In Defense of Creative Collectivism
By: Tvergastein Journal
Tags: Collectivism, Creative

Art tells stories that influence not only individual but also systemic functioning. Whether in song or spoken word, the artist meets the audience at an intersection of socio-cultural-economic contexts. This essay offers a framework for improved climate communication by offering messages of collectivism through art. That is, where humans and nature are understood as parts of an integral ‘whole’ — a concept exemplified through a variety of collectivist worldviews. I want to argue that if one were to approach creating a climate ethic from a blank slate perspective, a collectivist worldview offers more potential for creativity[1] , inclusivity, and valuing of the natural world than the hegemonic, dualist [2] paradigm. By its very nature, art is suited to this endeavour.

So, how does art ultimately inform climate-friendly action (and vice versa)? Some, like Oscar Wilde, argue that art is a purely aesthetic endeavor: “Art never expresses anything but itself” (Wilde 1891, 667). Others, like Spinoza, closely related observing and making art to the practice of expanding the imagination. For him, imagining, or creating ‘mind images’ is the first type of knowledge [3](Spinoza 1992).

Indeed, art can serve as more than just an aesthetic form. Nazi propaganda promoted distorted images of Jews, exaggerating their features in an effort to have them resemble caricatures moreso than people. They were so successful at desensitizing the German population that an estimated 6 million Jews (among other marginalized groups) were murdered during WWII (USHMM 2019). Of course, these images did not influence in a vacuum; it was the socio-politico context of the era that drove messages forward within art (Lichtman 1970). Like the Nazis, Soviet regimes also relied on symbolism — the descending hammer, the productive sickle — to represent alliances between Worker and Peasant. Art held a distinct role in the regime as a tool to educate and to reinforce institutionalism (Guggenheim 2019). Who would America be without its bald eagle, its stars and stripes?

In this way, it would seem that both Wilde and Spinoza are correct: art can exist as aesthetic expression and as an expander of imagination. Crucially, though, it can act as a guide for new conceptual frameworks, shaping how we understand the world and directing how we may act — all the while remaining malleable because of its social construction (Warren 2012) [4]. But despite art’s change-making potential, strategies in climate change mitigation often ignore cultural dimensions in favour of technological or growth-based solutions. Even with unparalleled access to information, public service announcements and media coverage, something gets lost between data and person. Why is it that most people in my home country of Canada are unwilling to pay more than $100 a year in taxes to fight climate change[5] (CBC 2019)? What is the disconnect between knowledge and action? Indeed, the ability to understand climate change as a phenomenon is necessary. But the ability to feel, albeit a nebulous descriptor, is also critical. It requires paying attention to affect, emotion, value, subjectivity and “the possibilities for the fulfilment of human potential” (Galafassi 2018, 73) — the most fundamental ‘truths’ of existence.

Indeed, it is not what the message is saying but how it says it that matters. Most messages about climate change have a marginal effect on people (Dunwoody 2007). So which message does? Perhaps a message wrapped in an implicit understanding of who a person is, and what their social milieu is. “What makes art a unique contributor is its freedom to pursue open-ended explorations of any topic through an ever-expanding set of practices not wedded to finished ‘outcomes’ or ‘solutions’” (Galafassi 2018, 75). Indeed, social behavior is influenced by a nexus of factors including values, habits and often emotions (Wilhite 2012). Art is particularly equipped to explore these aspects. Art, in many ways, already integrates messages of belief, and meaningful social symbolism — a mirror to the ‘self’.

But how can art made in one culture evoke meaning to another? Some answers may lie in the doctrine of philosophia perennis et universalis, “truth is one”, where some ‘truths’ are uniform across cultural interpretations. This may seem like a naive way to address the human condition — but when referring to ‘truths’ I am not necessarily alluding to something objective. Nor do I think every culture necessarily sees similarities between themselves and the Other. Still, though love may be felt differently across time and space, it is hard to imagine a community devoid of it. Appreciating or valuing art is something that seems cross-culturally understood — it is something most cultures identify with (Langer 1966). The process remains meaningful regardless of whether the truths arrived at are felt the same way. All that is to say: art is a wide-ranging meaning-making tool within climate change mitigation efforts.

Obviously, it is a dangerous fantasy to expect a world where people turn away from solar panels and turn instead to art for answers to climate change. But at this point, art’s uses have not even been in the running. It is hard to join a race when you are not even considered a competitor. Why is this? What is getting in the way of art’s potential? Without understanding the current dominant worldview, we risk misunderstanding what has led to climate destruction as we know it, and what may lead us out of it. So the question becomes: Who, if anything, is the Climate Enemy?

Answering this question is turtles all the way down in an ever-globalizing world. Though there does seem to be a conceptual, even causal, link between the destruction of the environment and the need to dominate, especially driven by Western worldviews. Colonialist messages have long been underscored by Enlightenment-era notions of the Perfectly Rational Mind versus, well, everything else. This logic places the material world on one side of a seemingly arbitrary divide. Many argue that this division created a hierarchy that has persisted till today: humans above all (Mueller 2017). Under Rene Descartes’ brand of dualism, vivisecting animals in the quest for knowledge seemed reasonable — after all, how could mere machines feel pain?

Collectivism, in contrast to dualism, appreciates varied identities within a group, championing a diversity that can lead to a fuller action. It makes room for varied normativity. It admits that people approach valuing the environment from different starting points — which reflects data supporting how people acquire and act after receiving information. The difficult part is arriving at the collectivist world-view from the get-go. In this regard, art can be a way to foster the collectivist message — a stepping-stone towards re-imaging paradigms.

It is this inclusivity that serves as inspiration for many climate activists from Norwegian artist Tone Bjordam to circus artist Eliana Dunlap. Bjordam’s work, from video to sculpture installations, is driven by a need to communicate science. Her art plays with the chasm between science and art, and declares it unnatural: “creative thinking is the core business of scientists, and yet they rarely give it much thought” (Bjordam et al. 2017, 3). Dunlap’s podcast “Changing the World and Other Circus Related Things” challenges anthropocentrism within circus performance, asserting that long-established artforms themselves can and do change. With the fall of the 146-year-old Ringling circus in 2017, audiences have made it known that they no longer find pleasure in the exploitation of animals. Several cities around the world have already banned animals in circus performance (Daly 2017). Artists like Bjordam and Dunlap confront us with the thought that perhaps there is no such thing as value hierarchy — perhaps what is ‘rational’ and everything else are sides of the very same coin.

Enter Botanist Robin Wall Kimmerer: “As the land becomes impoverished, so too does the scope of [people’s] vision… How can we begin to move toward ecological and cultural sustainability if we cannot even imagine what the path feels like?” (Kimmerer 2013, 18). Kimmerer, who identifies as a member of the Citizen Potawatomi [6], goes on to share part of her cosmology through the story of Skywoman, the first being to fall from the sky and towards what would come to be known as Turtle Island (Earth). Skywoman’s vitality was contingent on the reciprocity and aid of the beings around her. To underscore how this narrative is understood by her people, Kimmerer offers the creation story of Eve and the Garden of Eden in juxtaposition: “Like Creation stories everywhere, cosmologies are a source of identity and orientation to the world. One woman was our ancestral gardener, a co-creator of the good green world that would be the home of her descendants. The other was an exile, just passing through an alien world on a rough road to her real home in heaven” (Kimmerer 2013, 22). This latter worldview begins with a dualism between humans and Earth. Kimmerer reminds us that narrative, whether through art or storytelling, has the ability to situate you in the world. What are we really, if not an embodied collection of stories? If we are to believe that our destiny is not to live through the Earth but to live with it, we must first recognize our role in the climate’s devolution, as well as its rebirth. This is a position realized by climate artists and activists alike, and it is one further augmented through collectivist rhetoric. If we admit that culture matters to change-making, and that culture is often expressed, perhaps most saliently, through art, then art is indeed integral to change — and so are we.