Here’s a short reflection I wrote about the Kogi, an indigenous tribe that live in the mountains of Columbia. It was for my “Religion and Ecology” class, taught by Dr. Gary Chamberlain of Seattle University. I’d love to hear from you! I’d especially love to hear from people who may have met some of the Kogi personally; apparently, there are a few out there. Anyway, without further ado:
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There are few cultures that Western society has not shaped and altered. From the lands in the Far East to the Inuit of Alaska, the cultural perspectives of modern Europe and the United States seem to be found no matter where one looks. And yet, in the jungles of South America, there is a culture, the Kogi, who have preserved their culture’s ancient practices almost perfectly. By studying the Kogi, we have a unique opportunity to examine a way of life and even a pattern of thinking that is radically different from our own. One way of analyzing Kogi thought is through the paradigm of verticality developed by Yi-Fu Tuan in his book, Topophilia: A Study of Environmental Perception, Attitudes, and Values.
In his paper, Tuan points out a strange development in Western history. Before the scientific revolution, Western society, like many other non-Western societies, viewed the world as extending from the skies to the earth. Their sense of horizontal distance paled in comparison to their sense of vertical distance. This is attributed partially to the fact that most people before the scientific revolution did not travel more than twenty miles outside the place they were born. However, with the birth of science and the realization that the heavens were not fixed spheres, the Western perspective began to turn, eventually flattening into the horizontal understanding of the world that we live with now.
The significance of this change may not be apparent at first. However, Tuan’s description of the Western approaches to hydrology demonstrate his argument’s relevance, and also draws a stunning parallel to the Kogi understanding of hydrology. Tuan writes that, “Earlier [before the seventeenth century], the hydrologic cycle was conceived as having essentially only one dimension, the vertical…The physical processes served as a popular image of the transcendental relations between the human soul and God” (131). Thus, the people of the Middle Ages related the hydrologic cycle directly to their understanding of the soul. Now, such notions seem ignorant at worst, poetic and antiquated at best. Tuan writes, “When the hydrologic cycle acquired its horizontal dimension it lost its metaphoric power. It became a purely physical process devoid of transcendental and symbolical overtones” (131).
This dichotomy is perfectly demonstrated by the Kogi tradition in juxtaposition to dominant Western perspectives. The Kogi hydrologic system is sacred: water which melts from snowpack in the high mountains (mountains that are considered sacred ground) flows down streams and rivers and as rain. The water returns to the ocean, and the Kogi see this system as a visceral biological function of their goddess, whom they named Aluna.
In fact, this cycle is at the heart of their ritual life. The Kogi males continually carry a small gourd, called a poporo, in which there are burnt seashells mixed with water. This creates a mixture of lime in the bottom of the gourd. The men then take long sticks and proceed to cover the outer rim of the gourd with the lime. While doing this, the men are told by their priests, the mamas, to meditate on various aspects of Kogi life. The gourd symbolizes the feminine, and it helps keep gender order among the Kogi people.
In a way, the poporo symbolizes the Kogi society itself: a blending of the products of Aluna (seashells and water) that is used to teach lessons and bind the community together. Absolutely everything in Kogi society metaphorically represents the connection of the society with their goddess: from tent posts to weaving to their gourds, even the hats of the men. All of these objects represent a vertical passage from the mundane to the spiritual, and yet, in a paradox not suited for our Cartesian worldview, the spiritual itself is the mundane. The water rises into the sky, and yet, it falls back into the ocean. The Kogi internalize this process in their gourds, and thus, the entire notion of selfhood is wrapped up in the powerful metaphor of Aluna: everything comes from her, and even more, everything somehow points back to her, as well.
Such an intimate relationship with the land naturally results in an ecological ethics that has preserved the land. Can our society learn from this? Is it possible for the West to return to a more vertical interpretation of place? Or have we progressed so far down the horizontal path that there is no possible way to redemption? These questions, I think, probe at a deeper question: how do we define ourselves? And does this definition incorporate the land into itself?
The effects of mining and greenhouse gas emissions have hurt the Kogi physically. But these actions strike not just at the ability of the Kogi to sustain their bodies; pollution also strikes at their very identity as a culture. Why do these destructive practices not affect Western society in a similar matter? Climate change negatively affects Americans and Europeans daily, yet the concern is not for the land, but rather, for commercial interests or self-preservation. This is horizontal thinking: nothing has significance except that which is beneficial to us.
Thus, perhaps the most important lesson we can learn from the Kogi is that of ecological selflessness. The most difficult piece of reuniting Western society with the land will be to rip ourselves from the anthropocentrism to which we desperately cling. Like the Kogi, we must understand that we are players in the grand scheme, important actors, but certainly not the masters we think we are. Seeing the metaphorical in nature, reclaiming the mystery and wonder from a world obsessed with atomistic empiricism, and ultimately, beholding ourselves in the clouds and in the waters are the lessons we must learn from the Kogi if we are to live in harmony with reality.
Wow. What a pleasure to have stumbled upon this blog. That was an absolutely riveting essay — and I believe that is the first time I have strung those words together in reference to any paper ever submitted for academic grading.
At any rate, I haven’t been this interested in land since I read the wikipedia article on Geosophy.
D.Leon —
Aw…you’re making me blush. Haha! Thank you very much, your comment is greatly appreciated.
Aside from the book that I quoted from, Tuan also has a book entitled, “The Hydrologic System and the Wisdom of God: A Theme in Geoteleolgy.” I used my school’s inter-library loan system to get a copy, so I haven’t got it, yet, but I’m sure if there’s some interesting stuff in it I’ll post it up here.
the heart of this is: “In fact, this cycle is at the heart of their ritual life.”
i like this piece. its easy to see how passionate you are about these people and their way of life.
in particular, how you throw in environmental concerns towards the end with overtones of compassion. great work.
There is a lot more about the Kogi that is fascinating and illuminating. The wise men are called Mamas but they train new Mamas from birth,literally,isolating a newborn male(of course) in a house with the mother in another house to feed it and a care giver in yet another house to take care of it and take it outside only at night. He never sees daylight until age 4 when he goes out with a hat that hides the views of the sky but is allowed to see moon and stars. Think about this sensory deprivation(and Guantanamo too) and the efect this must have on the child.
The Kogi believe that the extraction of all the earths riches(metals,oil,gold etc) are a sin(that’s my word) and that they are the protectors of the earth and what we are doing must be stopped.They call themselves the Elder brothers and we are the younger brothers.
They did not have contact with the outside world until 1993 when a BBC reporter was allowed in to make a video and got the material for his book. I do not know how they have fared but I gather their land has been sprayed to eradicate cocoa crops which we all know is chewed by the local population to give them the energy to work at high altitudes and to climb the mountains. Cocaine is not part of the indigenous habit.