On Humus, Butterflies, and Humility

Gretel Van Wieren

The etymological connection between humus and humility is referenced quite frequently in my field of study, religion and ecology. Yet, this field is relatively small and unknown, and nature in general has not been a favored topic in academic philosophy or religious studies—or any of the humanities for that matter—so when I see these two seemingly disparate ideas, humus and humility, brought together by scholars of any discipline, as is the case in several essays in Radical Humility, my heart does a little flutter. 

Humus—broaden to the natural world—and humility—broaden to radical—are comingled in this volume in boundary-transgressing and liberatory ways, making the connection that much more stimulating and generative. Painter and public artist Kevin Hamilton brings humus into leadership studies—not a likely pairing. Drawing on the work of early twentieth-century German ecologist and composting pioneer, Annie Francé-Harrar, Hamilton views the “process of humification” as a transformative model for thinking about leadership in predominantly white institutions. Humus provides a kind of “architecture” in Hamilton’s vision where “born leaders” (according to historical structures) surrender autonomy “to become porous, inviting others in to take root and flourish. The structures of leadership as we know them, historically dependent on theft from others, can die to provide the structure in which new forms take life” (101). Humus-inspired, humble leadership does not supplant the need for revolution in historically white institutions, just as many ecosystems require periodic fire regimes for soil, plants and animals to flourish, notes Hamilton. Where individuals do find themselves in leadership positions in higher education, nonetheless, radical humility can help “make room in ourselves for others, becoming a rich new layer of structure in which others can rise” (103).

Then there are the butterflies. Polygonia interrogationis to be exact, also known as the question mark butterfly. Political scientist and musician Ruth Nicole Brown connects the dots of butterflies with her Aunt Dottie (born Zebeulah Carey Wade), exemplar of radical humility and lover of butterflies and people. For Brown, radical humility shines a light on “a politics of delight” that embraces “the beauty of smallness and abiding things so delicate they might just break, if not respected and acknowledged” (42). Radical humility resists the idea that everything (really anything?) can be commodified and treated with careless, throw-away disregard. Butterflies remind us of that, insofar as we remain open to how their fragility and strength may inform our patterns of living. In the context of Brown’s essay, Polygonia interrogationis is “a message for cultural workers to rename that which you need so that it cannot be weaponized against your dreams and collective impact. Each dot is an instance of us being for each other, and a ‘you, before me’ logic whereby humility and giving mean something beautiful when expressed between and among Black women and Black girls” (42). 

Notice how, in both essays and others in Radical Humility, following nature into humility becomes a path, however shape-shifting, for enacting spaces of healing, renewal, and restoration. Moral tropes of humility that historically have been used to justify and reify the status quo and “keep others in their place” are instead subverted and displaced by the language of humus and butterflies and the actions of those emboldened to follow their alternative route. To be sure, nature’s ways should not be followed blindly or uncritically; there is violence and destruction that does not have to be. But what radical humility, humus- and butterfly-oriented humility, illuminates is this: through acts of decentering come possibilities for recentering, through acts of disconnection come possibilities for reconnection, through the holes of the spongy porous of soil, through each dot, spaces for flipping places are revealed.

A Public Holistic Response by Beronda Montgomery

In this essay, Van Wieren draws on personal disciplinary expertise in religion and ecology to impactfully highlight connections between humus-inspired leadership reflections and butterfly-centered perspectives on the power and importance of recognizing things not easily noticed.