When the
writer David Almond imagined* what had made Caedmon, a medieval monk at Whitby,
burst into poetry more than one and a half millenniums ago (and later gain the
distinction of being the first English-writing poet known by
name), he suggested that while walking the hills, valleys and forests of North
Yorkshire, Caedmon ‘became the grass, stones, trees, streams, grass’.
Almond's thought sounded like a cue for Aquinas - in one of the most outrageous philosophical claims ever
(or insights, if it’s true), the greatest scholastic said that human
intelligence allows us to ‘become’ what we focus on; a cognitive, or even existential, power we share with
our Creator, God. Apart from its mind-expanding value, this alleged property neatly and conclusively
does away with the wet blanket Kant has thrown on the human quest to explore and
understand, and the thrill and joy coming from it.
And although
for one reason or another, we don’t seem to be able to take advantage of it in a perfect way, the mind-boggling and mind-opening gift lets us get to the
crucial bits: on the most fundamental level, I can indeed know what it is like
to be a tree, a cat, or you. If I want more, I have to make an extra effort,
perhaps try lapping milk from a bowl on the floor, allow insects and birds feel at home on me and move gently in the wind or have a good, frank natter with you*.
*in an
episode of Anglo-Saxon Portraits on BBC Radio 3
**to be clear and fair to the Daddy: this bit is mine, not Aquinas’
**to be clear and fair to the Daddy: this bit is mine, not Aquinas’
