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Commentary
Hope for a New Us/Earth via E-Co-Affectivity and Jeong (정 情)
Jea Sophia Oh
West Chester University, PA, USA
Oh, Jea Sophia. 2025. “Hope for a New Us/Earth via E-Co-Affectivity and Jeong (정 情).”
Journal of Philosophy of Emotion 6, no. 2: 15-22. https://doi.org/10.33497/2025.winter.3.
Abstract: In E-Co-Affectivity, Marjolein Oele explores the deep connectivity and relational entanglements of plants, animals, humans, and the soil as elemental components of a co-affective community. Her deconstructive reading of the Aristotelian conception of degrees of three souls, with such hierarchy of humans-animals-vegetables via what she calls "categorical contamination,” is a brilliant example of how re-reading the western canon can cast important interpretive light upon contemporary ethico-political questions. Oele’s work shows how it is crucial to foreground (eco)feminist re-interpretations of the writings of major figures in the western philosophical traditions. It is reconstruction and construction of feminist hermeneutics so that it is not a mere interpretation, but a transformation of old traditions into planetary cosmo-centric new-becomings. Through my reading of E-Co-Affectivity, I focus on the coherence of the crucial themes of the middle voice, precarity, and e-co-affectivity, from my comparative ecofeminist perspective. The Korean concept of jeong, which can be a healing mechanism in the midst of our planetary crises, I will suggest, resonates profoundly with e-co-affectivity.
Keywords: e-co-affectivity, affect theory, middle voice, precarity, nature, pandemic, Dao, Luce Irigaray, Judith Butler, Gills Deleuze and Felix Guattari, Alfred North Whitehead, planetary solidarity, healing, new us/earth, and jeong (정 情, emotions or feelings)
In E-Co-Affectivity, Marjolein Oele (2020) explores the deep connectivity and relational entanglements of plants, animals, humans, and the soil as elemental components of a co-affective community. Beyond any anthropocentric approaches to the eco-system that views more-than-human nature as part of a conceptual background “environment” in which human beings are at the center, Oele’s holistic approach sees this entangled living system as so many symbiotic organisms. Such a broadly encompassing philosophical horizon expands our ethical concern to cosmopolitan planetary becomings (or eco-cosmopolitan subjectivity) together with all elements as interconnected-parts of the web of life. Her deconstructive reading of the Aristotelian conception of degrees of three kinds of
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souls, with a humans-animals-vegetables hierarchy, via what she calls “categorical contamination,” is a brilliant example of how re-reading the western canon can cast important interpretive light upon contemporary ethico-political questions. She writes, “the conceptual turn I make in this work to Aristotle not only functions to structure my engagement with contemporary questions, but also serves to add to the study of Aristotle and Plato, namely by showing their relevance and how contemporary questions can uncover forgotten or new aspects to their accounts (13).” Likewise, Oele’s work shows how it is crucial to foreground (eco)feminist re-interpretations of the writings of major figures in the western philosophical traditions, including the Bible (for Asian traditions as well). Furthermore, it is a reconstruction and construction of feminist hermeneutics that is not a mere interpretation, but a transformation of old traditions into planetary cosmo-centric new-be-comings. Through my reading of E-Co-Affectivity, I focus on the coherence of the crucial themes of the middle voice, precarity, and e-co-affectivity, from my comparative ecofeminist perspective. The Korean concept of jeong (emotions or feelings), which can be a healing mechanism in the midst of our planetary crises, I will suggest, resonates profoundly with e-co-affectivity.
LISTENING TO THE MIDDLE VOICE: NATURE’S RETURNING AND BECOMING
It is brilliant that Oele introduces the middle voice as a tool to deconstruct binary hierarchies among species and to discover the potentials for activism, agency, or the subjectivity of all. This interdependency of an interspecies relationality is indeed our actual living condition in our cohabitated planet, shared with other humans, plants, and a myriad of living and non-living organisms. From an anthropocentric view, one might see plants as mere passive objects or aggressive and territorial subjects. Oele however argues that the grammatical function of the middle voice can help us break free from understanding plants as passive beings (dependent on the outside world) or as overtly active beings (e.g., constantly in the photosynthetic process).
Additionally, this view can help us understand vegetative affectivity. In her view, a plant is neither the agent nor the patient, but a coherent and continuous part of a process (20). The middle voice allows us to grasp plant life from the perspective of a dynamic happening or an continuous, affective unfolding process. Oele begins her section, “The Middle Voice” (ch. 1), with Luce Irigaray’s quote from In the Beginning, She Was, “An anonymous world formed by ‘someones’ also leads to the passivity of each one in relation to affects coming from the outside and does not allow the experience expressed by the middle voice, which requires us to pass from the outside to the inside of the self (Irigaray 2013, 160)” (21). Irigaray’s discovery of self-affection through the middle voice also works to enter into a genuine relation with (sexual) others. Irigaray’s application of the middle voice helps women to recognize their own subjectivity, beyond the masculine-gender-based idea of subjectivity that represents an existing symbolic order of patriarchy.
Beyond the subjectivity of human sexuality, Irigaray emphasizes that it is crucial to recognize life in nonhuman living beings, which appropriate kinds of logoi (the inner essences of things in Greek) quite differently. Such recognition is invaluable for the process of becoming human because it involves respect for the singular logoi of plants and animals. In Through Vegetal Being: Two Philosophical Perspectives (2016), Irigaray acknowledges plant life as a key element for our planetary co-existence with others. If we apply Irigaray’s “auto-affection” to plant-human connections (Irigaray 2016, 206), one could easily romanticize plants as mere beautiful landscapes or passive assistants for humans. Irigaray suggests a mindful distance in the face of a birch; and to the question of how to touch such a vegetal being, she responds, “by accepting not to grasp but to be touched by the sight of a birch” (Irigaray 2016, 51). Perhaps, from the perspective of a plant, auto-rejection would be a strategy to protect themselves, as we can find a good example from mimosa pudica (Touch-me-not) in their sensitivities of responding to touch and other stimulation by rapidly closing their leaves and drooping. Oele embraces the two extremes of . . . and . . . , and finds a hybrid middle voice in terms
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of this vulnerable connectivity of all, in which plants are not merely passive or aggressive, but also defensive and independent. In this regard, what humans need is to be humble and step back from ownership or stewardship of nature, as another name for the Humble Plantis the Touch-me-not.
On the matter of nature’s continuous process of unfolding and enfolding, I would like to suggest nature’s self-othering rather than self-affection as a negative golden-rule of co-habitation. Acting through non-action is called wuwei (無爲) in the Dao De Jing (Tao Te Ching, Lao Tsu 1985), which is the very nature of nature (自然, ziran). While self-so-ing is the positive sense of nature (自然, ziran), the negative sense of ziran might be self-othering as wuwei (無爲, active passivity or doing-non-doing). The positive side of this negative aspect of non-doing is yielding, letting nature do what nature does (similar to Spinoza’s natura naturans). In this aspect, nature as self-so-ing (自然, ziran) means, at the same time, self-othering in the self-negating process of nature. Nature’s self-othering keeps creating all kinds of betweenness by its ever-spawning signs in the dynamics of differentiation and resonance. Oele gives an example of plants affected by viruses or bacteria. When affected by these factors, plants will produce special odors to communicate potential harm to other parts of the same plant or other plants. A point I found specifically interesting was that most research denies that plants can feel pain, but this is simply due to our understanding of the word “pain.” While plants do not have a nervous system, current research is looking at new ways in which plants respond and defend themselves from predators. This research is providing a new perspective on affectivity in plants that is not based on human interpretations of pain.
Do plants feel pain? Well, most people would answer “no” or “uncertain,” since we are not a plant. Do plants think? Do they perceive if thinking can include cognition, but that does not always include thinking? Plants can sense the world, cognize what to do with what they sense, and act appropriately on this information. I suggest that this is a form of thinking without cognition. Unlike animals with brains there is no separate system that directs the other processes in this kind of organism. The plant is very much like what the Buddhist term describes as khandhas: aggregates that work together, but never coalesce into permanence. Their growth and communications are rhizomatic and unpredictable. Plants indeed do sense their surroundings and communicate with them through the process of evolution and involution. Plants are becoming together with us. Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari write, “Becoming is a rhizome not a classificatory or genealogical tree. Becoming is certainly not imitating, or identifying with something . . . Becoming is a verb with a consistency all its own; it does not reduce to, or lead back to, appearing, being, equaling, or producing” (1987, 239).
This irreducible and irreversible autonomy and différance of each becoming resonates with Irigaray’s nostalgia for a return to our own selves in this mode of the middle voice. In terms of returning or the return, the Deleuzian becoming is not an evolution but involution which is creative through the process of chaosmosis or spatio-temporal in-betweenness (238). The middle voice in the Greek grammar denotes that the subject is both an agent of an action and somehow concerned with the action. When it comes to nature’s process, nature is proceeding and returning like the circulation of air (spatiality) and seasons (temporality). As the Dao De Jing teaches, “Returning is the motion of the Dao. Yielding is the way of the Dao” (Lao Tzu [approx. 400 BCE] 1985, 85). In returning to the process of nature, although plants and trees seem to only grow and die, like humans, trees endlessly circulate throughout the involutionary life process of returning, which is not linear or chronological, but eventual kairos (the right or critical moment in Greek) of all via the absolute possibility and contingency of becoming together.
We tend to anthropomorphize suffering and attach such things as empathy, etc., to it. If all creatures are at least anoetically conscious, the process of identification, analysis, and reaction/ action are a result of threat or opportunity. In both threat and opportunity, there is a common thread. The pandemic exposes a global vulnerability. As the term “pandemic” comes from the Greek words “pan” (all) + “demos” (people) = “pandemos” = all the people. The COVID-19 pandemic has affected
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the people. The COVID-19 pandemic has affected all of the people on this planet. Everyone is vulnerable to the virus because everyone is vulnerable to viral infection from surfaces or other human beings without establishing immunity. Indeed, our vulnerability is another name for our interdependency. Confronting the breathlessness of COVID-19, could we/would Buddha say that all life suffers (dukkha) due to the fragility and mortality of human life by nature? The Indian concept dukkha is about the nature of life that innately includes the unpleasant, suffering, pain, sorrow, distress, and grief that embodies diverse aspects of unpleasant human experiences, as opposed to the word “sukha,” meaning happiness, and comfort that embodies diverse aspects of pleasant human experiences. The term “dukkha” means both pain and suffering since they are mechanically inseparable.
Nature’s suffering is my pain and my suffering is nature’s pain. That is, the physical, and/or spiritual, and/or moral well-being of individual human beings is tied to and benefited by the well-being of non-human and non-animal others—even including elemental others of fire, mineral, soil, and water. In other words: to do violence and cause suffering to any other is to do violence and cause suffering to one’s becoming or selving process. Linguistics seems to be a perpetual problem in our understanding and descriptions of plant life. A specific example would be our understanding of how we feel pain versus how plants “feel” pain. Language can be limiting while -also granting too much power. As Karen Barad points out, every “thing” (even materiality) is turned into a matter of language or some form of political and cultural representation (Barad 2007, 133). Could this human linguistic interpretation of non-human sufferings in a way contribute to anthropocentric mindsets since humans always strive to understand concepts by pertaining them to another?
E-CO-AFFECTIVITY:
PLANETARY ENTANGLEMENTS AND PRECARITIES
Affect theory is relevant to the development of environmental ethics. In his book, Religious Affects: Animality, Evolution, and Power (2015), Donovan O. Schaefer describes affect theory as it applies to humans as that which “sees bodies moving through worlds under the pressure of a complex welter of affects, with language weaving between and reshaping those pressures only sometimes - and even then, only haltingly and unevenly. Affect theory - examining the mobile materiality of the body - thematizes the ways that the world prompts us to move before the interventions of language” (Schaefer 2015, 9). The idea is that prior to thinking and speaking, the human organism moves through the world guided by a complex set of intelligent feelings and emotions that direct action and behavior. He seems to be saying that, even with the intervention of language, thought, and reason, our perception of the facts of the world and the judgments we make to act in the world are still primarily determinants of our affect. Since the judgments that we make and the actions that we choose have moral relevance to our treatment of non-human others, the importance for environmental ethics is clear. To the degree that affect is a driver of those judgments, closer attention to affect is warranted.
There is validity in Oele’s argument that animals possess an affective life, though it may not be just as we conceive of it, given our fixed perspectives as human beings. Ascribing feelings of sadness, suffering, or fear to animals, as we experience those emotions, may or may not be accurate, but we can’t know. The closest we can come to conceptualizing animal affect is, as she says, a kind of “responsive power of living beings to react to what happens to them” (Oele 2020, 5). Nevertheless, one might argue that given animal affectivity, there exists the possibility that their experience of the world entails the same “complex welter of affects” (Schaefer 2015, 9), similar to our set of responsive emotions. Given this possibility, we should afford them the same ethical deference that we give to those of our kind: other humans. The kinship that arises with this understanding of the affective life of animals should, therefore, move us closer to a more sustainable and relational ethics toward animals. The problem with that argument is that in total the human species have not been particularly reliable in extending ethical deference to those of our kind.
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Oele relates her skin theory to Frantz Fanon’s critique of epidermalization of black skin, to inferiorize and objectify so as to create shame, self-contempt, and nausea on the part of the racialized subject (Oele 2020, 131). Regarding the origination of the pandemic, humans have blamed it on (wild) animals, such as bats, and at the same time, animalized Asian people by calling the COVID-19 the “China-virus” or “China disease.” In a similar vein of marginalization, the sufferings of black and brown bodies are closely related to the phenomena of environmental racism. The COVID-19 pandemic has magnified already existing racial inequalities and other forms of injustices, and Black communities across the country have been the hardest hit by the pandemic. Moreover, Black Americans are overrepresented in frontline essential workforces, and therefore face increased risk of exposure; and longstanding disparities in wealth and income mean that Black Americans are more likely to need to continue working rather than practice safe social distancing at home. How could we overcome the fear and anxiety, and the PTSD from numerous deaths from the pandemic and from the result of state violence, perpetuating racial injustices nationally and worldwide? Since the Atlanta Spa shooting, the dehumanizing of Asian women has suddenly become a more urgent socio-political issue in the mainstream media. Nonetheless, the shootings speak to a prejudice that is deeply ingrained and largely unacknowledged in the U.S. It is a by-product of white supremacy, and from the same mentality of anti-Blackness that is the blueprint for all racism. Asian American women in the U.S. feel more vulnerable to go out in the street and raise their voices for their own human rights since the COVID-19 pandemic. Could we think of affect theory in relation to these intersectional sufferings and pains, along with interspecies interconnectedness?
Ecological theory has traditionally emphasized equilibrial community states and the development of a criteria for exclusion and indefinite persistence. Nonetheless, ecological theories have developed separately in the sub-disciplines of plant and animal ecology. Affect theory meshing with animalism can provide an excellent framework to a less anthropocentric world, or it could justify our ruining of the environment even more. If one were to accept animalism with a point of view from outside themselves, then the world would be linked even more together as the realization that we are not exceptional would set in. We need more work in this regard, and if affect theory is valid, then this work should be focused on strengthening the more beneficial kinds of human affects, selected out of a complex welter of emotional experience.
Judith Butler (2012), in an article entitled “Precarious Life, Vulnerability, and the Ethics of Cohabitation,” explains an ethics of precarity and proximity. She writes, “I hope to address here ethical obligations that are global in character and that emerge both at a distance and within relations of proximity” (Butler 2012, 134). What Butler is up to here is explaining that we can have ethical obligations that extend across the globe, and that we are responsible for things that go on within relations of proximity or intimate closeness, but we also have obligations to distant regions of ethical space. Vulnerability is not just the condition of being potentially harmed by another. It names the porous and interdependent character of our bodily and social lives.
Butler’s argument is that we cohabitate the earth with all humans, near and far, and therefore our ethical obligations are global in nature. We share the earth with animals, so it would follow that we also have an obligation not only to animals, but also to the earth itself. Such precariousness is an ontological condition for all life and situates our ethical politics around a recognition of mutual vulnerability and interdependency. With our fellow creatures, we humans all suffer and are undone in grief and mourning. As Butler addresses in Precarious Life, such that the recognition of suffering and grief in others allows us to feel “a shared social vulnerability” (Butler 2004, 20).
Butler argues that the sufferings of others (even the ones you feel like you didn’t cause directly) bring up larger questions about our ethical obligation. For Butler, it is precarity that makes the ethical obligation arise, as we can see that other animals, the earth, and other humans are endangered because of the environmental crisis. That’s our sensibility of feeling others’ suffering, which we call “compassion,” since we too are all vulnerable
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to various degrees, in intersecting environmental crises, with new predicaments of racial discrimination and gender inequality.
Beyond and besides human affectivity of themselves, Oele’s careful bird watching was insightfully shared in the section of “Birds, Sensation, and Touch” (Oele 2020, 61-72). She places an example of avian affective behavior within her paradigm of the enigmatic space of the untouchable. As she says: “None of this behavior, I argue, would have been possible had it not been for the affective, embodied, social practices that make up the world of meaning for avian life. At its center stands touching and being touched, and what enables it: “the absent yet not impassive physical and metaphysical space of the untouchable”” (76). Oele theorizes that skin provides us a glance into the depth of human affectivity, and as a biological and technological evolutionary interface, the skin “lives our age, future, trauma, vulnerability, and finitude” (54). Skin hasn’t just been a result of evolution and species development, it is also the manifestation and creation of our own, individualized spaces.
Thus, the synthetic power of flesh extends to our skin. The skin exists both in the world and in itself, and touch is its medium for sensing differences in the earth–our environment. However, touch is always at risk with potential hazard and contamination (especially in the pandemic), and skin’s intermingling with the world risks potential damage to the entire organism if the intensities surpass the skin’s ability to handle it. Oele writes, “Touch allows the affective animal body to come to the fore in its most remarkable presence and absence—as allowing the world to be relatable to it, but only mediated, and never direct” (61). However, it has become more and more difficult to touch the other under self-quarantine so as to prevent the spread of the pandemic virus. Since the COVID-19 pandemic, we have been practicing no-touch (untactile existences) and no-social (or virtual) contact, and growing distrust in external objects and others, including more-than-humans. The word phrase, “social distancing,” though having a technical sense in public health discourse, is not a very apt term to refer to the kind of careful physical distancing involved in slowing rates of viral transmission. However, the post-pandemic existence of human beings has become more and more socially distanced. We might stop using the term “social distancing” and start talking instead about “physical distancing” and “social connections.” Given Oele’s argument, the skin is not passive, it is rather a middle-voice phenomenon that regenerates and synthesizes connections between our past, present, and future. Is this synthesis between our internal and external plane a true representation of the middle voice? Is trust really the answer to the racialization and politicizing of skin? How can we institute trust on a cultural level when society is filled with so much distrust?
THE KOREAN CONCEPT OF JEONG (정/情) AND E-CO-AFFECTIVITY
In the last chapter of E-Co-Affectivity, Oele suggests a new “us” to go beyond the anthropocene. She quotes Alfred North Whitehead, “[L]ife lurks in the interstices of each living cell (Whitehead 1985, 106)” (Oele 2020, 159). Oele is concerned with re/constructing a non-anthropocentric us by suggesting a new and different paradigm from human-exceptionalisms: “Here lies the opportunity to reconstitute ourselves and our perceptions, to bring about new alliances, to break down barriers while constituting a new “us”—all while simultaneously keeping in mind questions of race, class, gender, and species, as much as bios writ large” (159). Nonetheless, this all-inclusive planetary solidarity is our physiological dilemma given the principle of our ecosystem. As Whitehead declared, life is fundamentally robbery in terms of consuming patterns: “The societies which it destroys are its food. . . . Whether or no it be for general good, life is robbery. It is at this point that with life morals become acute. The robber requires justification” (Whitehead 1978, 105). The word “robbery” for life might be a harsh word, or a warning for every form of life, since everything is eating and being eaten, which is the circle of life. The conventional use of robbery indicates violence and exploitation of the Other. The more complex the entity is, the greater the robbery from other entities, as human beings eat more diverse foods
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than any other animal. For Whitehead, an entirely living nexus requires its immediate environment. Thus, everyone becomes part of the environment of others. A hybrid prehension is the prehension by one subject of a conceptual prehension, or of an impure prehension, belonging to another subject. Could we human beings call ourselves environments of animals and trees not the other way around? Could we recognize us as food of nature, or eventually returning to soil or becoming nature? Nature feeds us and vice versa. Unless human beings recognize mutual agencies with more-than-human others through the way of nature, the suggested new us only indicates human alliances. The category of “we or us” should be expanded to organismic communities of communities in this entire (and extended) planetary family,though this surely still remains uneasy or maybe even impossible. Never quite all in all. However, we dare to re/construct a new us, a new earth, and a new public/a new eco-cracy (or earth-democracy).
Lastly, I appreciate the brilliant title, Oele’s E-Co-Affectivity, as referring to the love and interconnection of all in our cohabited earth-home (oikos). Since affectivity is (too much) associated with contemporary philosophical idiom, she finds a Greek root pathos (suffering, illness, and emotion) and combines it with oikos (home, earth), where affectivity takes place through her ethical lens with her sensitivity to ecological concerns (Oele 2020, 4-5). I would like to introduce here a Korean term jeong (정/情) as a resonant term for E-Co-Affectivity. Jeong (정 情, emotions or feelings) is generally known as the most distinctively Korean experience of human emotionality. It is really difficult to translate the term jeong in any direct sense to an English idiom. We can translate it as emotion, feeling, love sentiment, passion, human nature, sympathy, heart, and so on in an inclusive sense, including all of the connotations of these terms. Furthermore, it can refer to more basic feelings, such as attachment, bonds, and affections. As the most complex web of entangled and sticky feelings, jeong can be interpreted as any affective tone within a set of feelings and affections, grounded in a deep-seated love or attachment. But such a rendering is still insufficient to embrace the delicate, subtle, and deep feelings of jeong that are formed and saturated from and within all forms of ordinary relations in daily living. As love admits of many degrees and operates on various spectrums of affection; such as forgiveness, relationality, vulnerability, and solidarity, jeong too embraces all these relational affections, but should not be conceived as being limited to any one of them. Specifically, jeong is not just an abstract concept of love, but more like a relational embodiment of intimacy or familiarity rooted in compassion and solidarity. The affective route of this expansive and intensive emotion can proceed from namely solidarity via compassion, or compassion via solidarity. For Koreans, jeong has long been commonly recognized and practiced as a more lasting, transformative, and powerful emotion than various forms of mere love. In Korean contexts, jeong may well be a relational and interdependent embodiment of emotion with certain moral, psychological, or social dimensions. Jeong needs to be actualized through eco-caring activities, as we have learned from extended, Korean, familial experiences of sharing jeong and salim (eco-caring/enlivening). If we do not limit the category of jeong to only human communities, the sticky familial feelings of love can be translated well via Oele’s neologism of “E-Co-Affectivity." True planetary solidarity might be possible then if we practice our planetary love through communities of care as a good us/we. We (with Oele) are hoping then that the positive aspects of jeong and e-co-affectivity continue to become a healing mechanism for destructive earth communities and can realize a new earth for all of us.
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References
Barad, Karen. 2007. Meeting the Universe Halfway: Quantum Physics and the Entanglement of Matter and Meaning. Durham, NC and London, UK: Duke University Press.
Butler, Judith. 2004. Precarious Life: The Powers of Mourning and Violence. New York, NY: Verso.
_____. 2012. “Precarious Life, Vulnerability, and the Ethics of Cohabitation.” Journal of Speculative Philosophy, vol. 26, no. 2: 134-151.
_____. 2020. “Mourning Is a Political Act Amid the Pandemic and Its Disparities.” Culture and Media, Truthout. Accessed April 30, 2020. https://truthout.org/articles/judith-butler-mourning-is-a-political-act-amid-the-pandemic-and-its-disparities/.
Deleuze, Gilles and Felix Guattari. 1987. A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. Minneapolis, MN and London, UK: University of Minnesota Press.
Irigaray, Luce. 2013. In the Beginning, She Was. New York, NY: Bloomsbury.
______. 2016. Through Vegetal Being: Two Philosophical Perspectives. New York, NY: Columbia University Press.
Oele, Marjolein. 2020. E-Co-Affectivity: Exploring Pathos at Life’s Material Interfaces. Albany, NY: SUNY Press.
Lao, Tsu. (approx. 400 BCE) 1985. Tao Te Ching. Translated by Gia-Fu Feng and Jane English. New York, NY: Vintage Books.
Schaefer, Donovan O. 2015. Religious Affects: Animality, Evolution, and Power. Durham, NC: Duke University Press.
Whitehead, Alfred North. 1978. Process and Reality. Edited by David Griffin. New York, NY: The Free Press.
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Jea Sophia Oh © 2025
Author email: joh[at]wcupa[dot]edu
