Included here is an excerpt, gifted to continent.

with the gracious permission of its author, of the

forthcoming book Stone, An Ecology of the
Inhuman coming this year from University of
Minnesota Press.

Issue 4.2 / 2015: 8

The love of stone is often unrequited.

Geophilia, or The
Love of Stone

Jeffrey Cohen
Geophilia, or The Love of Stone

Jeffrey Cohen

continentcontinent.cc / ISSN: 21599920|

An intimacy of long unfolding fails to be

apprehended, and the story concludes in familiar
solitudes, human exceptionalism and lithic
indifference. Withdrawal and remoteness are
inevitable themes within any romance of stone,
since rock outlasts that which it draws close, that
which draws it close, that to which it is strangely
bound. Humans respire, reproduce, invent,
desire and dream. The lithic inhabits the secret
interiors of the earth. What could be more
cloistered? Inorganic, nothing like the familiar
animals we conditionally welcome into community,
an everyday material that surfaces blunt rebuke to
assimilation, stone remains aloof. Yet a mutuality is
always possible, some narrative of companionship
and concurrency. This essay maps geophilia, a pull,
a movement, and a conjoint creativity that
breaches ontological distance. Even if born of a
general principle of matter, geophilias mobility
and clasp possess their own rocky effects, in the
quadruple sense effects carries of aftermath,
agency, production, and belongings. An elemental
geophilia surely exists outside human experience.
Yet to us nonlithics, its force will be most evident in
the relations that enmesh us over long scales of
time and in the storied matter these
confederations of the human and inhuman
divulge.[1]
Monstrous child of the meeting of incompatible
scales, queer progeny of impossible taxonomic
breach, geophilia is the lithic in the creaturely and
the lively in the stone. Humans walk upright over
earth because the mineral long ago infiltrated
animal life to become a partner in mobility.
Vertebral bone is the architect of motion, the stone
around which the flesh arranges itself to slither,
run, swim and fly. Had the organic not craved
durable calcium as shield and conveyor, numerous
types of sedimentary rock would never have
arrived. A common mode of petrogenesis (creation
of stone) unfolds when tiny ocean dwellers settle in
their mortuary billions to the subsea muck.
Limestone is a thick cemetery of mineral that had
become animal now become rock again. Propelled
by slow tectonic force upward into cliff and
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 License.

Expansive, dilatory, recursive, semicyclical from a

long perspective, full of residuum, temporal
intimacies, intermixed strata, geophilia entwines
the modern and the ancient, the contemporary and
the medieval, the primordial with expansive
futurity. Its pull and grip can render Noahs Flood
difficult to tell from the Permian Extinction. Even if
one event is apportioned from eternity and the
other from infinity, one from theology and biblical
narrative, the other from geology and astrophysics,
both are modes of conceptualizing deep time that
stress the demarcative power of catastrophe, lithic
impress, a fossil record of monstrosity, the thriving
of life in cataclysms wake, the burgeoning of story,
a dense and propulsive archive. Classical and
medieval writers might not have conceptualized the
formation of stone in our geophysical terms, but
their ecomaterial envisionings proceeded in modes
just as vivid and capacious, through narratives
stressing ecological entanglement as well as
powerful solitudes. Premodern lapidary science
hypothesized that every stone combines in variable
proportions two restless elements, earth and water.
Some rocks might contain ethereal emanations
(vapors, lightning bolts). Others, like the red gem
known as carbuncle, hold fire. Many originate in the
bodies of animals, productions that conjoin the
petric and carnal. Although rock might arise from
seeming stasis, as in the Roman naturalist Plinys
description of crystal petrifying over long years
from mountain ice, a stone always conveys the
astral, material, and ecological influences particular
to its point of origin, an inbuilt vibrancy and
enduring environmental imprint. The smallest
pebble is upon deeper contemplation a durable
link to a dynamic cosmos. Active matter, stone
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Issue 4.2 / 2015: 9

contains energy and radiates agency. Although

sometimes withdrawn from the worlds lively
spaces, the lithic is most often glimpsed in
boisterous landscapes. Full of relation, teeming
with narrative, stone is seldom inert.

Jeffrey Cohen
Geophilia, or The Love of Stone

mountainside, limestone might be quarried to build

a radiant carapace under which humans pray,
govern and make purchases. The whorls and coils
of unfamiliar sea life such stone divulges have
fascinated masons since at least Neolithic times.
We create art with stone because we recognize the
art that stone discloses: fossils, a museum of strata,
lustrous veins and faceted radiance. We think and
reckon with stone, primordial invitation to
extended cognition (calculus is the Latin word for
small stone, an essential component of an abacus).
With its keen heft we compose and kill. From rock
we construct graves, memorials, and dwelling
places to endure long after we become earth
again. In its aeonic endurance we discern
something ardently desired, something ours only
through alliance. Stone is devoid of neither life nor
love, even if it questions what we mean when we
use those terms to enclose a small world.

That which is set in stone does not necessarily sit

still. The lithic is likely to rebuke the arrogance of
expecting the nonhuman to be like us and for us,
but imagining the world to be as cold as stone, to
be wholly detached from human life, can also
accomplish important cultural work, urging a turn
to God and the afterlife, or buttressing the anxious
autonomy so essential to consumerist capitalism.
The indifference of the earth to its dwellers
paradoxically reinforces human exceptionalism, so
that the material world comes to exist for our
instruction and use. Yet stone refuses to remain
fully set apart, to respect taxonomic distinctiveness.
Because of its habit of undermining human
singularity, of revealing common materiality as well
as recurring affinity, to convey within its materiality
the thickness of time, stone triggers the vertigo of
inhuman scale, the discomfort of unfamiliar
intimacy, and the unnatural desires that keep
intermixing the discrete. Queerly productive, rock
does not offer the easy fecundity of soil, Gaia as
mother. Projectile and stumbling block, stone
challenges as much as fosters. Life in the
lithosphere is complicated, so that minerals flourish
in ways that seem creaturely and the environment
is prolific in more than biota.
A deep past intimate to thinking the futures
advent, a perspectivism that at once speeds and
slows time, geophilia names a reciprocal and
intimate bond, signaling attractions, affiliations,
and movements toward connection often
recognized retroactively, a proliferation of relation
most evident over long distance. Lithic intimacy
runs slow and deep. Classical and medieval poets
discerned in the transition to agricultural modes of
civilization and the transformation of gems and
metals into coin and marketable goods the advent
of modernity. They were just as ambivalent about
this transition to commodity capitalism as recent
economic materialists have been, and likewise
believed that an embrace of wealth and the
transformation of materials into a flow of goods
alienated humans from nature. Geoffrey Chaucer
imagines in his poem The Former Age that the
first humans lived on berries and nuts. In this
legend of the Golden Age they dwell happily in
caves, their closeness to the earth emphasizing
environmental harmony. They wound the earth
through plowing, however, and engender war

Contemporary anthropologists describe the various

segments of the Stone Age (from Paleolithic to
Neolithic) as a time of special intimacy to that
matter. Attentive readers of Genesis, medieval
writers believed the first stone architectures were
biblical cities like Enoch, founded by exiled Cain
and named for his son. Such primordial habitations
were visible as ruins during pilgrimage to the Holy
Land. Modern science extends our stony fellowship
back farther in time, to hominids constructing from
gathered stones windbreaks for fire, domesticating
both the element and themselves in stones good
company. These collections of sheltering matter
eventually become the hearth, the center of human
dwelling. Cresting a ridge and coming upon a
rectangle of stone where a medieval home once
stood, I learned while hiking in Iceland how
forcefully the hearth endures.[4] Long after a house
has vanished its form remains, lasting archeological
signal of the refuge found there, lingering
declaration of community as a space that coalesces
around warmth, shared story, and sheltering stone.
The fourteenth-century travel narrative published
under the name of John Mandeville invokes this
geophilia of origins and primal dwelling in an
account of a cave not far from Hebron. Here we are
told that just after their banishment from Eden,
Adam and Eve dwellid in a rooch (lived within a
rock).[5] In this cavern, likely from its very substance,
God formed Adam before being translated to
Eden. Exiled quickly from paradise, Adam and Eve
begot their children in this home of living rock, so
that the lithic becomes the space for the first
human acts of procreation. A garden lost before
nightfall, Eden is a brief stop in a human life
fashioned from and spent within stones embrace.
The Greek philosopher Empedocles articulated an
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Jeffrey Cohen
Geophilia, or The Love of Stone

through mining. Having initiated mercantilism

through the exchange power of coins and jewels,
stone becomes a resource. Seeking gems in rivers
activates coveytyse (greed) and brings the first
sorwe (sorrow).[2] The naturalist Pliny provides a
Roman version, describing how crystal forms when
snow compacts in Alpine crevices. Miners
suspended on precarious ropes gather these
stones from their lonesome homes, and Romans
expend fortunes to attain them. This crazy
addiction to crystals radiant sheen spurs the
gems transformation into objects like goblets and
display, unworked, as a coveted form of natural
art.[3] Crystal, Pliny implies, is best left to its
mountain solitude rather than allowed to activate
human desires so intensely that the wealthy
bankrupt themselves in its pursuit.

enduringly influential theory of the elements in

which earth, air, fire, and water are drawn and held
byphilia (love) but cajoled into perpetual
movement by a companion force
ofneikos (strife).[6] Elemental philia is material
magnetism and cosmic glue. Not an allegory for
human feeling (though human affect may manifest
this environmental energy), love pulls, gathers, and
binds, working constantly against strifes entropy.
Material existence is an act of perpetual assertion,
generative (new relations are always coming into
being) and generous (these relations cross
categories and intermix the disjunct). Attachment
and attraction inhabit all things as the principle of
their formation, as that which enables endurance,
inclining matter toward expansive connection.
Sometimes these relations enable new flourishings.
Sometimes they are perilous. Empedocles ended
his life by leaping into the molten rock of Etna, an
embrace of stone that incinerated him. To take his
theory of elemental restlessness seriously is to
apprehend that the world is not centered on the
humannot indifferent, not misanthropic, but
disanthropocentric, making stories centered upon
the human wobble, their trajectories veer.
Geophilia is an ecological allure in the sense
developed by Empedocles two and a half millennia
ago, a propulsive and conjoining force that draws
earth and water into a union generative of stone,
which draws stone and other worldly things
together to create, compose, produce. Those three
verbs are to be understood intransitively,
proceeding without necessary object.[7] Some
common things generated through human-lithic
enmeshment are text, science, place, art, matter,
collectivity, architecture and inhabitance. Writing in
the early sixth century, the Roman philosopher
Boethius framed Empedoclean love as a universal
principle of boundary and containment. Attempting
to express classical elemental theory within a frame
supportive of Christian doctrine, he envisioned a
cosmic chain of amor with origin in the eternal.
Even when loves bonds dissolve, the war-like
disharmony that results makes sense within a larger
pattern of divinely ordered change. As a famous
medieval translator of Boethius knew well, such
bonds are seldom secure, their failings profoundly
troubling. Geoffrey Chaucer rendered
Boethiuss Consolation of Philosophy into Middle
English, the Boece. The influence this translation
project exerted upon his future work is extensive.
In The Knights Tale Chaucer places a Boethian
meditation on the cosmic order maintained by love
into the mouth of Theseus, the imperious ruler of
Athens. The narrative world of The Knights Tale is

The biologist E. O. Wilson posits an inherent bond

among creatures, an urge to affiliate with other
forms of life [that] is to some degree innate, hence
deserves to be called biophilia.[9] The term
etymologically denotes the natural love of life for
life. Geophilia goes farther and recognizes matters
promiscuous desire to affiliate with other forms of
matter, regardless of organic composition or
resemblance to human vitality. Geo derives from
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Issue 4.2 / 2015: 11

Jeffrey Cohen
Geophilia, or The Love of Stone

limned by catastrophe: gods whose petty

squabbles stir earthly tumult; cities smashed to the
ground and battles that leave piles of corpses;
astral forces that trigger floods, bloodshed,
devastating loss. Assuaging the grief of his subjects
at the sudden death of a friend, Theseus speaks of
the faire cheyne of love (fair chain of love) that
binds the fyr, the eyr, the water, and the lond
(the fire, the air, the water and the earth) so that
they do not escape certeyn boundes
(1.299193). When the links joining the elements
break, as in time they must, the divine
ordinaunce (1.3012) that allots certain duration
to all things is revealed, universal order behind
seeming disarray. The ephemerality of the physical,
Theseus insists, must turn our thoughts to celestial
stabilities. Everything comes to its appointed
terminus. Within its own duration, even hard stone
is worn to dust by the tread of feet.[8] Theseuss
recounting of a majestic cosmic harmony, as
evident in the flourishing of an oak as in the
glimpse he offers of erosion, reassures that the
world is a closed system. A First Mover resides at
its timeless exterior as guarantor of meaning. Yet
the heartening moral of Theseuss speech is
undermined by the jarring emplacement of
Boethiuss philosophy within a narrative fractured
by mixed tone and a discomforting perspectivism,
within a story that spectacularly fails to reassure
that a meticulously hierarchical cosmos brings
consolation, a tale obsessed with disasters lethal
irruption. Boethian certainty in an underlying
orderliness is challenged by crueel goddes who
in the form of astrological influences preside over a
world where the cries of women in childbirth are
unanswered (1.2085), the goddess of Love
becomes cruel and whimsical Fortuna (1.1950),
babies are devoured in their cradles by wandering
pigs (1.2019), the sea drowns the innocent (1.2456),
and stone cities are reduced to rubble. Strife: all
things break apart and move. The devastations of
the Permian yield to the explosions of the
Cambrian, the scouring of the Flood to the
proliferations of the cleansed world, catastrophe to
fertile wake. The elemental work of love begins
again. And again.

the Greek word for earth but is here employed as

in geology, a science of vast durations, slow
movement, and inhuman scale. Through its
confounding admixture of rapport, shared story,
rebuffing density, and alien scale, stone offers a
perpetual invitation to think time and agency
outside small category, to cease to force the world
into diminished frames. Within an amulet, medicinal
draught, or vitamin stone radiates curative powers
into bodies; as a petrification of astral force it may
when carried in a pocket settle a roiled landscape
or reveal in a laboratory the shifting of the earths
magnetic poles; as a surface on which to inscribe
sigils or phrases, it offers an invitation to a
geographesis in which human hand and lithic
potency compose a petric duet. In the Middle
Ages, a frequent form of such collaboration
produced inscribed jewels. Into stones and their
settings were incised names, words of power, or
syllables of obscure meaning. Attached to a ring or
held in a palm for contemplation by the sea, a
stone radiates a magic that renders the everyday
strange. Science refracted through stone becomes
art. Nature refracted through stone no longer
seems so natural.
The medieval symbolic registers of stone still linger:
in conventional comparisons, as a type or an
emblem of hardness, immobility, silence,
lifelessness, insensibility, etc; also, as a type or an
emblem of stability, steadfastness, etc.[10] Rock
imbues terra with its firmness, mundane reality with
comforting solidity. At those rare times when stone
slides, shakes, or melts, what surprises us most is
that something so dense can for a moment become
kinetic. This motion is always brief, always the
forgettable exception. Houses rise swiftly after the
earthquakes leveling; grass and trees effloresce
when lava expands the contours of an island;
landslides bury troves that bulldozers or metal
detectorists one day retrieve. Stones movements
are its aberrations. Stone seems an uncomplicated
material, instantly knowable, compliant conveyor of
factuality. Philosophys favorite object, stone is firm
support for ponderous thinking. Thales of Miletus,
hailed by Aristotle as the first philosopher, turned
to lodestone and amber to explain how matter
acts. Faith in stones epistemological solidity is easy
to understand, given its ubiquity, heft,
impenetrability, and immensity. Samuel Johnson
famously rebuked George Berkeleys assertion that
all matter is merely ideal by forcefully kicking a
stone that was not to be moved, declaring, I
refute it thus.[11] The intransigent rock of the real
disproves through its serene factuality the
vagabond fogs of the imagination.[12] Stones

We notice only rock that inhibits progress, gets in

the way, becomes a stumbling block for the blind.
We journey while these impedimenta remain
stubbornly emplaced, and collision with lithic
immobility hurts, physically and epistemologically.
Isidore of Seville derived the Latin word for
stone, lapis, from its ability to injure (laedere) the
foot (pes).[15] A scruple (something that troubles
the mind), he continued, derives from scrupus, a
small sharp stone that causes injury and troubles
the mind if it should fall into ones shoe (16.3.5).
Since words are things for Isidore, the lithic comes
into apprehension through, with, and as sharp
sensation. Its prick is cerebral and physical. Rocks
are a keen and affective provocation to thought as
well as airy ideations antidote. Epistemology is a
knowing and feeling; stone is fact-laden and
emotion-triggering. Despite its promise of
unmediated truth, stone does not offer easy or
secure knowledge and exceeds any attempt to still
it into familiarity. Rock marks the point at which
understanding fails. To run up against a stone wall
is to encounter the lithic propensity to induce
foundering, to provoke loss of certainty. Stone is
not an obstacle to be overcome, but a thing that
makes demands, scripts stories, and does not fully
yield to human enframing.[16] Thus the poet Richard
Wilbur writes, Kick at the rock, Sam Johnson,
break your bones: / But cloudy, cloudy is the stuff
of stones.[17] Thales of Miletus, first Greek
philosopher, was drawn to stones activity, not its
inertness, and found in its ability to hold electric
charge and draw substances toward itself evidence
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Issue 4.2 / 2015: 12

of a soul.[18] Stone holds a dense agency.

Jeffrey Cohen
Geophilia, or The Love of Stone

reassuring fixity is Johnsons uncontemplated

foundation for self-evident truth. Despite the
strength with which he kicks, despite how much
Berkeley might desire a world more fluid, the stone
does not yield, demarcating the limit beyond which
human fancies may not pass, a hard answer from
the intractable real. Though flowing sea, restless
air, and consuming fire are just as natural, just as
truth-filled, stone becomes a stand-in for nature
itself, and nature thereby becomes immobile,
unchanging and indifferent. Despite the fact that,
as Vilm Flusser observes, every object is
stubborn in its own particular way, stone
metonymically stands for the obduracy of all
matter.[13] Jane Bennett gets at this logic of stony
substructuralism well when she writes, as noun or
adjective material denotes some stable or rockbottom reality, something adamantine.[14] The
function of the lithic in philosophical discourse is
therefore to embody the fixed, the given, the
resolutely factual. Stone is the world in its
givenness.

Drawn like many thinkers to the facticity of stone,

Ian Hacking examines the construction of
dolomite, a rock that consistently challenges those
who seek to map its originpossibly because
nanobacteria, organisms too small to be observed,
are behind its formation. Hacking writes against a
social or linguistic determinism that sees the world
as infinitely pliable, the product of human relations,
especially language. He details a long process in
which errors about the stone accumulate and are
shed: dolomites supposed calcium is revealed to
be magnesium; the fact that dolomite ceased to be
created as the primal earth aged gives way to
realization that it is still coming into being, but in
places hostile to contemporary life. Certain data
about the material cling and are retained. Yet an
aura of uncertainty consistently surrounds a
substance that should be rock solid.[19] What best
serves elusive dolomite is, according to Hacking, an
ecumenical descriptive epistemology with hardly
any normative implications,[20] a multifaceted and
flexible approach that traces the alliances and
networks enabling facts to emerge and endure.
This process-oriented perspective stresses limited
contingency. We know dolomite in part because
we have asked very particular questions of it,
mainly centered upon its petrochemical uses. Had
we asked other initial queries, we would think of
the rock rather differently, and might not have
wondered if it could be the product of
nanobacteria and a key to understanding the
origins of earthly life. Hacking stresses the
dependence of knowledge upon its value-laden
sorting into taxonomic systems. It matters to us
that the rock is a magnesium carbonate rather than
a calcium carbonate, for example, because we
desire to extract oil from its depths. From a strictly
geological point of view, though, a sediment is a
sediment, and there is no good reason to separate
your limestone from your dolomite. The history of
the substance has as much to do with giving up on
certain facts as it does accruing stable knowledge.
Even now we dont know exactly how the rock
came to be and cannot say whether science has
stabilized dolomite or if dolomite lends a certain
stability to a science intent on its explication. A
stone so durable and ancient that much of
Stonehenge is fashioned from its blunt mass,
dolomite is a reality, a brusque truth. It is also a
story of nature on the move.
Rock figures the real, and figuring is an active
process. Despite Samuel Johnsons kick that failed
to dislodge its unyielding target, rock can be a

our storm-filled world.[23] Yet stone is fluid when

viewed within its proper duration. Medieval writers
understood the process of erosion and captured
petrogenesis in the same liquid terms we employ.
When the geologist Jan Zalasiewicz describes
continental drift he deploys marine language:

Issue 4.2 / 2015: 13

plastic material, an amenable substance for

sculpture, adornment, and edifice-making. Timeand context-bound meshworks of alliance uniting
human and nonhuman agents make lithic pliancy
and resistance visible. A diamond becomes a
precious gem because its rarity, lucidity, and
density can sustain strong confederation with
human and inhuman forces, tools, economic and
aesthetic systemscoalitions friable stones cannot
support. Narrative has power over human reality: it
can mediate. But that compositional power is
contingent rather than absolute, deriving in part
from the thing described. Language is inhuman,
exerting its own resistance, slide, and material
force. Words stammer, sentences unwind, sensemaking fails. Although we can find stone that will
float like a ship (as the medieval travel writer John
Mandeville notes of volcanic pumice), we do not
fabricate sailing vessels out of boulders because
something in rock resists naval transformation.
Stone can be constructed. In the form of concrete,
it can take almost any shape an architect desires,
for a while, and geophilia inheres in that fashioning.
But stone does not offer a blank slate for human
stories.

Most ecological analyses are green, taking their

structural metaphors from the imagined fecundity
of plants and conducted within a comfortably
human cadence. Stressing balance and
sustainability, such studies encounter with difficulty
the slow immensity of the geologic. Ecotheory is
becoming more prismatic, discovering possibility in
challenging, nonverdant hues.[22] Rejecting dreams
of green pastoralism and fantasies of sustainability,
Steve Mentz articulates an oceanic blue humanities
and a swimmer poetics that can better encounter
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Jeffrey Cohen
Geophilia, or The Love of Stone

Stone is a catalyst for relation, a generative

substantiality through which story tenaciously
emerges.[21] This elemental agency is likely shared
with all materiality, but its plots, structures, tempo,
and denouements are its own. To stone belongs
sweeping romances of scale, time, memorialization,
creation, cataclysm, a relentless tectonicity
(from tektn, a carpenter or builder). Stone speaks
differently from its sibling elements of air, water,
and lightning-swift fire. Its injunction is always to
step out of the breathless rapidity of
anthropocentric frames and touch a world
possessed of long futurity and deep past, a spatial
expanse that stretches from the subterranean to
the cosmic verge. Stones stories foreground the
inhuman in its danger, dispassion, and forcefulness,
but they offer as well strange amity, queer
fellowship, precarious but enduring cohabitation.

The continents do not have to plough through the

oceanic floor. Rather they are carried atop the
continually moving lithosphere. They forever drift,
like so many gigantic stony Flying Dutchmen, as the
ocean basins slowly, inexorably open and close.[24]
The continually moving lithosphere is a sea of
stone, the continents its mysterious ships (so many
gigantic stony Flying Dutchmen, vessels of
perpetual voyage, doomed never to reach port).
The lithic is oceanic; stone is slow water. Mountains
surge and fall, their epochal undulations no less
animated than the swell and crash of seas, but
impossible for us to view without the aid of
narrative and art. Yet volcanoes spurt molten rock
that flies, flows, hardens within a human timescale.
Ash and lithic powder tumble air and earth in dry
liquidity. Though we cannot swim in molten
stoneor do so only to face instant immolation,
like Empedocles at Etnawe are saturated in the
lithic.[25] A petric poetics would capture this
elemental and disanthropocentric restiveness, this
negation of the immobility to which stone is too
often consigned, this erratic choreography of
entwinement, extension beyond apprehensibility,
stinging unconcern, stone love, lethal and
companionate embrace. Geophilias stories unwind
with neither climax nor haste, at a spatial and
temporal scale that can leave us beside ourselves.
Scientists have christened earths primordial era the
Hadean, as if this span were something known from
our mythology, a prelude and underworld. But the
epoch possessed no human content, nothing but
fiery gases and congealing rocks and the bare
beginnings of single-celled organisms. Remote in
time and of vast duration (almost a billion years),
the Hadean renders human history brief to
imperceptibility. Unlike recent, fleeting, and
change-loving animals, stone persists. Though it
might offer evidence of vanished life through the
ammonite shells and dinosaur bones it entombs,
stone seems to us a material well suited for
memorials and grave markers. It erodes into clay
and sand, rises from the sea or vanishes in
subduction, but its decomposition and constant
metamorphoses are, within our native temporality,
so unhurried that rock is our shorthand for
temporal density and strange intrusion. Our

Any speaking of the nonhuman is a translation, and

therefore error prone, filled with guesswork, and
inclined toward fantasy. Story is a parasitical entity
that in its familiar forms clearly depends on
humans, but story is also itself a living thing and
does not necessarily depend upon language to be
conveyed. Like the DNA coding of genes, narrative
is full of futurity, a mysterious and not wholly
predetermined site for the emergence of vitalities:
a connection-making and a worlding. Narrative can
give a voice to objects, elements and forces.
Humans themselves emerge through material
agencies that leave their traces in lives as well as
stories, so that narratives are always animated by
multifarious vectors and heterogeneous
possibilities not reducible to mere
anthropomorphism.[26] Narrative is not inevitably
solipsistic. It enables the envisioning of a world
indifferent to us, a world that excludes us, and a
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Issue 4.2 / 2015: 14

The Great Oxygenation Event that triggered the

massive extinction of earths flourishing anaerobic
life 2.4 billion years ago enabled an immense
mineral thriving. Propelled by photosynthetic
algae, the Oxygen Catastrophe (as it is also called)
marked a massive release of the free element that
spurred the generation and subsequent flourishing
of 2,500 new mineral forms, all of which require O2
to burgeon. Most any pebble is replete with
microfossils such as acritarchs, the cysts of ancient
algae; many of our familiar rocks would not exist
without the incorporation of organic material. As a
recordation device, stone yields tales of lifes
ubiquity. Stone forges relation, conjoining things in
ways productive and perilous. Stories of stone
therefore tend to be conjunctive and recursive. As
enamored of polysyndeton as of litanies, catalogs,
and ecstatic lists, lithic poetics love flowing strata,
metamorphosis, slow forces of ignition, and
inassimilable particles suspended within dynamic
aggregates.

world that impinges with discomforting intimacy.

An ethical machine, story intensifies relation, even
with the nonhuman, and therefore offers the best
hope we have for moving in whatever tentative way
we can beyond anthropocentrism. Stone erodes
our long habit of regarding the world as a place
fashioned for our habitation, of thinking humans an
apex or culmination.

Jeffrey Cohen
Geophilia, or The Love of Stone

documentary bias is for worlds conveyed through

words. Yet the earth possesses numerous recording
devices, repositories for nonlinguistic inscription, an
indigenous but hard lithic poetics. Although tree
rings and ice cores yield tales of ancient pollen,
glaciation, and aerial chemistry, stones archival
force endures far longer. Carbon dating and
magnetic readings reveal the passing of epochs. A
museum of oddities and a relentless clock inhere in
strata, dense layers in which the Anthropocene (the
era during which human presence is readable
through carbon embedded within the geological
record) is a sliver. From a longer point of view we
are living during a vaster period, the Lithocene.

Even when inscribed with a known language or

identifiable pictures, stone will arrive into the
present as alien presence. Headstones or the ruins
of houses quietly shelter, arches and cathedrals
triumphantly announce stories of a past otherwise
intangible, promises of a future beyond familiar
reckoning. Stone is thick with sedimented time.
Within both medieval and modern environmental
imaginings, rocks and people inhabit temporalities
and magnitudes profoundly different. Rocks arrive
from alien worlds, rendering coinhabitance and the
bonds of geophilia difficult to discernor, when
realized, jarring. Human powers of destruction
almost rival those of asteroids and supervolcanoes.
Our affinity with stone is revealing its most lethal
aspects. The Anthropocene designates the point in
the eighteenth century when industrial deposits
become readable in the geological record, but the
term offers a problem even as it identifies one.
Though immensely useful, the designation has the
unintended effect of obliterating the billions of
years that precede the embedding of the human in
geologys archive. When we decelerate, imagine a
deeper past, get geologic, and then history
becomes more eventful, richer, deeper in its strata.
Modernity loses some of its luster, prehistory loses
homogeneity, and the agency of the material world
becomes easier to perceive alongside that of the
human. In Australia stone requires a narrative that
restores vitality to Gondwana, yet remains
stubbornly rooted in the local: rock art, fire
management, the offer of fertility or desert, an
archive of aboriginal displacements and ecological
crises. A gem in medieval Britain might disclose a
romantic tale of travel from Persia as well as a more
local vignette in which a mother clasps an amulet
with the precious stone embedded at its center,
hoping during a difficult childbirth that neither she
nor her undelivered infant will perish. Stone is
never a lone element but a partner with water, fire,
air and organic life. In stone a sense of place joins a
sense of planet, but even that scale is not enough.
Stone emphasizes the cosmos in cosmopolitan, the
universe of inhuman forces and materialities that
stretches to the distant arms of the galaxyor at
least to what classical and medieval writers called
the celestial spheres.

Geophilia is geology without dispassion. It wanders

a steep and rocky way: difficult, slow, full of slide
and unexpected conveyance. When the geologist
Jan Zalasiewicz writes that a pebble holds strange
worlds within it, he is providing a contemporary
version of the journeys into the fairy Otherworld
familiar from medieval myth and romance. These
crossings are likewise betrayed by the name of the
strange world that Zalasiewiczs pebble opens:
the now-lost continent of Avalonia, one on
whichmuch laterKing Arthur would reign, and
Shakespeare would write sonnets, and a revolution
that would spread factory chimneys and iron
foundries across the world.[27] From Arthur to the
Anthropocene, rock archives strange traces,
records that we live between catastrophes:
between the fire of Armageddon and the ice of
some new glaciation, or maybe the flame of Global
Warming and the chill of our indifference to the
melting Arctic. We dwell between the gales and
torrents of hurricanes that drown the poor while we
look away, between the movements of the earth
that topple our fragile structures, that remind us
that continents are motion, that ground (literal and
epistemological) is always shifting, that metaphors
are concrete and concrete like all stone cracks,
pulverizes, transmutes. Isidore of Seville, a seventh
century encyclopedist who tried to imagine what
the earth would look like if we could view its lands
and waters from the heavens, spotted a fossilized
sea shell on a mountain top and wrote that the
earths rocky archive records its elemental
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Issue 4.2 / 2015: 15

upheavals. A glimpse of things to come.

Catastrophe dogs us, pulls down everything we
compose. The past, the present, the future: stories
of wreckage, devastation, dilapidation.
Yet humans regard the world in frames too small. If
stone teaches us anything it is that ruin is a
beginning, a going from which something vital
arrives. Dinosaurs abandoned the bulk of once vast
bodies to soar clouds. Long ago they learned to
produce song. Medieval legend tells us that gems
continue to tumble from Edens waters, even if
return to that garden is barred. Sometimes these
stones course cascading rivers to contemporary
hands. Standing on the frigid summit of Everest,
writes the geologist David R. Montgomery, if you
could pick up a piece of limestone and view it
under a microscope you would find that the top of
the world consists of fragmented trilobites and tiny
fecal pellets that settled to a tropical
seabed.[28] The sand that was a desert is a lifebearing cliff, the oceans edge a fertile field, which
had been a mountain is now a glade of sea
anemones. The ash from the volcanos combustion
is an archive. That calcium has become a snails
shell become marble become this very place
where I write, or where you read these words, a
ruin that once was stone and a ruin to come, the
clasp of the fragile community we for a small space
share.
Here. Now.

REFERENCES
[1] I am referencing here what Serenella Iovino and
Serpil Oppermann describe as matters narrative
power of creating configurations of meanings and
substances, which enter with human lives into a
field of co-emerging interactions (Material
Ecocriticism: Materiality, Agency, and Models of
Narrativity Ecozon@ 3 [2012]: 75-91, at 79-80).

Jeffrey Cohen
Geophilia, or The Love of Stone

Stony reality is perspectival, a time- and contextbound meshwork that gathers lithic and nonlithic
actors without harmonizing, without yielding the
unity necessary for secure point of view. As stone is
for us one of many objects (some well
differentiated and highly esteemed, but most
below notice) that constitute the realm of the
nonhuman, humans are for stone one of many
agents (some well differentiated and highly
relatable, most below notice) in the nonlithic realm
who are susceptible to being drawn into petric
alliance. These relations become palpable once
aeonic frames are adopted and the anthropocentric
insistence that only human intentionality exists or
counts is abandoned. Sometimes the movements
toward connection and change that constitute
desire are discernible only in traces sedimented
over a very long history, one that undermines our
foundational narratives of rupture, self-fashioning,
and radical discontinuity. When along with viewing
stone as nonhuman we attempt to look upon
ourselves as nonlithics, the axis of the knowable
world shifts.

[2] See The Former Age, in the Riverside

Chaucer, gen. ed. Larry D. Benson, 3rd ed (New
York: Houghton Mifflin, 1987) lines 940. See also
Karl Steels excellent reading of the poem in A
Fourteenth-Century Ecology: The Former Age
with Dindimus, in Rethinking Chaucerian
Beasts, ed. Carolynn Van Dyke (New York: Palgrave
Macmillan, 2012) 185-199.

[3] Pliny, Natural History, 37.910. The early

encyclopedist Isidore of Seville repeated this
genesis for crystal in his Etymologies (16.13),
bequeathing the story to the Middle Ages.

[5] The Book of John Mandeville, ed. Tamarah

Kohanski and C. David Benson (Kalamazoo:
Medieval Institute Publications, 2007), line 507.

[11] James Boswell, The Life of Samuel Johnson,

ed. Christopher Hibbert (London: Penguin, 1986),
122.

Issue 4.2 / 2015: 16

[4] Touring an archeological dig in Reykjavik

brought other stories of stones endurance and
domestic intimacy to light: the shells of the seafood
eaten in an early settlers home, a quern, and
grooved stones used to weight a net cast for
fishing.

Michigan: http://quod.lib.umich.edu/m/med/

[13] Quotation from Vilm Flusser, Vampyroteuthis

Infernalis: A Treatise, with a Report by the Institut
Scientifique de Recherche Paranaturaliste, trans.
Valentine A. Palis (Minneapolis: University of
Minnesota Press, 2012) 62, where Flusser is writing
of how objects (particularly stones) participate in
the generation of human knowledge.

[6] For a revelatory ecological rethinking of the

classical theory of the elements, see David
Macauley, Elemental Philosophy: Earth, Air, Fire,
and Water as Environmental Ideas (Albany: State
University of New York Press, 2010). Lowell Duckert
and I have with our collaborators been similarly
attempting the elaboration of what we call an
elemental ecocriticism. See the special issue of the
journal postmedieval on Ecomaterialism and the
edited collectionElemental
Ecocriticism (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota
Press, 2015).

[14] Bennett, Vibrant Matter: A Political Ecology of

Things (Durham: Duke University Press, 2010), 58.

[15] Isidore of Seville, The Etymologies, trans.

Stephen A. Barney, W.J. Lewis, J. A. Beach, and
Oliver Berghof (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 2006), 16.3.1.

[7] Tim Ingold explores the intransitivity of

production in Being Alive, asserting the priority of
ongoing process over final form as central to life
itself: Producers, both human and non-human, do
not so much transform the world, impressing their
preconceived designs upon the material substrate
of nature, as play their part from within in the
worlds transformation of itself. Growing into the
world, the world grows in them: Being Alive:
Essays on Movement, Knowledge and
Description (London: Routledge, 2011) 6.

[9] E. O. Wilson, Biophilia (Cambridge: Harvard

University Press, 1984), 84.

[10] Stn, Middle English Dictionary, University of

continentcontinent.cc/index.php/continent/article/view/181

[16] I am thinking here of Julian Yatess

sophisticated exploration of the early modern
priest hole as a mechanism that acts to obstruct
inquiry and knowledge: Error, Misuse, Failure:
Object Lessons from the English
Renaissance (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota
Press, 2003), 14547.

Jeffrey Cohen
Geophilia, or The Love of Stone

[8] The harde stoon / Under oure feet, on which

we trede and goon [go], / Yet wasteth it [wears
down] as it lyth [lies] by the weye [way], 1302123.

[12] As Ian Hacking puts it in The Social

Construction of What? (Cambridge: Harvard
University Press, 1999), when thinkersfrom Dr.
Johnson (against the immaterialist Bishop of
Berkeley) to Steven Weinberg (against cultural
relativists)want to say something is real, they
resort to rocks (204).

[17] From the short poem Epistemology, in

Wilbur, Collected Poems 1943-2004 (Orlando:
Harcourt, 2004), 361.

[18] For an eloquent meditation on Thales and

stones activity, see Macauley,Elemental
Philosophy, 5158.

[19] Hacking, The Social Construction of What?,

[20] Hacking, The Social Construction of What?,

199.

[26] Material agencies is a term I take from Stacy

Alaimos Bodily Natures: Science, Environment, and
the Material Self (Bloomington: Indiana University
Press, 2010), where it designates the often
predictable and always interconnected actions of
environments, substances, and bodies in ways that
affect the emergence as well as the unraveling of
the human (3).
Issue 4.2 / 2015: 17

186206. For a thoughtful exploration of social

constructivism in its variations, see Barbara
Herrnstein Smith, Scandalous Knowledge: Science,
Truth and the Human (Durham: Duke University
Press, 2005), 315. Smith observes that Hacking
goes too far in asserting that a constructivist denies
metaphysically that nature possesses a real and
inherent structure. Instead, she observes,
constructivists decline to presume that they know
already how the world is ordered as they trace how
a concept like nature comes into being, how it
changes over time, and what work it accomplishes
(67).

[28] The Rocks Dont Lie: A Geologist Investigates

Noahs Flood (New York: W. W. Norton, 2012) 33.

[21] Stones storied matter is thick with surprising

narratives, some vivid, lyrical, floridly manifest,
others impossible to discern or translate. The lithic
is an especially dense case of matters ability to
create configurations of meanings and substances,
which enter with human lives into a field of coemerging interactions. Material ecocriticism
names an alliance of critical practices that take
matter as a text, as a site of narrativity, a storied
matter, a corporeal palimpsest in which stories are
inscribed. See Serenella Iovino and Serpil
Oppermann. Material Ecocriticism: Materiality,
Agency, and Models of Narrativity, 7980.

[22] My edited collection Prismatic Ecologies:

Ecotheory Beyond Green (Minneapolis: University
of Minnesota Press, 2013) argues for the
introduction of unbalanced, nonanthropocentric
hues (and perspectives) into ecocriticism.

[25] On the death of Empedocles, see the beautiful

meditation by Michel Serres,Biogea, trans.
Randolph Burks (Minneapolis: Univocal, 2012),
7679.
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Jeffrey Cohen
Geophilia, or The Love of Stone

[23] See Mentzs book At the Bottom of

Shakespeares Ocean (London: Continuum, 2009),
especially good at questioning the pastoralism and
balance of green ecologies.

[24] Zalasiewicz, The Earth After Us: What Legacy

Will Humans Leave in the Rocks? (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2008), 48.

[27] The Planet in a Pebble: A Journey into Earths

Deep History (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2010), 33.