by Ethan Johnson
November 26, 2007

Earlier this year, I wrote about Breatharianism:

Breatharian thought (as I am defining it here) is rooted deeply in "keeping up appearances", and is identifiable either through covert activities to create a specific impression, or overt actions that oppose the stated ideal. But this differs from mere hypocrisy in that the hypocrite is loathed because he or she doesn't even bother to act in the manner that he or she claims to be the ideal, such as the finger-wagging moralist who snorts cocaine and enjoys horse porn. Hypocrisy in the business sense would be declaring "keeping jobs safe at home" to be the ideal while outsourcing 99% of the company's operations overseas. Breatharianism in the business sense would be to claim that sole entrepreneurship is the key to success, only to reveal that a virtual army of outsourced labor/resources was pressed into service to keep the business afloat.

Two items have recently entered the national bloodstream that speak to the above. One is a book, and another a movie (based on a book). I will try to keep "spoilers" to a minimum, however if you plan to read Better Off by Eric Brende or see Into the Wild at the movies, you may want to skip this article altogether but couch the above quoted text in the back of your mind somewhere.

I have not read or seen Into the Wild yet, but the author wrote Under the Banner of Heaven about, among other things, the history of Mormonism. I liked that book, and would like to read his other stuff. In the meantime, Sean Penn was on the Oprah show some time ago to promote the movie version of Into the Wild, which might be condensed into his pithy yet profound statement concerning the setting of the movie's climax: "Nature is unforgiving." Parenthetically, on a smaller scale I can attest to this during my morning walks. There's a reason, for instance, why squirrels go kookie rounding up acorns. Right now, there is nyet sustinence other than litter along the walking path. So imagine someplace a bit more "natural", like the Alaskan wilderness. Now haul your idealistic self up there with little or nothing and try to live off of the land. Obituary authors are standing by.

Elisa Camahort offered up a spoiler-y review of the movie, which may be read here. The crux of this article lies in this quote, which shouldn't spoil the movie too terribly, but again, you were warned at the top about spoilers real or imagined:

[H]is [Chris McCandless, the subject of the film] ethics were tempered by realities, which were sometimes accommodated in seemingly hypocritical ways. He didn't want a car and possessions, for example, but that meant that sometimes he had to stick out his thumb and reap the benefits of other people's cars and possessions.

Parenthetically, Jesus reportedly did the same thing, but with more of a support system. He didn't advocate the absolute banishment of possessions in and of themselves, but rather, spoke out against the attachments to "things" that can prevent one from following the path of the Christ. One may be so hardline as to call any personal effects hypocritical in the face of statements like "give away all of your possessions," but on balance I dare say that sandals and a tunic hardly qualify as "riches" or being burdened with "stuff".

Which brings me to a book that I was so disgusted with that I couldn't bear to read through all of it: Better Off by Eric Brende. The premise, in short, was that 2 people (but the author dominates the story) decided to spend 18 months living in an Amish-esque farm community and try to eschew technology and labor-saving devices. The plot was compelling enought to goad me into cracking the cover, but things turned sour quickly thereafter.

I can't completely spike the book and declare it worthless, as some salient points were made and noted accordingly. For instance, the author suggests that humans are generally averse to say, working out at the gym not only because of the time and expense involved, but because the environment is designed to make the person focus on the act of exercise itself, which can be distasteful (unless you really get off on exercising). Instead, he argues, chuck most, if not all "labor saving" devices and do the task the hard way, but with others. The work will get done in a social manner, and the social bonding and overall good times will overshadow the side benefit of getting exercise. I have found this to be true, specifically the "talk and work" method employed during my blue collar days. Work, even when it is a drudgery, is that much more enjoyable with people you can socialize and bond with. The cubicle farms of the white collar world run counter to this.

However, idealism aside, the manner in which this book is presented is so grating (to me) that I finally had to cut bait and skip to the final chapter. From the get-go, the author seems overly eager to make the case that he is all about the low-tech solution, whether it is planting a garden by hand or riding a bicycle around town. I don't disagree that these are rewarding, (relatively) low-tech experiences. But the author really grinds me with his "Breatharian" bravado: "I planted a garden by hand! Well, I mean the garden was already there, and gifted to us, but I used a hoe to pull weeds!" But see, the hoe was manufactured by someone, somehow. He didn't snap off a tree branch and fashion it into a crude gardening tool. It is this sort of "it's the ideal except when it isn't" nonsense that sapped me of my will to plow through the 200 or so pages.

A reviewer at Amazon.com had this to add:

He has absolutely no compunction to set aside his ideals, exploit the love of his wife and the polite hospitality of their neighbors and their children for his own ends.This is then brushed away by the author as he feels he is doing all these hardworking, earnest non-Amish a favor, since his experience of manual labor is so refreshingly pleasant, he is merely spreading that joy around by allowing these kind people the opportunity to do his work for him.

I find it interesting, also, that although he goes to great pains to describe every shaft of light and every menial task of homestead life in the same glowingly romantic prose, it doesn't take him long to tire of it and begin a slow creep back into technology. By the end of the book he is driving a motorized rickshaw and/or old SUV through the heart of St Louis, shopping at the grocery store, carrying a cell phone, making photocopies, borrowing power tools, using the internet, watching TV at friend's houses and dining out once a week. So much for his glowing appreciation for the "peace and quiet" and "heaven" of the country. So much for his uplifting, beautiful experience performing manual labor.

When I spoke earlier of Breatharianism, this would-be practice boils down to this: Other than food and drink, I live solely on [pure energy/osmosis]. Brende's approach to low tech idealism is, as the reviewer noted, to own as few high tech devices as possible, and take advantage of those who have already made the investment in these things. (Or, "I eschew all forms of technology except for my car, my house, my access to a bustling metropolis, the internet, other people's TV sets...") Now, I don't completely disagree with the practice. For example, he uses the internet at the local library. Nothing wrong with that. Heck, there's a case to be made for checking out books for a few weeks at a time rather than owning a vast library of - let's be honest here - accelerant. Local park districts have provided all sorts of land and facilities for public use. Why not take advantage of these municipal amenities (assuming they exist)?

I chafe at the insistence that none of this "stuff" played a significant role in the author's reported well being. He comes clean at the end and admits that living in the heart of St. Louis isn't an option for everyone, nor is tending your own old-fashioned farm. What I had hoped for was more honest (as opposed to fiercely idealistic) feedback about how much or how little technology, let alone "stuff" one might require to live a productive life. In fairness, that's a pretty subjective question; the answer to which may not be to my personal liking. I would have appreciated some insight as to say, where the author found the line to be drawn in a given instance where some sort of technological solution was necessary. He does do this on occasion, usually to justify backsliding into old habits, such as sneaking a drive in his car.

In this time of rising energy costs and concerns about Climate Change/Global Warming, and interest in ways to live in a more "eco-friendly" fashion, the messages espoused by Into the Wild and Better Off may be either endearing or infuriating, but at root, worth considering. I live in an area that is fraught with "conspicuous consumption", and for my part I am interesting in paring down. "Stuff" can be comforting, but also confining. "Eco" types encourage the 3 Rs of environmental friendliness: Reduce, re-use, recycle. I suggest a 4th R: Reconsider. The best expenditure can be the one that is never made. It's the electronic doo-dad that wasn't really necessary on second thought. It's not switching to CFL light bulbs, but rather utilizing natural light or reconsidering what activity required the artificial light source.

As for living more communally, if not opportunistically, I suppose it works for some, and necessarily cannot work (currently) for all. I'd like to see and hear more honesty about such arrangements and who is shouldering what load, how. Otherwise, like the Breatharians, bad things happen when the "unnecessary" part of one's living arrangement falls away, only to reveal how critical it was. Food and water for the Breatharians, established communities and infrastructure for the minimalists. <EM>