I had always heard of the term animism. Throughout my years learning about my own culture and comparing it with other indigenous traditions across the Himalayas, this word kept appearing in books, articles, and lectures. Scholars and culture enthusiasts used it freely. Some found it fascinating while others dismissed it as archaic. Yet I could not help but wonder, if this word truly captures the essence of our belief system? And if it does, is it really irrelevant?
The term animism was first coined in 1720 by the German doctor G. E. Stahl to describe a medical idea that the soul directed the processes of the body. Over a century later, the anthropologist Edward Burnett Tylor reimagined the term in a broader cultural frame, describing it as the essence of all religions. Tylor viewed animism as the earliest human attempt to make sense of the world, a tentative, imperfect science, an effort to explain life, the difference between the living and the non-living, the human and the divine.
In modern parlance, however, the definition of animism has evolved. As research has deepened, scholars now describe it as the belief that within ordinary, visible, tangible bodies there exists an invisible, intangible being: the soul or spirit. Each culture has its own distinctive animistic beings and its own elaboration of what the soul is and how it interacts with the world. This perspective moves beyond Tylor’s simplistic definition of animism.
In the Himalayas, this definition is remarkably appropriate. Among cultures rooted in Shamanism, people believe in embodied spirits inhabiting natural landscapes, guardian spirits that watch over human settlements, and invisible divine forces described in mythology. Himalayan animism is deeply woven into the way these communities perceive the world. However, when compared with the philosophy of organized religions, their theological scriptures, melodic hymns, and grand rituals, animism can seem, at first glance, archaic. A larger, more persistent question then emerges. Is animism really primitive?
Let us first understand the word ‘primitive’. From an etymological standpoint, the word primitive comes from the Latin primus, meaning “early” or “first.” Over time, however, its meaning became derogatory. By the nineteenth century, it had acquired a hierarchical meaning, used to describe societies that European scholars believed existed at an earlier stage of human development. This language gradually shaped how indigenous belief systems, including animism, were perceived, as remnants of a less rational and evolved humanity.
Although modern scholars no longer equate primitive with inferiority, the term still lingers in subtle ways. Many tribal or indigenous societies continue to be labeled as primitive, and this notion often becomes one of the criteria for defining a “tribe.” In fact, the very word tribe itself can carry connotations of being regressive. This reveals how deeply these colonial hierarchies of thought persist in modern discourse. The word primitive, thoroughly colonial in its making, continues to carry the popular undertone of being “not modern.” In light of this prevailing understanding of the word, it becomes worthwhile to examine whether animism can truly be called primitive.
If we view animism merely as a shaman shaking to the beat of a ritual drum, we do the term a grave disservice. At its core, Animism is a worldview. It is a way of seeing existence as an indivisible whole. It does not split life into subjects and objects, and understands the world through relationships. Every form of being participates in a network of connection and reciprocity. This perspective finds prominence across the Himalayan region. The Kirati Khambu honor Honkumaang, the river spirit, and Thampungmang, the forest guardian. The Jirel recognize Phu, the mountain spirit, and Nagu, the river spirit. The Magar people respect Bhume, the earth spirit, and Masto, protective ancestral spirits. The Gurung pay homage to their ancestral mother, and Ghyang, the nature spirits. Across this Himalayan worldview, countless other spirits inhabit rivers, forests, and peaks, reminding us that the natural world is inseparable from human life, and that our existence is merely a small part of the expansive whole.
This is what anthropologists Nurit Bird-David and Tim Ingold describe as a relational epistemology. It is a way of knowing that arises through participation. Bird-David explores this idea in her influential essay “Animism Revisited: Personhood, Environment, and Relational Epistemology”, while Ingold expands on it in his book The Perception of the Environment: Essays on Livelihood, Dwelling and Skill (2000). Both argue that animism is not a primitive misunderstanding of the world, but a sophisticated philosophy of relationship. It is a way of being that recognizes the self only through its connection to others, human and non-human alike.
This concept of relational epistemology represents a deeply sophisticated understanding of how knowledge is born. In the animistic worldview, knowledge arises from participation and relationship. A shaman or the tribes learn from nature by listening or engaging with its flow and entering into dialogue with its spirits. This kind of knowing demands attentiveness and reciprocity. Today, different domains, such as, ecology, phenomenology, and environmental philosophy are being developed through this very concept. Relational epistemology recognizes that humans are not separate from their surroundings and all sentient beings are a part of a living continuum. It is an alternative view, one that seeks harmony rather than domination.
Animism invites us to see that consciousness and agency as not confined to humans alone. In this worldview, mountains, rivers, forests, and animals are living presences, each capable of acting, responding, and shaping the world around them. A river can protect or punish, a forest can guide or withhold, and a mountain can command attention and respect. This is far from superstition, as it resonates with contemporary ecological and philosophical insights. Thinkers like Bruno Latour (Reassembling the Social, 2005) and Philippe Descola (Beyond Nature and Culture, 2013) describe this as distributed agency. The ability to act, influence, and sustain the environment is shared across humans and non-humans alike. Animism, in this sense, presents a subtle and sophisticated ontology and it dissolves the rigid boundaries between subject and object, to see life as an interconnected web of beings.
Furthermore, animism offers a sophisticated metaphysics of life and death. In this worldview, death is simply a transformation as the spirit endures, taking on new forms within the world. This perspective requires a subtle understanding of continuity, evolution, embodiment, and, in some sense, spirituality. Even though it does not dwell on theological speculations or scientific notions of nothingness, it offers a distinct way of knowing, combining spiritual and ecological truths into a cohesive understanding of life. Life and death are part of an ongoing cycle, a dynamic interplay in which humans, animals, plants, and even the landscapes themselves participate, each contributing to the evolution and continuity of being.
Animistic thought is also based in careful observation of the patterns and cycles in the natural world. It constitutes an empirical system, determined by active participation and attentive engagement. Cultivated over generations, indigenous ecological knowledge, has often proven more sustainable and resilient than industrial scientific practices. In this sense, animism develops alongside science, forming a distinct epistemology grounded in experience and relationships with the world. Its sophistication emerges from participation, and a deep understanding of life’s patterns and flows.
Thus, would it be fair to call animism primitive? In the Himalayas, we are not immune to Western thought and ideology. Subtle colonial lenses still shape the way we interpret the world, and the comforts we enjoy are often the fruit of Western science and innovation. Yet to dismiss animism as primitive is to misunderstand its depth. Animism is neither a relic of the past nor an exclusively Eastern concept, just as modernity is not purely Western. Both are frameworks for engaging with the world, equally capable of revealing truths.
Overall, animism is about perception. It helps us see the world as a dynamic network of relationships. It teaches harmony and reciprocity, compatible with scientific understanding. Even if we set aside personified spirits prevalent in indigenous tribal beliefs, animism reminds us that nature is alive and intelligent. Its spirits embody transformation, balance, the power to nurture, challenge, and forgive. In recognizing this, we move beyond ourselves as the center of the universe, acknowledging that everything around us carries essence. Whether we call it spirit, soul, energy, consciousness, or something else is a matter of personal reflection.
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