A while back, I shared an arc of discovery involving key books that had significant influence on my perspectives. This post serves as an update, mainly covering six books I read (and/or listened to) over the summer. Loosely speaking, the theme revolved around gaining a better anthropological sense of who we really are as a species.

I’ll first offer a few preliminaries. As is obvious from previous posts, I benefitted greatly from Daniel Quinn’s writings, reflected in my recent summaries of Ishmael, The Story of B, and My Ishmael. I also found value in Quinn’s Providence (the story behind Ishmael), Tales of Adam, and Beyond Civilization. I should clarify that being appreciative of key insights is not the same as being an unwavering adherent or disciple.

Next, I’ll repeat admiration for The Master and His Emissary, by Iain McGilchrist, which still exerts a substantial influence on how I perceive cognition in its various forms (and especially its limitations). I may dedicate a post to this book at some future time.

Finally, I should acknowledge The Dawn of Everything for its formative role in much the same way that my parents were formative influences: their example taught me how not to be, in many respects. My net-negative review of DoE tells this story well enough.

Now onto the Summer Six…

I’ll present these in the order I encountered them, since some paved the way to others in a memorable story of its own.

We Will Be Jaguars

Nemonte Nenquimo wrote (with Mitch Anderson) a story of her youth among the Waorani people of Amazonian Ecuador (the title is We Will Not Be Saved in the UK). It would be hard for me to imagine a more evocative account of the diametrical forces experienced by people trying to hold onto their cherished and sustaining traditions in the face of modernity’s trap-door temptations and associated irreversible destruction.

In this book, we get a window into hunter-gatherer-horticultural lifestyles, but tainted by a continuous escalation of meddling from the modern world via missionaries and extractive companies. Especially in the early part of her life, Nemonte describes a lifestyle essentially free of money, but rich in experience and relationship. She wrestles mightily with desires for “Western” goods and appearances, while being perfectly happy to remain barefoot if it meant her father would not help the oil companies and settlers level forests so that he could acquire shoes for her. She had a front-row seat to the consequences, in a way that few of us do.

As one example plucked from a fabulous wealth of insightful vistas into Waorani experience, Nemonte describes a confusing disconnect in dealing with the cowori (outsiders). You see, Waorani people know their life and technologies through and through. Even if not a personal master-crafter of every tool, food product, piece of clothing, or dye, every curious child and teenager is well-exposed to at least witnessing the entire process—from gathering materials to processing to implementation to use to disposal: cradle to grave familiarity. Thus, when they encounter cowori flying airplanes, talking on radios, wearing soft materials brightly colored and patterned, it is natural to assume that these god-like creatures are nearly omnipotent masters of the universe: able to do almost anything. But when asked what makes that dress a vibrant yellow, no one can say. But does the dye come from roots or bark or leaves? No clue, or even interest. She puts it like this:

How did the white people make planes and radios and chainsaws if they didn’t even know how to wash clothes or catch shrimp with their own hands?

If asked how to build a radio or an airplane, or even how such devices work, it would quickly become clear that the cowori are surprisingly ignorant—possessing only toddler-level understanding of their dependencies. Compounding this is the cowori incompetence at very simple matters like knowing how to eat, poop, pee, exit a canoe, or walk down a trail at night. How, indeed, can such powerful people be so individually clueless? Something just doesn’t add up. [Hint: externalized “brains” not central to Waorani life]

I first listened to this book in audio form, valuing immensely occasional insertions of the Waorani language (Wao Tededo) that my uncomprehending eyes would have skipped over if reading in print. The catchy words echoed in my ears for days and weeks to follow: Wengongi (God), cowori (outsider), Uuuuuuu (agreement)—like a form of addiction. I since obtained a hardcopy, so that I can read more slowly and savor the reflections and critical insights.

Why We Need to Be Wild

A comment on Do the Math pointed me to this book by Jessica Carew Kraft. I snagged a library copy in audio form, which introduced me to a subculture to which I had not been meaningfully exposed. The author—initially stuck in a bay-area tech company—describes her craving for a more authentic way of life. She began attending primitive skills gatherings and workshops, building proficiency in fire starting, animal processing, hide tanning, basket crafting, and many related arts. She also embarked on a path of anthropological study, sharing key takeaways in the book.

I was struck by the unexpected normalcy of the “rewilding” community she described: “everyday” people called to learn and preserve ancient skills for the joy of the experience and the connectivity to tradition. I thought when reading the book that maybe someday I ought to check out such a gathering—but in that sort of non-commital way that could easily never happen. A few short weeks later, I found myself at a primitive skills gathering almost by accident (story below), and indeed found the people to be fantastic.

The rewilding (or primitive skills or ancestral skills) community that I met is full of really great folks. They didn’t set off my alarm bells as fatalistic bunker-building fanatics. They were calm, intelligent, funny, lighthearted, appreciative, grateful, skilled, sober, rational people who wore “normal” clothes, weren’t smoking pot or saucing it up, didn’t display a machismo survivalist vibe, and delighted in learning and teaching. No political conversations arose: like me, these folks are in a sense beyond the petty politics of the day—not strongly identifying with either “side” (well off the Marx-Hitler spectrum). The sense of community is also powerful: many come for the skills, but stay/return for the people. I was also surprised by the median (and modal) age of the gathering: late twenties, I would say. Many young people are seeking a different way. Families with kids were also abundant.

A number of Indigenous folks were at the gathering to pass along traditions. While they might prefer to educate their own youth, too few have interest. These folks deem it worthwhile to teach anyone who’s serious, independent of genetic heritage. When colonialism comes to an end and modernity exhausts its means, it’ll be time for some subset of folks to re-indigenize—wherever they happen to be when the music stops (limited seating available). Most of the folks—at least those in the older half—invested in acquiring these skills don’t seem to expect reliance on the practices for their own life maintenance. Yet, they find satisfaction in being part of rekindling and passing the torch. The people I talked to were typically of this mindset: it’s about future generations, not us, ourselves: a selfless far-sighted attitude, accepting modernity as a terminal illness and asking: then what? These folks would no doubt embrace Vanessa Machado de Oliveira’s call to Hospice Modernity.

Anyway, the Kraft book is a perfect introduction to this movement and community, grounded in anthropological awareness. The introduction sets the stage and often sounds just like something I might write.

Human Rewilding in the 21st Century

Right when I was in the middle of the Kraft book, I got an e-mail from James Van Lanen, introducing himself as having a background in anthropology and working on a book to address Graeber & Wengrow’s Dawn of Everything. He had found my review on Do the Math, appreciated its assessment, and wanted to use some of my material in his book. Also, he asked, would I like a copy of his Rewilding book?

As I waited for said book to arrive, Jaime (his informal name) started sending me seminal papers about different styles of hunter-gatherers, which I would comment on in e-mail form, leading to a voluminous and substantive exchange. Meanwhile, I continued listening to the Kraft book and what to my wondering ears did appear but a character named Jaime and his hunted reindeer. That’s right! Jaime was suddenly in my life from two directions! Wild! Then rewild!

Soon enough, I had received his book and was starting to read it and offer comments/discussion via e-mail. We decided we really should talk, but he was moving around a lot and phone was the best choice. He said he would be crawling through Seattle traffic in late June on his way to the Earthkin gathering in Canada, and could call then. Great. It took a few days for the idea to drop (see, I’m not that smart): instead of a phone call, what if I got in his car in Seattle (reachable by bus and ferry from my town) and went to the gathering with him? We’d have loads of time to talk/discuss, and I’d also learn some great skills, see for myself what this rewilding movement was all about, and have a spontaneous adventure. This was proposed/settled on a Monday evening and I was on my way Wednesday morning—ready to live outside and feed myself for ten days, carrying all the gear and food on foot.

I learned a ton from Jaime in our long-form conversations. Before the gathering, I got some early lessons in flint knapping and friction fire. We even went to an important remote archeological site once occupied by complex hunter-gatherers (hierarchical; unequal food access), reading the seminal paper on findings from the site on the drive. Having just been exposed to flint knapping, I was stunned by the obvious flake debris all around (“lithic scatter”) from long-vanished occupants. The basalt chips were still sharp-edged and pitch-black on one side as if flaked minutes before (no surface corrosion over the few-thousand years). Jaime found (and returned) an obvious well-used hide scraper made of chert. I accumulated a tremendous amount of learning in those several days.

But about the book… It’s largely structured as reaction to a faction of postmodern, politically-progressivist anthropologists who are dismissive of the rewilding movement as a sort of racist hobby by privileged white people. These anthropologists—much in the mold of Graeber—in fact would rather abolish distinctions like hunter-gatherer, counterfactually intoning that humans were always part of a state system. Saying otherwise “demotes” hunter-gatherers as savages, and risks erecting barriers that prevent present-day foragers from entering the folds of modernity as a fundamental right and privilege for every human: the unquestionably-correct way to live. Acknowledging a much different lifestyle could interfere with complete colonization—a most righteous assimilation—denying “unprivileged” people of the perks that accompany a sixth mass extinction.

I could hardly believe the stance of these anthropologists, and delighted in Jaime’s relentless take-down of their postmodernist fallacies and fantasies. The book has an academic feel, chock-full of citations and footnotes (exposing me to a great set of literature I still need to pursue—especially Gowdy’s work). I love a bit of postmodernism bashing, and resonated with Jaime’s points over and over. You can listen to Jaime’s conversation about the book with Derrick Jensen here.

The main point is that rewilding is an authentic reaction to a real and emerging material condition, sensed by many, and is a fascinating development in modern anthropology in its own right. Having experienced such a gathering first-hand now, I can’t disagree. Something real is happening out there, and I like what I see. So do many Indigenous “keepers of the flame.” Maybe complete colonization isn’t the desire of all—or even most—humans, and is in fact a rather paternalistic, condescending assumption.

Here’s a metaphor inspired by my exposure to friction-fire techniques (bow drill and hand drill). Modernity is like the spindle: kinetic; frenetic. It creates enormous friction and heat, throwing off a lot of dust: the dispossessed; disillusioned. Some of that dust falls through the cracks, essentially invisible to the machine above. Some of that dust collects into a hot coal. That’s the rewilding community. The coal is delicate and precious, to be treated like a baby. If cradled in suitable tender, it can ignite. Whether I myself become part of the coal is yet to be seen. But I can at least cradle the coal and blow gently on it, helping to nurture its survival until the conditions are right for ignition.

Old Dog

Jaime also introduced me to Mark Seely, a psychology professor who wrote (among other things) a novel called Old Dog. I recommend reading John Zerzan’s review here, who compares Old Dog to Ishmael. What follows is short, as it is difficult to improve on Zerzan’s review.

Old Dog is a mutt who has seen it all. Like Ishmael, he has an unusual knack for language comprehension (but alas, no telepathic ability). His life consisted of five main phases: family; street; education; feral pack; comfort. During this time, he develops keen insights on humans, dogs, and how domestication has fundamentally changed/reduced both. The writer who rescues Old Dog from oblivion shares many of his own compatible insights in the book.

I would characterize much of the writing as having a decidedly philosophical bent, which would ordinarily be a term of damnation from me. But it’s the “good” sort of philosophy that questions human aggrandizement and philosophical prowess, stresses a material reality, bats down counterfactual fantasy (leans into determinism), dissolves artificial boundaries fabricated by brains and language, and tries to reunite a whole that modernist brains have worked to shatter into separable shards. The book also offers lots of substantive reflections on evolution, the merits of pre-modern lifeways (anthropologically well-informed), and the emergence of modernity. For a work on this topic to stimulate rather than irritate me is rare enough to become an instant treasure. This is a book I intend to read again to better absorb some of the deep insights. The winter fireside beckons.

Don’t Sleep, There are Snakes

One of the books that was already on my radar, and then reinforced by Jaime (see how influential he’s been?) was the account of Daniel Everett—who went as an evangelical missionary to live with the Pirahã (pee-da-HAN) people of the Amazon. The Pirahã had been uniquely resistant to cultural infiltration in part because their unique language was a tough nut to crack, and because they had zero interest in adopting foreign customs and language. The literal translation of “foreign language” in Pirahã is “crooked-head.” Thus, before Daniel Everett showed up with a tremendous linguistic talent, no communication channel was fully open in either direction.

I’ll skip to the spoiler, which was pre-spoiled for me as well and a large part of the reason I wanted very badly to read the book (also revealed on the book jacket, so not a big sin, here). Everett ultimately concluded that Christianity and Western culture could not offer anything remotely as graceful and complete and satisfying as the life and culture already lived by the Pirahã: no conceivable improvements possible. That’s incredible, isn’t it? A Christian missionary was essentially converted by experiencing decades of life among a people unburdened by the trappings of modernity. He observed that for a people to accept Christianity, they must want to be saved. In order to desire salvation, they must first feel lost. He realized that the goal of many missionaries was to first smash (forbid) the “working” elements of a lifestyle so the people would become lost and therefore receptive to saving. It’s a nasty old playbook.

Everett also made clear that the conventional wisdom among missionary organizations in such situations all rested on language. The emphasis was therefore on careful linguistic study. The conviction was that once a suitable translation of the Gospels could be accomplished, conversion would be automatic. After all, the word of God is infallible, and once put into comprehensible form simply could not fail to convert anyone exposed to it. I know. One can hardly help pitying their naïve enthusiasm.

The Pirahã have an unusually low tolerance for indirect experience. A story about a man named Jesus who no living person has ever met had zero chance of holding their attention for even a few seconds. Everett’s linguistic work exposed a wealth of insight into Pirahã world views. They are remarkable in so many ways: ways that Westerners might find reflexively inferior, but who are we to judge, honestly? As crafted by their environment, they are extremely successful as a people and a culture. By contrast, modernity crafted a sixth mass extinction in no time—so there!

If you read the book, I hope you can (like the author and myself) put aside snobbery for a people so averse to abstraction that they don’t have words for colors or numbers—appreciating that there’s no one right way to live on a diverse planet, and that the true measure of success is ecological compatibility. As a bonus, the Pirahã are social and fun-loving, laughing with each other all the time. We can actually learn quite a lot from a people without numbers and suspicious of abstraction. Consider that this endorsement is from a blog whose origins are fiercely quantitative, and is in fact called Do the Math.

Civilized to Death

Capping off my summer was a rip-roaring delight of a book by Christopher Ryan. I first listened to it in audio form, which I highly recommend because it is read by the author with excellent emphasis and humor. I listened while doing outdoor chores, which means I only had 95% of my attention on the book, but loved it so much I kept replaying chapters. I probably listened to the first half of the book at least three times, it was so enjoyable. The resonance faded somewhat for the second half, though I still appreciated the content.

What I loved most about the book was the frontal assault on Hobbesian mythology about the past, together with a fantastic treatment of the “noble savage” accusation that inevitably is leveled any time any positive attribution is made toward foraging people (what does that tell you, in itself?). Ryan rakes Hobbes, Pinker, Dawkins, and other human-supremacist intellectuals over the coals, brilliantly exposing their embarrassing intellectual sloppiness. He even changed my perspective on Malthus.

The book is full of useful “correctives” on health, happiness, maturity, longevity, and cooperative aspects of foraging people. Very much in line with all the authors highlighted in this post—and with my own views—Ryan portrays post-agricultural modernity as a fatally flawed path for humans: a tragic bad turn that is fundamentally incompatible with our intrinsic nature. He characterizes us as living in captivity in a zoo of our own (very poor) design.

In the end, he advocates designing a zoo better matched to who we are as a species. I appreciate the sentiment, but lack faith that any brain-designed zoo will be at all up to the task of ecological living. As was the case through most of human history, we must—in my view—just live and experience the world as it is in its staggering complexity, rather than thinking our way into how to live. We pretty well suck at that, since what we can’t understand vastly exceeds what we can. No other creature on Earth has established a cerebral foundation for how to live, and our track record on that front is proving to be disastrous.

Consumer Advice

If, like me, you wish to minimize material toll on the planet, don’t forget the public library as a resource (can usually submit inter-library loan requests for items the local library lacks). Audiobooks are also often available via libraries (Libby or hoopla apps, for instance). Used books are not terribly hard to find online. If purchasing new, independent bookstores would appreciate the boost, or you can use bookshop.org to order as an alternative to Amazon—even designating an independent bookshop of your choice to receive some kickback as if you’d bought the book from their store.

Image by G.C. from Pixabay