The Spirit of Things
What is the life force that inhabits old things?
What is that magical quality of an artifact that tells a story, that moves it along trade routes, that propels it through history, that makes people want to care for it? What is that subtle but powerful energy that makes some things endure, while the rest disintegrate on the trash heap?
We all know that some objects carry memories and sentimentality — family, travel, and romantic treasures. Mementos and souvenirs. A quilt made from Dad’s old shirts. But what about objects with no obvious personal connection — flea market finds, vintage jewelry, old linens that “must be good for something”? They have energy, a spirit that speaks to us. Collectors and hoarders know this.
I operated an eBay store from 2005 to 2010 and sold thousands of small items from my husband’s collections. As I handled old postcards, photographs, and jewelry, I became convinced that each old thing had accumulated a certain “life energy” from being handled and appreciated by its owners. Many owners over a long period of time create a wonderful aura of liveliness. It’s “the real thing,” that air of authenticity that no screen image or reproduction can convey.
If you’ve ever handled a battered baseball card, you know it possesses the spirit of a little boy.
What do we call this “spirit in things”? What is its name? I went searching. I found a few helpful concepts.
Universal animating lifeforce
Qi (氣) [pronounced chee]. This is the Chinese term for a universal life force that flows through everything. It not only vitalizes people and animals but everything in the cosmos. It literally means breath… like your breath on a cold day, or steam rising from a pot. Wind is the cosmic qi. Qi permeates and links everything. Feng shui, the art of furniture arranging, taps into qi. Chinese Medicine scholar Manfred Porkert said, “When Chinese thinkers are unwilling or unable to fix the quality of an energetic phenomenon, the character qi inevitably flows from their brushes.”
Pneuma (Greek) The Stoic tradition of ancient Greece (circa 3rd c. BCE) identified pneuma as the breath of life, as a mixture of air (in motion) and fire (as warmth). For them, it is the active, generative principle that organizes both the individual and the cosmos. In its highest form, it is the human soul (psyche). As a force that structures matter, it exists even in inanimate objects. If logos is divine reason, active and organizing, then pneuma is the vehicle of logos in structuring the physical world. The cosmos is a whole and single entity, a living thing with a soul of its own, held together by the divine pneuma that pervades it.
Ruah or Ruach (Hebrew). The breath of God that animates all things. It connotes the creative, generative work of God. I don’t know if is comparable to qi in imparting a life force to all things, but I keep coming back to this beautiful word.
Mana (Polynesian). A spiritual quality considered to have a supernatural origin — a sacred non-personal force existing in the universe. Therefore to have mana is to have influence, authority, and efficacy — the power to perform in a given situation. This essential quality of mana is not limited to persons — peoples, governments, places, and inanimate objects can possess mana. Polynesian art objects are traditionally home to their gods (atua) and are imbued with the power of mana. We saw the National Gallery of Australia traveling exhibit on this topic when we were in St. Louis. My impression was that the shaman/artist who carved the object is the one who draws the mana into it, invoking its power to heal, protect, etc.
Other gifts of life
The Japanese Shinto tradition finds kami throughout all of nature. Spirits inhabit everything, but I think it’s an outdoorsy thing, akin to pagan or para-Christian belief in fairies and wood nymphs. I haven’t seen it applied to objects. On the other hand, Japanese folklore tells the story of tsukumogami, “kami of tool”: if a household object endures a hundred years, it receives a soul, which can cause mischief if not treated with respect. This reminds me of the story of The Velveteen Rabbit, where toys come to life if they are loved long enough.
Spirit of the artist
One school of thought argues that it is the artisan who brings her creation to life. Alfred Gell (“Technology of Enchantment…” in Anthropology, Art, and Aesthetics, 1992) talks about the “alchemy of art.” Artists and artisans make “what is” out of “what is not.” Their work seems miraculous because it combines human skill at such a high level that people claim to sense the divinity behind it. What enlivens an object, what gives it power is the artist herself, who is assumed to have experienced [in my words] the inspiring breath of God (see ruah above).
Henry Glassie (Spirit of Folk Art) defines art as a communication. It is the interplay between the creator and a small group. The artist and the collective become unified. The spirit in a piece of art may be like a message in a bottle to the audience — it conveys the maker’s pleasure and playfulness in making the object. The artist can convey a wide range of feelings, including power, terror, and pity. But they convey not only feelings. They also tell a story, engaging our minds. The maker is communicating her own passionate union with her materials; there is meaning and symbolism underlying the work. The women in Bangladesh, who make kantha quilts from old clothes, recapitulate the construction of the universe and, in the process, stitch their families together.
Henry Glassie proclaims: “Art moves the senses to open the mind, for both its makers and perceivers.”
Do old and hand-made things have their own spirits? Or are they vehicles through which artists and gods tell us their stories? Americans seem to have no language for this.
My search continues…
