Introduction

Fires are a central feature of many outdoor experiences. Sitting around a fire has been a common experience throughout much of human history. Fires are part of every culture, yet experience with fires is becoming increasingly marginalised. In Aotearoa New Zealand, uses of fire include: clearing land, cooking food, hunting, for rituals or education. In order for a campfire to provide warmth, light, comfort, and safety, individuals and groups around the fire have to look after and maintain the flames. There is a reciprocal relationship between humans and fires. As much as fire has transformed humans’ lives, humans have changed fire over time; fire has been tamed, cultivated, urbanised, and mechanised (Scott et al., 2013). Simultaneously with such transitions of fire and societies, there has been an increase in humans’ negative impacts on the environment. The process of combustion is linked to air pollution, reduction of rainfall, habitat loss and global warming (Lorenz et al., 2021; Nobre et al., 2009).

With the deterioration of environmental indicators such as biodiversity, global surface temperature, carbon dioxide concentration in the atmosphere, and resource depletion (Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, 2019; Millennium Ecosystem Assessment, 2005; Stern, 2007; Sukhdev et al., 2014; TEEB, 2008), international discussions about sustainability have grown in frequency and relevance. Sustainability has become a part of our everyday language, yet the project of achieving or even moving closer to achieving sustainability remains unrealised.

Worldviews are a powerful influence on our conceptions of sustainability, and in turn, worldviews frame how we conceive of solutions (Van Opstal & Hugé, 2013). One framing of the human-planetary relationship is the binary of anthropocentrism (human-centred) and ecocentrism (viewing ecosystems as the focus; Kopnina, Washington, Gray, et al., 2018a). Most societies operate from a position of anthropocentrism, and some literature argues that a more ecocentric stance will allow humans to improve their relationship with the planet (Braje, 2016; Daigle & Vasseur, 2019). However, the fruits of an ecocentric approach appear intangible. This raises questions about whether these are useful terms. Learning from Indigenous societies, which have a long history of living more sustainably with the land, could offer a dialectical approach that moves beyond the seemingly entrenched positions of either anthropocentrism or ecocentrism. This article is focused on the intersection of sustainability, anthropocentrism and ecocentrism and the potential for Indigenous approaches to fire to offer ways forward. Our experiences as authors influence the questions we ask, the theoretical approaches to which we are attracted, and the solutions we propose. It is therefore important to position ourselves culturally and within this research field.

Our team of researchers includes a PhD student from Germany and their supervisors from Aotearoa New Zealand. Three of us identify as Pākehā (European New Zealander) and have found deep and rich insights from Indigenous Māori perspectives. One author holds whakapapa (genealogy) links to Te Arawa iwi. Therefore, the Māori pūrākau (narrative) of fire we share draws on Te Arawa traditions. All of us have research backgrounds within education with different foci in outdoor education, health and physical education, sustainability and mātauranga Māori (Māori knowledge).

In order to explore the potential of campfires and Indigenous knowledge to break down the dualistic anthropocentric and ecocentric world views, we present literature on binaries and dialectics, examine the term sustainability and the role of worldviews in sustainable development. We then trouble the binary of anthropocentrism versus ecocentrism and explore fire as a context for introducing Indigenous knowledge. In particular, we draw attention to Māori pūrākau (oral traditions) about fire, which might re-ignite the relationship between humans and the planet. Finally, fire will be discussed as a place of synthesis where opposing concepts can coexist.

Binary oppositions

Binary oppositions originate from the Western propensity to put everything into a hierarchical structure and to relate to positives or negatives (Fogarty, 2005). Binaries involve two terms, concepts, or thoughts with contrasting meanings, where each is defined in connection with its binary counterpart (for example, hot/cold, individualism/collectivism). Binary opposition is not a contradictory relationship but a structural one whose meaning derives from its contexts (e.g., good/bad); each term is defined through what it is not. Through the tenets of structuralism, binary oppositions can be considered to organise philosophy, culture, and language (Buchanan, 2018). Within outdoor education, various binaries exist. Examples include: indoors/outdoors, where the outdoors is defined solely by its contrast to indoors (Zink & Burrows, 2008); direct experience/virtual experience is a binary that positions technology as distracting and obstructive to quality learning in the outdoors (Beames, 2017); Indigenous is good/non-Indigenous is bad, a binary made visible following analysis of essays in examinations in Australia whereby Indigenous people are in harmony with nature, while non-Indigenous people are exploiters and destroyers of nature (both of these limit the roles of people in society) (Zink, 2007). Further, Indigenous lenses are often viewed as the binary opposite of modern or Western perspectives (Van Opstal & Hugé, 2013). Another example is culture/nature, where the very presence of humans in nature represents its downfall (Cronon, 1991). According to Plumwood (2002), humans are viewed as separate from nature and assumed to exist in a cultural sphere.

Cronon (1996) addresses some of the flaws in this binary, such as the expulsion of Indigenous people from national parks in order to create an “uninhabited wilderness” (p. 80). We agree with Cronon that the human/nature binary is problematic. Similar arguments can be made regarding the anthropocentrism/ecocentrism binary. Despite the socially constructed nature of binaries, many people act and live as if the meanings of binary oppositions are fixed (Hughes, 2002). These fixed constructions and understandings operate unconsciously and unintentionally through “the suppression” of the opposing binary term (Finlayson, 1999, p. 63). Binary oppositions provide structure, reduce complex phenomena and are therefore employed to mitigate against the uncertainty of the world. Herdin (2012) criticises the one-dimensionality of binaries because they are oversimplified, lack clear definitions and can lead to stereotyping. So, although binaries can help us make sense of the world, they often lead to viewing these concepts as fixed. Coming back to the example of Western vs. Indigenous views, some might argue that such a binary might help us to orientate ourselves within different perspectives in order to articulate and understand these views, but binaries can also generalise and polarise. To move past what can seem at times to be an unsolvable problem, we need techniques and approaches that recognise these tensions.

Dialectic Approach

A dialectic approach works with oppositions and tensions to enable a resolution and a means to develop new knowledge and views (Vogt, 2011). The term dialectic originates from the Greek word dialektikē, which means art or skill (teknhē) of discussion or conversation (Online Etymology Dictionary, 2018). There are different concepts of dialectic. Dialectic is often defined as thesis-antithesis-synthesis (as a triad). A thesis is an idea that contains an opposition – an antithesis – in its structure. The antithesis is the “other,” the opposite (Thorpe & Holt, 2011). The conflict of thesis and antithesis results in synthesis, which is neither a compromise nor a resolution; instead, the synthesis absorbs both. Unlike binary oppositions that include a struggle of hierarchy, dialectic moves beyond oppositional (dualistic) thinking and recognises alternatives (Thorpe & Holt, 2011). This, according to Thorpe and Holt (2011), is the step required to deconstruct binary oppositions.

Dialectical relationships do not express simply existence and non-existence; they also recognise the other possibilities available in the whole. For example, the dialectical contraction of ‘a’ is not simply ‘non-a’ but ‘b,’ ‘c,’ ‘d,’ and so on – which, in their attempt at self-assertion and self-realisation, are all fighting for the same historical space. (Carr, 2000, p. 216)

According to McTaggart (1999) the dynamic relationship between thesis and antithesis “derives its whole meaning from the synthesis, which follows them, and in which the contradiction ceases to exist as such” (p.14).

A growing body of researchers has highlighted approaches that support and draw from two or multiple streams of knowledge to support change (Durie, 1997; Gillon & Macfarlane, 2017). In Aotearoa New Zealand, such approaches would, for example, respect and equally value Indigenous Māori knowledge while complemented by Western lenses, and vice versa (Martel et al., 2022). Further, the latest Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (2022) report recognises diverse forms of knowledge and highlights the importance of Indigenous knowledge regarding climate change. In connection with sustainability and the contentious nature of the terms ecocentric and anthropocentric, a dialectic approach may provide necessary relief to move past binary ecocentric/anthropocentric thinking and encourage deeper and new understandings.

Sustainability and Kaitiakitanga

Many terms related to sustainability have arisen from various fields. One of the earliest Western definitions originated from the German word Nachhaltigkeit and was coined within forestry management. Von Carlowitz (1713) realised that the forests of industrialised Germany were disappearing as the wood was needed for mining, shipbuilding and other industrial activities. As a result, he proposed that people should never cut down more trees per unit of time than new trees could grow back. In 1987, Von Carlowitz’s proposal was adapted, and expressed as “development that meets the needs of the present without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their own needs” (World Commission on Environment Development, 1987, p. 16). This became one of the most widely-used definitions of sustainability. Further, the WCED managed to bring together 178 countries to demonstrate the importance of global partnerships between governments and emphasise the relevance for humanity to reconnect with the planet (United Nations, n.d.-a). Although the WCED advocates for the crucial role of education in achieving sustainable development and the 17 Sustainable Development Goals (SDG) (United Nations, n.d.-b), many questions remain about how to successfully achieve these aims.

Diverse cultures around the world have well-established and successful approaches to sustainability. For example, many Māori in Aotearoa New Zealand have developed a relationship with their food and land based on kaitiakitanga (guardianship). The word tiaki means to “care for,” “guard,” “protect.” However, its full meaning can only be understood regarding other key Māori concepts, such as mana (authority), mauri (spiritual life-principle), tapu (sacredness or set apart), rahui (conservation), manaaki (hospitality), and others (Kawharu, 2000). Yet, a detailed description of the concept would go beyond the scope of this paper. In short, kaitiakitanga is a way in which Māori manage resources and promote an identity based on Māori values and culture. It further represents a relationship with the environment that is kin-like, rather than based on ownership (Magallanes, 2015). Practices, understandings, and experiences of kaitiakitanga vary between Māori tribes (Walker, 2019). The concept is multi-dimensional. At heart, kaitiakitanga means to ensure survival in spiritual, environmental, economic, and political regards (Kawharu, 2000). Kaitiakitanga has been included in the Resource Management Act of Aotearoa and many Māori are still using traditional knowledge to look after the environment (New Zealand Government, 2021). Resources – human, material or non-material – are managed according to the values of tribal groups (Kawharu, 2000).

Worldviews

The concepts of SDG and kaitiakitanga arise from two worldviews: Western and Indigenous Māori. Different worldviews have been recognised as powerful elements which can support or undermine sustainable development (Van Opstal & Hugé, 2013). Worldviews are ontological and epistemological assumptions which guide how we see the world and act on this planet (Van Opstal & Hugé, 2013). In a philosophical sense, worldviews define what is real and are the foundations of behaviours (Pleasants & Gough, 2021). Thus, considering different worldviews can help with understanding of the cultural influences in generating unsustainable lifestyles. How we see the world is generally developed through knowledge, ideas, feelings, values, and assumptions while we are young. However, worldviews can be reconstructed through rich experiences and deep reflections (Pleasants & Gough, 2021).

In this paper, we bring together Māori and Western worldviews and it is important to understand what we mean by these terms. The word Indigenous has been defined in dictionaries as “born or produced naturally in a land or region” (Oxford English Dictionary, 2021). George (2012) notes that, according to many Māori, the idea of Indigeneity often represents a connection to “ancestral places and histories” (p. 436). Indigenous Māori share a common history of colonisation amongst themselves and with Indigenous peoples in many other lands. Also shared in a broad sense are the corresponding social-political movements to reclaim the losses caused by colonisation. Yet, the term Indigenous also brings with it a danger of homogenisation by viewing the great diversity of Indigenous cultures around the globe under the umbrella of a single word. This assumption of homogeneity is unsupportable as Indigenous cultures and “notions of integral connection to ancestral places and histories” (p. 439) are situated, and therefore unique to particular settings. To this end, we do not use terms like “the Māori,” “the Māori culture,” or “the Māori worldview,” because these do not recognise regional and tribal differences (Sorrenson, 1979). Early explorers mostly observed one or two areas of Aotearoa New Zealand, which led to assumptions about ‘the Māori’ people as a whole. Yet, as George states, “a ‘Māori worldview’ – while able to claim some common factors within it and in relation to other indigenous worldviews – has multiple perspectives” (George, 2012, p. 435). Thus, when we refer to Māori in this context, the term relates to the plurality of views, beliefs, values, and cultures.

Pleasants and Gough (2021) argue that ontological and epistemological assumptions of all people are connected to our identity and therefore are anthropocentric and this contradicts the ecocentric arguments. Anthropocentrism has widely been used as a deficit term in environmental ethics. Many authors refer to anthropocentrism as human-centred values or instrumental values that view the more-than-human world as mere resources (Daigle & Vasseur, 2019; Kopnina, Washington, Taylor, et al., 2018b; Washington et al., 2017). Anthropocentrism is often considered the opposite of Indigenous (Māori) perspectives and ecocentrism (Quinn et al., 2016). Kopnina, Washington, Gray, et al. (2018a) argue that human-centred value systems hinder sustainability. Although boundaries are blurred and dynamic, non-anthropocentric or ecocentric claims are often used in attempts to counter anthropocentric threats to the environment. Therefore, authors (such as Kopnina 2013; Quinn et al., 2016) argue that humanity needs to shift its perspectives towards ecocentric views.

Anthropocentrism equals unsustainable

Anthropocentrism is interpreted in many ways and, at times, not articulated or defined. Yet, the term literally means human-centeredness. For example, The Oxford English Dictionary defines anthropocentrism as a “primary or exclusive focus on humanity; the view or belief that humanity is the central or most important element of existence, especially as opposed to God or the natural world” (2021). Authors such as Washington et al. (2017) and Kopnina, Washington, Taylor, et al. (2018b) align with this definition but also attribute instrumental values to this lens. Ecosystems are only valuable if humans have a use for them or are able to transform them into useful products. Anthropocentric views are optimistic that humans can control their surroundings, and the challenges of sustainability can be solved through technological development (Kopnina, 2014). But these approaches fail to acknowledge the interconnected, co-dependent and complex characteristics of ecosystems (Daigle & Vasseu, 2019). Instead, dualistic thinking constructs “nature” as a homogeneous “other” (Spillman, 2017, p. 16), as “the unconsidered background to technological society” (Plumwood, 2002, p. 57). Today, some human-centred views exploit other beings for humans’ benefit. Farmed animals are, for example, described as “livestock” and treated as “egg and milk machines” (Smith, 1998). From this critique, two points become clear. One, ontologically, anthropocentrism sees humans as the centre of the planet and therefore fails to acknowledge the complexity of the world. Two, ethically, anthropocentrism preferences humans’ interests before others (Hayward, 1997).

Hayward provides an expansion on the term anthropocentrism and suggests that it is not the same as human-centeredness. As Pleasants and Gough have pointed out, humans have no choice but to think like humans. Hayward questions if the term anthropocentrism is even appropriate to describe the ontological or ethical state of the world. If humans would be truly anthropocentric, they would realise the ecosystem is life-supporting. Norton (1984) similarly argues that the best reason to choose a sustainable lifestyle is out of self-interest. Such a position is illustrated through the 17 SDG. Sustainable development goal 14, for example, aims to “conserve and sustain use the oceans, seas and marine resources for sustainable development” as “oceans are crucial for global food security and human health” (United Nations, n.d.-c).

In summary, the literature paints anthropocentrism as the cause of the environmental crisis and as the opposite of ecocentric as well as Indigenous worldviews (Kopnina, 2014; Kopnina, Washington, Gray, et al., 2018a). Yet, we are unsure if these interpretations do the term justice and if such contradictions are helpful. The following section will look at the antithesis of the debate and explore ecocentrism as well as Indigenous worldviews.

Ecocentrism equals sustainable

Ecocentrism is one of the most inclusive worldviews because it recognises the whole ecosystem, including everything living and non-living (Kopnina, 2020; Washington et al., 2017). Ecocentric perspectives are premised on protecting the environment for its own sake. Ecocentrism explicitly includes fauna, flora, and environmental systems in their entirety (Washington et al., 2017). The term emphasises intrinsic value notwithstanding humans’ needs and preferences.

Some argue that a shift towards ecocentrism is essential to solve the environmental crisis (Washington et al., 2017). Ecocentrism is not only an ethical stance but is also attached to responsibilities and should have practical implications (Allen et al., 2019). Yet ecocentrism suffers from significant barriers to action, including what does a behaviour or practice based on an ecocentric perspective look like?

Kopnina (2020) emphasises that traditional non-hierarchal connectedness to the environment is important; this not only refers to knowledge but also lived and affectionate experiences. Some literature associates ecocentrism with Indigenous cultures and societies. According to Washington et al. (2017), for example, many Indigenous cultures have lore that represents an ecocentric lens. The IPBES report emphasises that Indigenous people who live in an interconnected, closer relationship with the whole ecosystem are more aware and respectful of the needs of an ecosystem (IPBES, 2019).

Van Opstal and Hugé (2013) maintain such a binary of worldviews in their comparison of “Indigenous” and “modern.” Although the authors emphasise that the list is not defined nor exhaustive, they argue towards characteristics of worldviews such as the anthropocentric, materialistic, and dualistic features of “modern” societies (Van Opstal & Hugé, 2013, p. 695). Again, Indigenous has been described as non-anthropocentric and as worldview, where “all things are equal” (Van Opstal & Hugé, 2013, p. 695). Yet, it remains unclear what Indigenous ecocentrism looks like. Instead of clarifying the practical implications of ecocentrism, it focuses on what it is not: anthropocentrism.

The contested nature of the debate surrounding ecocentrism and anthropocentrism suggests that approaching the two as binary does not help to solve global environmental challenges. Typologies, such as these, seem to create gaps and boundaries, which support dualism and stereotyping (Herdin, 2012). We believe that present, complex and interconnected cultures as well as systems can have multiple categories coexisting. Such coexistence will be explored in more detail in the next sections using the example of fire.

Whakapapa Ahi | Genealogy of Fire

Fire is a process of burning. Oxygen, heat, and fuel are the three essential elements of fire (Taylor, 2005). Rather than looking at electric fires or fossil fuels, our focus will be on traditional fire methods and places (e.g., campfires) that use wood as fuel. The uses and origins of fire are unique to various cultures and correlate strongly with the development of humans. At the same time, it is difficult to identify events other than fire that are so universal and so pivotal. Agriculture, for example, is practised in every culture as well, yet fire predates agriculture (Gowlett, 2016; Snir et al., 2015).

The first Polynesian people arrived in Aotearoa New Zealand around 1300 AD (Stone & Langer, 2015). Today, the Indigenous tribes of Aotearoa New Zealand are known collectively as Māori. When Māori arrived, they not only carried fire-generating apparatus (such as fire-making sticks), but they also travelled with live fire. Embers were stored within dry combustion materials, which would smoulder slowly and not ignite (Stone & Langer, 2015). To make travel through the thick bush easier, Māori burned their way through the native bush (Arnold, 1994; Stone & Langer, 2015). Māori tribes have many uses for fire, including cooking, light, warmth, protection, communication, and rituals.

Māori have an oral tradition of education, meaning that knowledge is taught through waiata (songs), karakia (prayers), whakataukī (proverbs), pūrākau (narratives), weaving and dancing (e.g., haka Bidois et al., 2015; Kāretu, 1993; Mc Rea, 2004). According to some Māori oral traditions, fire was given to humans as a gift from Tama-nui-te-rā (personification and sacred name of the sun). The following narrative takes place pre-Māori settlements in Aotearoa New Zealand and belongs to the Tūhourangi/ Ngāti Wāhiao iwi of Whakarewarewa, tribes of Te Arawa. It was put into writing by Makereti (1986). The material is in the public domain. Our interpretations are the result of a partnership and consultation with Māori.

Tama-nui-te-rā (personification and sacred name of the sun), the father of Auahi-tūroa (personification and sacred name of a comet), wanted to give the people on planet earth a gift. He decided on fire because humans can not only use it for cooking, but fire also provides warmth and light. He, further, wanted his son to hand over the gift to humans. Auahi-tūroa then took the fire with him and gave it to the people, who “became possessed of this wonderful thing” (Makereti, 1986, p. 275). While Auahi-tūroa was on Earth, he married Mahuika, the goddess of fire. Together, they had five children named after the five fingers of the human hand: Takonui, Takoroa, Mapere, Manawa, and Toiti (Makereti, 1986).

According to this narrative, fire is a gift, a god, a mother, fingers, and children; it is sacred and valuable. Like this example, in Māori worldviews, the more-than-human parts are humanised or personified; simultaneously, humans are seen as part of the ecosystems. The narrative shows a view where everything in this world originates from the same parents: Ranginui (Sky father) and Papahurewa (Earth mother), also known by some tribes as Papa-tū-a-nuku (Ritchie et al., 2010). Yet, fire was sent to earth as a gift for humans. Again, fire is only valuable if humans make use of it (e.g., to cook food), which indicates a more anthropocentric perspective. On the other side, the more-than-human parts of the ecosystems have value for their own sake, and everything – including humankind – is connected. This characterises a more ecocentric lens. As discussed in previous sections, some authors, such as Van Opstal and Hugé (2013), draw a line divide between modern and Indigenous worldviews, subordinating anthropocentrism and ecocentrism. However, as this fire example shows, mātauranga and te ao Māori do not support the distinction between anthropocentric perspectives and ecocentric lenses as being conceptually, practically, symbolically or culturally important. At the heart of mātauranga Māori is whakapapa (genealogy), which connects all elements of this planet. Instead of thinking and representing dualism, the fire example highlights the relationships on this planet, where neither humankind nor ecosystems are in the centre. The concept of whakapapa is broadly translated as “genealogy” as it tells the history of the beginning of the planet as interconnected with humankind and all the more-than-human parts. It informs a great variety of cultural concepts (such as kaitiakitanga or guardianship; Harmsworth & Awatere 2013). Whakapapa shows that humans are related to fire and that fire is a part of us. The value of fire in this story is founded in personifications of the more-than-human world. The sky and the land are the parents of humans; sun, fire, forests, and birds are children, siblings, uncles and aunts, ancestors. Other authors, such as Roberts (2013), have explored the whakapapa of the kūmara (sweet potatoes) or Tuatara (lizard). Humans are not only part of the environment but originate from it. From this perspective, environmental features such as fire, rivers, or land are personified as much as humans are, all being seen as one.

Māori oral traditions show how people today are descended from the more-than-human world. Indigenous Māori gods (such as Tama-nui-te-rā, Auahi-turoa, or Mahuika) represent and inhabit the more-than-human world. Therefore, many Māori treat natural features as kin and look after them with care and respect. Humans are not viewed as having ownership or power over the more-than-human world but are kaitiaki (guardians; Magallanes 2015). A similar relationship was illustrated by Salmon (2000), who labels Indigenous relationships to the more-than-human world as kin-centric. Similar to whakapapa, kin-centrism illustrates views, which indigenous people see themselves as “part of an extended ecological family that shares ancestry and origin” (p. 1332). Whakapapa, mātauranga Māori (Māori knowledge) and tikanga (customs) should not be treated as separate because they are strongly interconnected. Kin and relatives include the more-than-human world (such as fire), because of such reciprocal relationship both, fire and people, are responsible for each other’s mutual survival. Guardianship and other cultural practices are grounded in whakapapa, or as Salmon (2000) calls it kincentrism.

The connection between whakakapapa and kaitiakitanga are visible in Aotearoa New Zealand Legislation. Richardson and Hamaski (2021), who explore rights of nature, acknowledge Aotearoa New Zealand as a pioneer because a legal status of personification for parts of the more-than-human world already exists in some cases. In 2014, Te Urewera National Park, for example, was given “all the rights, powers, duties, and liabilities of a legal person” (New Zealand Legislation, 2014, Sect. 11). Then, in 2017, the Whanganui River Settlement Agreement recognised the indivisible unity of the river and its metaphysical status as a living being. Although some people might argue the intrinsic values and ecocentric lenses of such laws (Richardson & Hamaski, 2021), the Whanganui river, for example, is seen as an ancestor of Māori tribes (Magallanes, 2015). Thus, people are inseparable from the river. “Ko au te Awa, ko te Awa ko au: I am the River and the River is me” (New Zealand Legislation, 2017section 13). The agreement highlights the river’s connection to humans’ well-being and health (New Zealand Legislation, 2017).

This oral tradition details the origin of fire and illustrates how this Indigenous perspective is not exclusively ecocentric because the benefits of fire were of significant and direct benefit to humans. Further, the example shows the complexity of Indigenous worldviews which can break down anthropocentric and ecocentric binaries. Previously, Quay (2017) has emphasised the synthetical unity of Indigenous perspectives, wherein humans are part of a larger (eco)system. It is, therefore, helpful to look more closely at individual cases to examine what makes relationships more respectful and less harmful to the more-than-human members of ecosystems. This example shows that many Māori value all parts of the environment and have a very interconnected understandings: fire is not only a sacred resource and gift but also an aunt of the humans living on this planet. Māori pūrākau do not accommodate any explicit allocation to either ecocentric or anthropocentric worldviews. Instead, they afford relational value through whakapapa and anthropomorphism, which will be further explored in the following section.

Personification of Ahi (Fire)

Many cultures articulate a fire mythology, including Greek, Roman, Egyptian, and Chinese. Often, in mythology, humans are depicted as helpless without fire. The hero or protagonist (animal, Titan, or cheeky and intelligent youth) steals it from the keeper or the source of fire. In some societies, fire is a god. With fire or the ability to make fire, humans start to act autonomously (Pyne, 2016). In The Old-time Māori, Makereti (1986) tells a second fire story that supports the previously described oral tradition. Like the previous narrative, the material is in the public domain; our interpretations are the result of consultation with Māori.

Māui (hero of a Māori myth cycle) wanted to know how to make a fire. So, one night, he extinguished all the flames in the wharau (cooking house) of each whānau (family) in the village. In the early morning, people in the village found out what Māui did and were furious. His mother sent him to find Mahuika, the goddess of fire. She warned him not to play any tricks on Mahuika, his grandmother. When he reached the place where Mahuika lived, he explained his visit: “I have come to get some fire from you” (p. 277). Mahuika then pulled off a nail in the form of a flame from her finger. Māui turned away but dropped the flame into the next stream after a short distance as he still did not know how to make fire. He returned to Mahuika and asked for another fingernail. He did it repeatedly until Mahuika was down to her last flame. She realised that Māui had played tricks on her and got so angry that she took the last nail from her kōnui (thumb) and threw it on the ground. The flames seemed to follow Māui, so he turned himself into a bird and flew to the next water source. Yet, the water started to get hot, and the flames spread over the forest, land, and oceans. Māui then asked his ancestors Tawhiri-matea (god of the wind) and Whatitiri-matakataka (god of thunder and rain) for help. As Mahuika almost drowned from the tremendous amount of water that fell from the sky, she ran and only reached her home just in time to save the last spark; She placed it within Hine-kaikōmako (the personified form of the Kaikomako tree) and into a few other trees such as Mahoe, the Tōtara, the Patetē, and the Pukatea (Makereti, 1986; Metge, 2015; Wiremu, n.d.).

Oral traditions, like Māui and the secret of fire, convey importance to the more-than-human parts of the world and support humans’ (cultural) identity through ancestral connections (Chan et al., 2016). Again, this narrative ascribes human qualities to fire. In this case, fire is an aunty as well as fingernails. Anthropomorphism – the attribution of human characteristics to the more-than-human entities – not only enhances a close relationship between humans and the planet but also fosters conservational behaviour. In 2021, Quay recognised anthropomorphism as one way to shift views and practices towards more inclusion and to connect with the more-than-human world. Some might associate anthropomorphism with human-centeredness because it implicates another bias “anthropo-” word. Yet, the term should be understood as an inescapable feature of being human (Quay, 2021). Anthropomorphism is widely used to promote products and brands in the marketplace (e.g., car’s headlights, curves of the coke bottle, Mr Clean). Companies and their products appear more human-like, which allows consumers to connect at a deeper level and results in long-term, positive relationships (Yang et al., 2020). Other research shows similar effects regarding relationships to parts of the more-than-human world. Gebhard et al. (2003) emphasised that anthropomorphic views of the environment, such as trees, led to empathy and moral considerations in children involving these entities. In more recent research, Tam draws a connection between anthropomorphism of the more-than-human world and empathy, guilt and social connectedness towards the environment (Tam, 2013, 2015, 2019). When the more-than-human parts of the planet are anthropomorphised, people feel more connected to them, which promotes protective behaviours (Tam et al., 2013). Anthropomorphism allows individuals to attribute moral agency to the environment. People who consider the environment as a moral parent, thereby experiencing guilt, empathy, and connectedness, are also more likely to take action to protect the environment (Tam, 2019).

Narratives, such as the one about Mahuika, the goddess of fire, may have a similar effect. Pūrākau are important to convey traditional values, Māori philosophy, knowledge, whakapapa and highlight the connection between humans and the more-than-human world. Again, this oral fire tradition can be attributed to neither a purely anthropocentric nor non-anthropocentric (ecocentric) perspective. Fire was used, among other things, for cooking and to make food accessible, which indicates an anthropocentric lens. The narrative further focusses on the ecosystem; when the flames spread over the forest, land and oceans, only strong winds and rain could stop the flames from burning other parts of the more-than-human world. Beyond the binary of (a) anthropocentric versus (non-a) ecocentric views, the narrative highlights interpersonal relationships with the environment based on (b) anthropomorphism and whakapapa. Earlier, we have shown that binary oppositions seem unhelpful in reconnecting humans and the more-than-human relationships; the Māori fire narrative opens a dialectic process and opportunities to move beyond dualistic thinking by recognising alternative views based on anthropomorphism and ancestors relationships. Quinn et al. (2016) find that spending time with the more-than-human world helps to develop a greater understanding of diversity and interrelatedness, the dependence of humans on the more-than-human world. The authors further emphasise that all lenses (anthropocentric, ecocentric, and anthropomorphic) need to be part of everyday life, discussions, and decisions about living better with the planet (Quinn et al., 2016).

Although we emphasise the importance of Indigenous Māori perspectives and approaches, we do not only see opportunities for fire knowledge and practice from Māori exclusively for Māori. In this article, we have argued that traditional uses of fires are neither purely anthropocentric nor ecocentric. To overcome the current dualistic framing of fire in Western societies, we have included Māori narratives to highlight culturally and environmentally sensitive fire practices. Rather than misappropriating Māori knowledge and approaches to fire, we see opportunities to inform Western practices. We do not mean to take these oral traditions and use them as if they are our own, but we can learn from how Māori perceive fire to challenge our assumptions.

(Re-)connecting with and through Ahi (Fire): implications for outdoor education

The exploration of a Māori oral tradition reveals that fire is a potential space for synthesis. We have found in our practices that fires provide a fascination that draws people together and creates a shared space. We see several opportunities for outdoor environmental educators. Campfires link to traditions which are as old as humanity and help to examine our relationship with the planet by unpacking the strengths and limitations of anthropocentrism, ecocentrism and anthropomorphism.

Firstly, fires can provide a space where different worldviews and cultures come together and interact. We have highlighted Māori worldviews on fire and, in particular, fire knowledge from Te Arawa tribes. We believe there are connections to diverse perspectives that can be woven together in a dialectic. This dialectic must recognise that different knowledge systems are not considered as two alternative options, but rather these approaches should generate a sense of how the braids of knowledge have come together to inform each other (Macfarlane et al., 2015). We have highlighted that fire is used in every culture on this planet. Although this article focuses on Indigenous Māori fire pūrākau, the oral traditions indicate multiple connections to additional worldviews and cultural approaches to fire.

Secondly, fire can make the first steps towards overcoming an unhelpful binary of anthropocentrism or ecocentrism. Examples from Māori pūrākau illustrate the complexity of their worldviews. Our unpacking of the oral fire traditions undermines arguments that fire from Māori lenses can include both anthropocentric and ecocentric values. The narratives represent a synthesis of intrinsic, instrumental, and relational values (based on kin). Literature about anthropomorphism has been found to enhance connectedness to and with the more-than-human parts of the planet. Māori fire examples offer support to previous claims (Schultz, 2000; Tam et al., 2013) that incorporating anthropomorphic narratives into (outdoor) education is valuable in relation to sustainability. Experiences of (camp)fires may help to keep the relationship between humans and the planet alive.

Finally, we argue that a more intentional pedagogical approach to fire in outdoor education holds many potential benefits. This approach should combine exploration of (camp)fires through multiple lenses, including through the skills of building and maintaining a fire. Fires prompt us to look into metaphorical and cultural stories of fire and how they might support broader learning about sustainability. In a traditional sense, fire has disappeared more and more from our everyday lives and educational settings (Pyne, 2016). Yet, we argue that outdoor educators have the opportunity to rekindle pedagogically rich fire experiences. Such experiences would teach the skills of making, maintaining, and extinguishing fire in culturally and environmentally sensitive ways. The task of making a fire can represent a collective responsibility (Taylor, 2005) and includes various skills linked to for example, place, identifying of wood, social interaction, safety, minimal impact practices and storytelling. Makereti (1986), in the old-time Māori, compared the generation of fire with the creation of children. People were cautious about the place of fire. They would, for example, study the wind and weather, the quality and quantity of wood. Therefore, we argue campfires hold the potential to strengthen the connection with the more-than-human parts of the planet. The article discusses multiple Māori pūrākau about fire which supports such connection in different ways, including anthropocentric, ecocentric, and anthropomorphic.

In summary, the use of fires in outdoor education requires a consideration of resources, physical places, skills and offers the opportunity to discuss diverse perspectives. Conceived in this way, we argue that fire has the pedagogical potential to reignite humans’ relationship with the planet.

Conclusion

In this article, we recognised and explored the anthropocentric versus ecocentric binary that exists within worldviews about sustainability. Through the dialectical approach, we identified campfires as a space which can be used for a synthesis to examine such binaries.

Some lenses (such as the anthropocentric view) are often described as shoring up unsustainable behaviour because human-centredness is seen as prioritising humans’ interests. On the other hand, ecocentrism is poorly suited to guide sustainable behaviour because it is difficult to define other than in opposition to anthropocentrism. We argue that this binary is unhelpful and that dialectical ways of understanding the relationship between humans and the environment are needed. Exploring Māori fire narratives from the Te Arawa tribe, we find notions that could be positioned as both anthropocentrism and ecocentrism. Further, Māori narratives anthropomorphise the more-than-human parts of the environment. And this personification of the environment seems to enhance a closer relationship to the more-than-human elements of the planet. While it is not appropriate for all programmes to draw on Māori oral traditions, we advocate for a pedagogy that braids together diverse worldviews. Through this kind of pedagogical work, the use of campfires may become intentional and realise its potential to address pressing environmental issues.