problems. In doing so, such thinking and the solutions they beget avoids the creation of new problems (in addressing a single problem at once). What I love about participating in this rare kind of thinking is its implicit wholeness and harmony AND how no single “expertise” or perspective rises to the fore. Rather, all perspectives and intelligences are necessary while an ethic of egalitarianism and beauty inform the deliberation. Such thinking requires the respect of and for all, and the participation of all … as we “think the world back together again.” That’s PASA for you in a nutshell!

8. Another reason—I love being around so many who have re-united “hand work” and “head work.” YES! By this I mean that the folks who attend the PASA conference have, in their lives, re-married the artificially separated work today categorized as either “intellectual” or “non-intellectual,” as “scholarly” or otherwise.
But, why do I love being around these folks? Well, not only do their lives provide me a model to emulate. They also “prove” to me that in such a re-uniting of head with hands (add heart, too), we all can overcome the myopia and short-sightedness attendant to the divorce of our minds from our bodies, from our hearts.

9. I will ALWAYS leave a PASA conference with an idea that I can near immediately put into action … something I can do, something I can experiment with. In short, so far as authentic, meaningful, and lasting learning requires some doing that yields change in oneself, I learn (or, am set-up for learning in the following days, weeks, and months). Simply, I get my money’s worth at a PASA conference!

10. Finally, the PASA conference is the ultimate “feel good” event. Heck, I’d take this February weekend over a massage, any day. I always leave more hope-filled, more inspired, more centered, more grateful. I find myself as the conference end approaches, less encumbered by the sadness that can accompany knowledge of the affairs of the world and more buoyed by the hope and spirit that animates the countless acts of love and kindness and courage of those near and far. In other words, for me a healing occurs. I leave smiling. I bet you a home-cooked meal at my house that you will, too!

Look for me in the front row (sitting with my dear Indian friend, Madhu Prakash), during the keynote addresses. I anticipate our introductory hug!

A Story For Our Time

Several years ago I had the great good fortune of visiting with author and farmer, Wendell Berry, in his Kentucky home. A group of us were gathered in Cincinnati, a little over an hour away from Berry’s home. One of our group members had arranged the meeting given his 25 plus year friendship with Berry. We were a bit nervous to meet him, but mostly filled with excitement to meet the man who had become so important to our thinking about community, farming, soil, our relationship to the natural world and more. His poems, essays, and novels had inspired, enlightened and stilled us for decades.

The friend who arranged the meeting had prepared us. We would arrive. Wendell and Tonya would invite us into the front sitting room (as much a library as “living” room), we’d have introductions, share some stories, and then Wendell would signal to our friend that the visit was over. We’d graciously make our exit and be on our way.

How surprising a visit! Stories of hopeful initiatives were exchanged—including those in Mexico shared by author and activist Gustavo Esteva (one of our group). We spoke of the growth of CSAs, farmers markets, and interest in sustainable agriculture in our central Pennsylvania region. Wendell and the teenage member of our group shared off-color jokes. We laughed. Soon, Tonya returned, then emerged from the kitchen with crackers and cheese. Wendell uncorked a bottle of wine from his daughter and son-in-law’s nearby winery. He poured, we laughed some more.

The nod to exit never came.

In that extended visit with one of our country’s iconic figures, the time was not entirely jovial and light. Wendell lamented at different times all of the efforts—many close to him and those around the world—to stem the growth of “Absurdistan.” Mountain-top removal coal extraction, nuclear power (and waste), GMOs, the ever-burgeoning culture of waste and disposability were but some examples of absurdity noted that afternoon turned evening.

We pondered the state of the world. To hope or to despair was in the balance.

Then, the “champion of the local” spoke an interesting juxtaposition.  Sitting in that Kentucky hollow, Wendell mentioned how saddening to him his need to get in his car to simply get a haircut. In short, we could no longer count on having our basic needs met within our neighborhoods and communities. These had become too fractured, too physically and emotionally distanced. Homes and their inhabitants too insular. The distinctly modern epidemic—“independence”—had befallen us all.

Berry next spoke the wisdom that continues to inspire, even haunt me … resonating in the form of a question. What can we do for each other?

What can we do for each other?

As I consider the impossibility of fabricating community, recognizing the unavoidable character of surprise governing the emergence of community, Wendell Berry’s question comes to me. To the extent that we do for each other, meet each others’ needs and allow others to assist in meeting our own, the potential bonds of community may take hold. The ties that bind may grow.

A story for our time, I believe, is the promise of gardening—where we live—to contribute to such potential … to the growth of community.