Interviewed by Thorolf van Walsum
Though it is a pattern familiar to all those who have observed the development of many a young man, I account for my interest in Biosemiotics by placing it first in the context of worldly wonder. While other greenling spirits of the human sort have sought their existence’s fortunes on the frontier of a war, the inexhaustibility of technological advancement, or the ephemerality of a guitar-string, all roads invariably turned me to the question of embodied life. The feeling, say, of one finger opting to press against another; or the variable fleshiness of bark. All the world’s meaning, I cannot see otherwise, is here rooted; and this meaning as we know it is biosemiotic throughout. To adventure a living cosmos, one inevitably names the map ‘biosemiosis’. But in casting one’s existence into a biosemiotic world, we must ask ourselves—where to begin?
Long has the question of the body haunted Western thought. Is it a thing with which to make peace or do away? Might it be a ‘thing’ at all? Must we, in our foray towards understanding, approach the body from the self-certainty of perception, or from the self-evidence of aesthetics? Does not one go with the other—and then, once more we ask, how is one to choose between the two? As I, Thorolf van Walsum, an aspiring and ever-humbled first-year Master’s biosemiotician turned over these questions in my mind, the leviathan form of a singular answer loomed before me; the truth of the matter must be found in a dinner.
A dinner? Yes, of course! Though to validate such an absurd conclusion, it is worth backing up some small distance. Believing, as I do, that true understanding of one’s existence may only derive from intuitive experience and critical reflection thereupon, it was clear that I should parlay with someone who hails from the phenomenological sect of biosemiotics; they bio-philosophers who seek to reconstruct experience as though all lives may be lived in the first-person, which, if we for now pardon some semantic squabbling on the presence or non-presence of a coherent ‘first’ person, is most certainly the case. To pursue only phenomenological reflection, however, leaves the coin of biosemiotics only half-faced; we must, too, seek to understand the frontiers of biosemiotics’ most living applications, which is surely to be found in the camp of biosemiotic aestheticians; the artists and engineers who paint with the canvas of lived worlds. Luckily, two such men appeared within my reach for the 2023 Contemporary Umwelt Analysis conference, and, luckily, two such men agreed to meet for a dinner.
Introduction of Characters
Of the first sort is professor Morten Tønnessen. A 2011 University of Tartu graduate (Ph.D.), now professor of philosophy at University of Stavanger in Norway, professor Tønnessen roots his interest in biosemiotics in the writings of Norwegian eco-existentialist, Peter Wessel Zapffe. As we spread out napkins across our three laps, Morten, Martin, and I, Morten introduced me to Zapffe, and thus to himself.
“The way that Zapffe connects to Uexküll and umwelt theory is by establishing a kind of biological world view, and then clarifying what we have in common with other living beings, and how we stand out. So basically, Zapffe draws from Uexküll that any kind of living being needs a kind of purpose, that some are satisfied with less than others, and he says, really, that for all non-humans, life is meaningful in the sense that their needs can be met; so, he says that human beings stand out by asking for a kind of metaphysical meaning to our lives that he, as an atheist, thinks is not there. So, he uses animals and other organisms as a contrast to the human condition, but also acknowledges- and this is what makes him an eco-philosopher- that we do have a lot in common with everything that lives.”
Understanding that Zapffe derived much of his philosophical position from the theories of Jakob von Uexküll, Tønnessen pursued his theoretical interests to their logical end; the Jakob von Uexküll archives in Tartu, Estonia. In reaching out to the university, who was awaiting his query but Tartu’s very own Kalevi Kull! A trip to Tartu was promptly arranged, and around the same time, the to-be professor Morten began his master’s studies at University of Oslo. Tønnessen’s appreciation for the cultivating environ of Tartu during this first visit was clear. “When I found, first the biosemiotics group in Tartu”, a waitress interrupted us with some potatoes, “I did feel a sense of belonging in Tartu, because biosemiotics, zoosemiotics, ecosemiotics was something I could not find in my own country. At first, this shaped my master’s thesis- I had discovered Uexküll straight before starting on my master’s degree. But from my master’s thesis onwards, this has been one of my main academic concerns, and something I have been working on ever since. It is clearly personally significant for me.”
Despite Zapffe’s ultimately pessimistic position, who compares the evolution of the human brain to the Irish Elk’s excessive and fatal evolution of gigantic antlers, Tønnessen retains basically positive hopes for the worlds of tomorrow. Heading his academic blogspot, UtopianRealism, with the quote “In the long run, nothing else is realistic”, Tønnessen continues to be an active, vocal, respected and hopeful member of the biosemiotic community. Martin’s story is something quite different.
“Where to start? I grew up in a house where semiotics books were all over the bookshelves. My mother worked with literary criticism, with semiotics, and was one of the people who made Lotman published in Spanish circles. I remember, as a child, seeing Umberto Eco’s and Julia Kristeva’s book covers on the shelves- I remember them vividly. Semiotics was something I was always curious about, and I had been talking about it with my mother for years- before I discovered biosemiotics.”
Martin Avila, a fellow Keynote speaker to Morten Tønnessen at this 2023 Umwelt Studies Conference, is someone whose take on biosemiotics flows from their fingertips. A professor of design at Konstfack in Stockholm, Sweden, Avila’s projects seek to realize the full range of an artefact’s relations- not only for human, but for non-human umwelten, as well. Exemplary of this work may be the project ‘Doomestics’, whose theme and work is to cohabitate beings that are perceived as dangerous or undesirable into our everyday life-worlds. Interestingly, Avila’s point of entry to biosemiotics was Jesper Hoffmeyer and Claus Emmeche’s concept of Code Duality.
“I think it was 1998. That article really caught me because they were talking about the word ‘morph’; which is the origin of the word ‘morphology’, for example, you know, the study of form; how the word ‘morph’ was translated from the Greek into Latin ‘form’, which was the etymology of the word ‘information’. So, in other words, how form informs; how form is information and the exchange of messages between analogue and digital coding. For me, working with design, this was my entry point into thinking about how the things we do ‘inform’. That, to this day, has taken me through these backs and forths of all kinds of things; how does this ‘form’ ‘inform’ behaviour.”
In the history of Biosemiotics, the 90s and 2000s, it may be said, was formative. Marking the tail-end of what Marcello Barbieri has called the ‘second phase’ of biosemiotics, the biosemiotic movement of the 90s and early 2000s was defined by the urge to share common principles within a more homogenous area of study. The conference considered to mark the greatest step towards unity was that of the 2001 Gatherings in Biosemiotics, when the term ‘biosemiotics’ was definitively adopted and the decision was made to found an international society for biosemiotic studies—which, in 2005, launched its official Journal of Biosemiotics . Although the original publishing platform proved predatory, the journal found a new home with Springer in 2008, and the journal continues on to this day. Both thinkers had been witness- and party to- this crucial period of theoretical fermentation, and both, it seemed, had their heads set on keeping contemporary biosemiotics critical, sharp, and relevant.
Commentary on Biosemiotics
“My experience of philosophy in general,” said Morten, “was that there was a lot of anthropocentric bias that decided what was discussed, and what was left out. I felt, ever since I was an environmental activist in my youth, that there was something off with the majority view of the world- the majority view on nature. I had this, sense, when I started as a student- that there are several big philosophical questions that have to be re-assessed: by trying to reflect on this anthropocentric bias we have, and then to look at these questions anew, with a more modern view that includes the capabilities of animals and so on.”
“Part of what made biosemiotics important to me, later on, was partly that there were adult scholars having similar opinions and showing that it was possible to use biosemiotic theorizing to make some of these points. So, then, it’s about improving our understanding about nature, but also of the human species; by making comparisons in the right way, by having the right kind of knowledge on our place in nature, and in the world. So, I do think, though not so many identify as biosemioticians, it is a movement to try to re-conceptualize some important features in natural science; that will also be one of the measures of whether it succeeds or fails, in the long run.”
In seeking to modify the body of science that is natural science, or reorient the body of thought that is contemporary philosophy, it is the burden of a burgeoning biosemiotics to name oversights present in these. Are our philosophies too anthropocentric? Are our natural sciences mishandling nature? Morten continues; “One example of a positive shift in discourse might be the concept of the Anthropocene. That term was coined a little more than twenty years ago, but has grown in significance. It has reached a wide audience, maybe, ten years or so ago—that is, a wide reassessment of our human history, of our relation to nature and how we affect the natural world. So, the Anthropocene is one discourse that I am very glad has emerged—but I think it challenges us to integrate different fields. Because, what is lacking, often, in the Anthropocene discourse, is this acknowledgement of animal subjectivity and agency. Very many who discuss the Anthropocene does so in a mechanistic fashion.”
Here was the root of it, then. Here, the sparking kernel; the edge that biosemiotics brings to any scientific or sociological discourse; agency. What does it mean, truly, to be a living organism in the world? To some, such as the often-problematized and yet ever-reasserted selfish gene hypothesis of Richard Dawkins, life can be explained by the requirements of its lowest common denominator; as we are evolutionary subjects, whose existence is coded by genes which transmit generation to generation, all existence, indeed all subjectivity, may be traced back to the operation, only, of a flux of genes through time. To Martin Avila, life was much more in-formal.
“The way I see it, we live in a culture that is dominated by metrics. Measurable outcomes, of all kinds; especially certain kinds of metrics; economy. To me, what biosemiotics brings is a qualitative dimension. That is something I was talking about yesterday; to design is to engage in the materialization of affects. Bringing an understanding of the sensual, communicative qualities, you know, when you design something, you offer something new to whoever uses it, to whoever gets in contact with that thing. And it’s a sense of appeal, as well; if you have two things that are equally useful, you will choose the one which you find more beautiful. That which is more vitally appealing to you, beautiful or no. But these things designed for humans also affect other-than-humans, everyone, at different scales and in their own species-specific worlds relate to this material culture which is anthropocentric. And that is a kind of space, in which, perception makes a difference; everything that Biosemiotics talks about is relevant in that sense.”
The crux of the issue was at hand. The defiant stance of biosemiotics, nearly upon us! What change does our theory bring? What can the biosemiotician say to he who measures the modern world—the economist? Morten had an answer. “I have written something I could use as an approach to this in one book chapter; on economics, where I draw in a biosemiotics perspective. I would start with arguing there are more values and valuers in the world than the human kind. And, of course, there are some things that are valuable for us as resources, as goods, but we should acknowledge that there are different, often, kinds of goods and resources that are of value to other species. Because, all living beings are valuers; all living beings are agents that value certain things, and, to acknowledge biodiversity, we implicitly have to value the value of nonhumans as well; and start to see values in an interspecies perspective.”
“And, in that perspective, an important point is that we cannot think of it as ‘fair’ that one species should have all the resources; to have all the valuing. So, we need to reconceptualize economics; and, first of all, by acknowledging that there are goods and resources that are valuable to other living beings in the natural world. So I think a starting point for ecological economics, as well, is to get this more-than-human perspective on what has value.”
There it was. The more-than-human value. How came it to be, after all, that we would live in a world in which a butterfly’s approach of a flower is not something immanently fascinating, to be self-evidently valued, cherished? What feels the butterfly for their flower? What do we deprive the world when its beings are plucked, prematurely? This is, of course, the realm for phenomenology; the philosophy of descriptive experience, which, too, Morten was an expert in.
“You can position phenomenology as a framing for a specific level of biological organization; and it’s mostly relevant for the individual, inter-individual, social level. Whenever we speak of the semiosis of an organism as a whole, phenomenology tends to be relevant, but if you study sign processes—especially at lower levels of organization, molecular biology, for instance—it is not necessarily relevant in the same way. I think phenomenology is biosemiotic throughout.”
Professor Morten’s stance is not, however, so close to the phenomenological schools that would posit idealist ontological groundings of the world. The world is more complicated than a teeming mass of transcendental romance; Tønnessen’s view of vitality remains critical. To Morten, sign processes are coextensive with life. “I think this is a fine starting point. I don’t agree that everything is semiosic. So, I don’t adhere to pansemiotics, and I do think there are some distinctive differences between the living realm and the nonliving world. There are also connections, of course; the philosopher Arne Naess”, the father of Deep Ecology, “emphasized that, in a way, a mountain is alive in the sense that it is the host of an ecosystem; that it is not alive in itself, in the biological sense. The mountain has to do with life, it is a place for life, but in terms of biosemiosis, it is the living organisms that represent biosemiosis.”
This delimited, it seemed only natural that Martin Avila, biosemiotic designer extraordinaire, should step up to remind us of just how rich these relations of life can be. “In design, there is always something to be related to, directly or indirectly; and that is not always human. In that sense, what I bring through my practical design, to think biosemiotic niches, is this kind of sensual dimension. This form. How organisms relate to the world; designs for corners, for cavities, for darknesses, for colors. You know, the most common color in the world for flowers is yellow. And that is something interesting, if you think about it; it’s a light spectrum, but there are many creatures that take interest in this phenomenon. It’s a sensual world, an appealing world; in a real, seductive sense. That is something I work with. It is about communication, it is about triggering responses of care, it is about form-giving; it is about bringing out things that appeal, because they attract or repel, in multispecies worlds.”
Martin Avila’s design work had been of interest to me prior, even, to our interview. His 2012 doctoral thesis, On Hospitality, Hostility, and Design, came up quite naturally in our inquisitive dinner conversation. “I mean, first, it is important to me that it is not an either-or question; there is hospitality and hostility. That’s what I speak about. You cannot have one without the other. That’s something to stay with, somehow. In order to speak about these ideas, I used the concept of the device; a device is something that, etymologically, ‘divides’. Something that organizes the world.”
“Basically, all things organize the world, in one way or another. This particular table, this arranges the world, now, so we can sit in a semicircular position, and gather, socially, in a way; everything that you look around and see organises the world in some way. Partitions. In that sense, dividing; organizinges the world in one way or another;making inclusions and exclusions. This table will exclude people, more than three people, maybe; people that cannot sit upright and so on and so forth. So, there will be many inclusions, and many exclusions prescribed by the material arrangement of this device. And, though hospitality is created, there is also hostility, made through this particular mode; in this sense order is being enacted through form. Once you start becoming explicit about inclusions and exclusions, one attempts to be more inclusive. Can we include people with all kinds of abilities? Of all ages?—could we also then include squirrels and butterflies and snails and so on?” This idea seemed to strike Morten with interest, and, as I had hoped, ideas began to interplay naturally. He asked;
“I’ve been wondering, since listening to your talk at the conference; if it’s hard to accommodate one species, how can we possibly accommodate ten million?” As I recall it, Martin Avila shook his head to this question; but leaned forward with the heightened intensity of interest. “The answer is no. That is not possible. The question is more like, how relevant is it in this context, to include whom? That is the question; in a situation, in a situated space, who is to be included? What is alive, here, what is to be engaged, maintained through our way of living… So, not everything can be included. There are things at stake, and they bring something to the world; it is different to bring a dam to a river than it is to bring a chair to the room. In this sense, we must think degrees of inclusion, of hospitality and hostility, through that enacting of the artificial—whatever that is, whatever the context.”
The biosemiotic queries posed by each professor, though of different backgrounds, had clearly entwined roots. As Martin said, “My approach to biosemiotics is more the material, the sensual; but the ground, the concerns of this hermeneutic, the kind of studies you are doing, Morten, are super inspiring to me. Because I’m trying to understand the mechanisms, you know, the connections, the possibilities! Of understanding, of making sense; yes, the theories, but the base, also. I think there are many things in common.” Morten reciprocated this mood. “To point to a similarity and a difference at the same time, I see we are both aiming to change some practices; but Martin does this by demonstrating in material terms, how we can make and do things differently, while I do this more by appealing, maybe philosophically, to how we do things.”
Conference, and Tartu specifically
As our conversation set sail further and further abroad, our thoughts began to naturally harbour in the 2023 Contemporary Umwelt Analysis conference we had just attended. Running from the 18th-19th of April, a number of speakers from a wide range of fields presented their ongoing research there, including Morten, Martin, I, and a number of professors from Tartu. I wanted to hear their opinions.
Umwelt analysis, owing its roots to the ancestral father of biosemiotics, Jakob von Uexküll, revolutionised animal behavioural studies by seeking to understand them as semiotic phenomena; that is, understanding how an organism functions on the basis of meaning and signs. While applications of Uexküllian umwelt theory were broad from the beginning, ranging from the umwelten of fighting fish to the training methods of guide dogs, the 21st century applications had widened to include sociological, psychoanalytic, philosophical and critical linguistic hypotheses, as well. As a first-time conferencegoer, I had just been washed with wave upon wave of fresh, striking ideas. I wanted to hear the opinions of veterans; well, what of importance was discussed at this Umwelt Analysis conference? What had appeared to stay?
“Maybe you should ask us in a year? It’s a bit hard to speculate,” was Morten’s patient, kindly answer. Indeed, the diversity of topics at hand for discussion was deep as it was wide. A concept of particular note, however, was that of Kalevi Kull’s Umweb. As the internationally respected biosemiotics professor so put it, the umwelt may be thought of as divided between synchronic and diachronic elements. On the one hand, there is the ‘momentary umwelt’, or the umwelt proper; this is sheer, synchronic presence of an organism. On the other hand, one may imagine the ‘distributed umwelt’, the organism’s web of meaning-relations over the course of time. This, professor Kalevi called Umweb; coincidentally, also, being the name of an academic publisher that Kalevi remains involved in.
Professor Martin Avila, though the concept of Umweb caught his attention, was not yet sold. “What Kalevi was talking about, Umweb, for example, the diachronic dimensions of the umwelt; I was wondering if it was necessary, why we need such a concept, one could talk about the temporality of umwelt… It is something to think with, because I work to understand coadaptation; temporality, diachronicity, learning and habits are all part of what I study, and try to grasp, in biosemiotic terms. For the moment, I just have something of a question mark.” Morten had his thoughts for the conference as well. “It is always interesting to consider what kind of terminology we would adopt. From this conference, I think my choice would not be Umweb, but possibly umwelt reversion, coined by Nelly Mäekivi.” Tartu research fellow and zoosemiotician Nelly Mäekivi, working together with ecosemiotic researcher Riin Magnus , introduced this concept in the context of ecological management. After disappearing from the islands of Eastern Estonia around the end of the last century, the critically endangered European Mink (Mustela lutreola) was reintroduced to Estonia’s eastern islands after having been bred in captivity. In transitioning from captive environments to the wild, the European Mink had to re-learn the state of their ancestors- from scratch. Their umwelten, or subjective life worlds, therefore undergo a ‘reversion’ back to some pre-captivity state.
“It’s an interesting framing, in the context of reintroduction of species. An analogical aim, in a way, in this context; to convert an umwelt to some former state. I think that’s a valuable term.”
The silly
As any good biosemiotician knows, a bottle of wine does not conclude when the dregs have been poured from the bottle. It is the wine’s absorptive circuit through the body which marks the telos of a merlot; and the imaginative meanings it produces, certainly, are co-authored by grape, yeast, and consumer. This, now, being the case at our dinner, and the chocolate mousse cake arriving, all concrete factors suggested us to a celebratory mood. It is my pleasure and delight to say that we obeyed instinct.
We deviated now to a sillier tone, as conversations are want to do when the important topics of the evening have been turned over in the public eye. Our official areas of interest discussed, the importance of biosemiotics on the world’s stage agreed upon, we turned our attention to the present: one another. I posed my first silly question: which living being would you choose to defeat the other’s choice in a fight?
As I recall, Morten’s eyes twinkled and lips pursed a cheeky smile. Martin’s ever soft gaze softened all the more as he searched for his answer. Upon counting down from three, the two professors revealed their combatants. With a noble, knowing triumph in his voice, Morten calmly delivered his choice: “An oak.” Martin, on my other hand, sounded a bit like someone who had brought the third bowl of salad to a potluck. “I have chosen, a wolf?” Two very different tacts had been followed. Morten chimed in. “My motivation is that, sometimes, an oak tree takes a couple hundred years to grow, a couple hundred years to live, and then a couple hundred years to die; providing space and habitat for others. I thought that might be a more peaceful strategy.”
Indeed, I could picture the scene well. Martin, a handsome gray wolf, prowling around a large, rough-barked, perhaps eternal being, unsure of where, or whether, to begin his combat. There is no doubt that the teeth of a wolf are ground down to nothing before the trunk of an oak. Decades, centuries, perhaps would pass after the supposed staging of their fight; Morten and the ecosystem that built itself upon him, and that same ecosystem which would outlast him, would reign in pacifistic, unknowing victory, and Martin’s memory would turn to mulch. This, or.
We would consider another possibility. The wee years of an oak’s saplinghood are, biologically, quite sensitive. Only one in every average 10,000 acorns grows into a full tree; and there exists a wide range of possible difficulties that such a sproutling could encounter in the wild. A sprouting oak could be stepped on, chewed up. Exposed to frost, heat, excessive dryness, or perhaps, excessive wet. Moisture, high levels of nitrogen, and the salts that are found in canine urine, all, combine to pose a dangerous, and torturous, experience for a young tree. Yes, depending on the perspective taken, it seems professor Avila and his pack could sentence professor Tønnessen to quite a- yellowing- demise.
There was a more significant lesson to be learned in this, however. “The question is wrong, really,” Morten reminded us. “Because all life is relational. So, the question is not how to get rid of others, but how to utilize the relations in the right way. If it’s a fight to the death and you think you can survive by killing the others, then you have a life lesson in front of you.” He was, of course, correct. The considerations meandered happily onwards, covering the ethics of playing out such a game as a human, simply, as well as the frustratingly basic indestructability of ticks. We pondered the experience of spending a hundred years in a room full of vitalists; weighed this against the same sentence with a crowd of mechanists, and finally considered that, of the two, perhaps the mechanists would be best suited for engineering a way out of this awful hypothetical time-trap. Bills were settled, and the dinner fragmented off in three separate chunks, much as might a melting floe of ice. Biosemiotics, somehow, felt young that night. Diverse, wild, mixed with equal parts hope and inspiration. Morten left for his hotel, and Martin, some time after, for his. My inquisitive dinner was brought to an end, and the sun set on my first ever academic conference. Joining the rest of the Umwelt Analysis crew in Naiiv, I felt the joviality of learning, and knew the appetite of my questions to be, temporarily, sated.