Subsistence, Resistance, and Gratitude
I have spent a good deal of time thinking about what constitutes a good life. Aristotle thought that it is the search for a good and worthy life that motivates all human action (What he called “εὐδαιμονία,” or happiness/ human flourishing). I think that in moments of deep reflection, most people would agree that what they hope for and work towards is a good and worthy life. We all want to live a life that we would choose to live if we were able. To the degree that we are able to realize this, we take ourselves to be living authentically, as Sarte put it; living in such a way that we are satisfied with our life.
Part of the violence of global consumerism and modernity in general lies precisely in the fact that it is a system predicated upon individuals not being satisfied with the material conditions of their life. One of the curses that the myth of perpetual economic growth is founded on is that people will always want more. “If only I had a better car...” or “If only I made just a little more money, then everything would be ok. Then I could really start living.” So the thought goes until the day we die.
Eventually, this self-inflicted psychological violence becomes self-perpetuating, because the fact is, more stuff does not lead to satisfaction, but only a ringing hollowness. What we truly long for is genuine connection; to live in deep relation with people and place. Yet it is precisely this connection that has been ruptured by modernity and the very consumerism we attempt to use to fill that gap. We need medicine, and instead, are given addiction.
But the good news is that there is nothing fatalist about this situation. Consumer culture may be ubiquitous, but it is not the only way to live; we can choose to resist the culture of consumerism and isolation. And we do this by living simply, in relation to the land where we are. We do it by transitioning to what Robin Wahl Kimmerer in Braiding Sweet Grass calls “a culture in which gratitude is the first priority.”
I think that the more you live in a relational way with the land where you are, and the less you participate in this culture of modernity, it becomes increasingly impossible to not experience gratitude in a direct way. When you have a subsistence garden for example, and you approach the work that this entails in a relational way – with a sense of sacrality, you find yourself in essentially a gift economy relation with the soil and the plants, the rain and the sun, and the spirits of that place.
The land that you care for gifts you with an abundance – quite literally with life itself. It’s very difficult to not feel gratitude for this. And if you let it, that gratitude creates a relation – you feel bound to reciprocate such a loving gift. This is the beautiful thing about gift economies – the real gift in a reciprocal exchange is not the object that is given – the stuff – but the relation that is created between the giver and receiver.
It’s in this sense that subsistence is resistance. In growing or raising or foraging or hunting your own food you resist directly this culture of modernity that views nature only as an extractable resource. In fact the Cartesian dualism inherent in modernity very quickly breaks down in the face of this subsistence when it is practiced with gratitude. The boundary between yourself and the land blurs when the gifts of the land sustain you so that your efforts can in turn sustain the land. This is what I mean by living in deep relation with the land, and it is at the core of an animist worldview.
This rejection of Cartesian dualism is itself resistance to the systems of modernity, especially when practiced as a community. I truly believe that one of the most radical things you can do is to grow or hunt your own food, and share it loved ones in a connected way. There is no more ancient human ritual than that.
