I mean, it’s not that it’s a bad book. But neither is it especially gripping, despite the claims to the contrary included inside the covers in the 1975 4th edition printing I recently picked up as part of a trilogy at a local used book shop. I haven’t researched it in any great depth, but apparently over the years there has been a good deal of controversy over whether or not Carlos Castaneda, the author of this book, simply invented the character of Don Juan, or at least extrapolated from real people and experiences to create this quasi-anthropological account of Yaqui Indian sorcery.

Leaving the veracity of it aside, the first half of the book reads as a rather dry, seeming factual account of Castaneda meeting and convincing an old native man, Don Juan, to teach him about peyote - the psychedelic cactus. Over time, Don Juan takes Castaneda on as an apprentice and introduces him to the pathways of the “man of knowledge” and of the sorcerer. And perhaps more importantly, he introduces him to the psychedelic “allies” of datura, and the “little smoke” - a mixture derived from psychedelic mushrooms.

Accounts of Castaneda’s psychedelic voyages occupy a relatively small part of the text, though they seem to be of central importance. The characters of Don Juan and Castaneda are really not sketched out at all, which maybe is a factor in why certain people have alleged none of this stuff ever actually happened. For some reason though, that controversy doesn’t interest me overly much, nor do Castaneda’s trip reports. Anyone who is familiar with drug literature (or the direct use of psychedelics) won’t find much insight into those experiences contained within this text. Or at least, that’s my opinion anyway.

One of the things I did really enjoy, though it was not given much coverage in the text was that Don Juan required Castaneda to grow, care for, collect and prepare all of the psychedelic substances himself before he could actually use them. As I’ve written elsewhere, I am beginning to think that this firsthand intimately physical experience of plants may be just as important - if not moreso - than the actual psychedelic experiences these plants offer.

The second half of this book is a quasi-anthropological breakdown of the teachings of Don Juan into a classification system invented by Castaneda. I mostly just skimmed through this section as it didn’t really shed any new light for me on what had been expressed within the first portion of the book. And if anything, it lacked the sense of life that the first part contained. It may have been written by Castaneda more in the hopes of lending his book an air of scholarly legitimacy; it’s hard for me to say either way.

While I didn’t especially love this book and while I read it I didn’t feel much impact from it, I have to say that I have found myself coming back to some of the ideas expressed in it later on. I will be thinking through a certain problem or reading something else, and all of a sudden, I will see how one of Don Juan’s teachings connects very elegantly to the subject at hand. So it has had more of a “slow-roasting” effect on me than I was anticipating.

That said, I’m not especially eager to read any of the other two books in the trilogy that I picked up, although I have heard they are substantially different (another point people use to challenge their authenticity). In the end, I’d say this book is one of those things to read only if you are interested in the so-called “classics” of psychedelia.

I have been thoroughly enjoying the conversations held here lately about the crash of civilization both as a fantasy and as a potential reality, along with the many strains of thinking about how best to live through such a thing. It may seem that I have been unfairly singling out certain individuals or groups within that discussion, but it has been with the sincere attempt at inspiring a heated, open, direct and challenging conversation. I hope it has been as successful for others’ purposes as it has been for mine. It has enabled me to think through many issues (both pro and con) which I had glossed over or misunderstood in the past. I’m sure I still have a ways to go but it is heartening to see people putting such seriousness into these subjects.

Which leads me to the actual critique of civilization itself. As an art school drop-out, to me the purpose of having a critique is so that you can collaboratively communicate with an artist about their work, so as to give them outside insight to make their work better, more successful or more aesthetically pleasing. Likely it won’t surprise you that I was often one to deliver very blunt (and often unwelcome critiques), but I did so (and still do so) under the belief that it challenges people to create better work.

My goal in telling that story of my personal history is twofold. One, it’s intended to sketch in details of me as a more fleshed-out character, and two, I’m hoping to open a conversation about the nature and purpose of criticism or critique.

Wikipedia reveals that the word “critic” comes down to us from the ancient Greeks (kritikós and krités), “meaning a person who offers reasoned judgement or analysis, value judgement, interpretation, or observation.” And it further explains that “critique” has a rich history in philosophy, meaning “a systematic inquiry into the conditions and consequences of a concept or set of concepts, and an attempt to understand its limitations.” As can be seen, the anarcho-primitivist critique of civilization fits very well into both meanings.

But at the same time, in my own usage of the term, you only critique something which you would like to make better. If you want to destroy a work of art, then you smash it on the floor or rip a whole through the canvas. You don’t sit the artist down and tell them in what ways their work failed and how they could improve it. In other words, I see the purpose of critique as being improvement rather than refutation. You attack in order to trigger a defense and cause something to strengthen itself (otherwise you would simply deal a destructive death blow and be done with it).

And this is ultimately the same light in which I have come to see the anarcho-primitivist critique of civilization: I see it not as a practical destruction or even a philosophical refutation of civilization, but as the ultimate fulfillment of modern civilization. If you look at the goals of the modern primitivists, you will see them say that tribalization and a return to hunter-gatherer societies will enable us to be healthier, live longer, be happier, more free, and to more fully experience the richness of human experience. Though the reputation of Western civilization (particularly the American variant of it) has grown very sullied over these past few years as we have come face to face with our failures and paradoxes, it is undeniable that the goals of the even the most radical anarcho-primitivist philosopher were cribbed almost whole cloth from the now-buried ideals of Western civilization: individual expression, freedom, health, happiness, fulfillment. Anarcho-primitivists are not working at cross-purposes here; they are keeping alive the dreams and ideals upon which all of our lives are in fact founded. Hell, they are really the American Dream writ-large, are they not? They are the settler who moves West to escape repression, live off the land and learn from the Indians. They do not diminish our ideals but elevate them to a new level and offer new insights and contexts for how to think about problems that have plagued us for a long time.

Furthermore, the anarcho-primitivist critique of civilization makes use of what tools? Philosophy, economics, history, anthropology, ecology, psychology, comparative analysis, scientific methodology. In short, these are the tools of civilization. These are the fruits of thousands upon thousands of lives and man-hours spent across generations and milennia. And that is without even speaking of how anarcho-primitivists make use of the physical technology of civilization: the computer, the internet, the printing press, the written language. Some primitivist philosophers, such as John Zerzan, have notably been criticized for this apparent contradiction, that they rely on the constructs of civilization to criticize it.

My point is in all this: in order to fully refute something, you must fully refuse it. You must unlearn the English language, forget all of history and culture and go live naked in the woods and never talk to anyone again. But then, you’re left wondering, how will my ideas spread? Precisely. They won’t - you will have removed yourself from the thoroughly imperialist notion that you need to colonize others with your viewpoints. However, if you’re more inclined to use the best of civilization to effect a change on the worst excesses of civilization, then by all means do so. Because that is exactly what civilization needs, not only to survive whatever comes next, but also to thrive, and even to progress (which I know is a four-letter word among primitivists). So, for those of you out there on the edges critiquing civilization, please continue. What you’re doing is very valuable and you’re raising a lot of extremely important and useful points about the paradoxes and unsustainable patterns of our current situation. And in so doing, you make all of us stronger.

God save the Queen!

[cross-posted from my main blog]