In many ways Mark Boyle's The Way Home is an updated, or perhaps refactored, take on Thoreau's classic Walden. I mean this in the most favorable way; Walden is a book that can use both Though it is infused with wonderful quotes and ideas, Walden is a bit difficult to read, and so it is widely misread. I must admit I had a hard time getting into Walden, and wrote as much all those years ago. In fact, if someone is interested in reading Walden for the first time, I suggest they read The Way Home first.
I had respected Mark Boyle for his experiment with moneylessness and his write-up in The Moneyless Man, but with The Way Home Mark Boyle takes it to the next level. I found the book so lovely and readable that I dedicated the better part of a day to it, appropriately not getting on my computer that day.
Like Walden, The Way Home begins with a statement of purpose and then unfolds by following the seasons. Thoreau had taken artistic license to make a composite out of his two years he spent at his tiny house he made by hand near Walden Pond. In Boyle's case, at the time of the book's publication, he had spent ten years living more directly with his environment, first with three years of moneylessness and the rest living "without technology." Boyle addresses how this second project is more nebulous; after-all, spending money is a perfectly clear "bright line" -- either you spend money or you don't -- whereas there are many grey areas for technology, including the fact that language itself is a technology. Boyle concludes that he is less interested in black and white thinking, which I admit is a good way out of the problem, leaving the responsibility of a good faith reading where it belongs: with the reader.
For the most part my definition of neo-luddite applies to Boyle
pursuing older technologies, but (usually) with-in the constraints of hat is still easily available; a preference for hand tools.But of course Boyle is more hard-core in his execution than I will ever be (circumstances out of my control notwithstanding).
ii) Philosophy of Drudgery.
It doesn't take very much reading between the lines to figure out how much tough, physical work Boyle has to do to maintain his lifestyle -- wood chopping, water gathering, humanure composting, dressing carcasses for nearly all of the complete protein he eats. I have personally had many life-style experiments derailed by far less discomfort. While I am open to the possibility that there are variables I could tweak, such as seeing more people, it is hard for me to avoid feelings of depression when every option I have in some way hurts. I can't imagine going to the lengths Boyle goes.
Boyle himself discusses how he doesn't find washing his clothes by hand to be pleasant:
. . . I have seen a washing machine, I know exactly how quick and efficient they are. And I was brought up by a generation who were only too keen to swap the hardship of hand washing for the flick of a switch. So I accept that I'm probably never going to enjoy it, especially as lang as it remains a lonely, isolated process far removed from any social ritual (pg 141).He contrasts this with a report he'd heard of women in Pakistan going to the river to do laundry together, chatting and enjoying themselves. This seems to support the idea that the reason I have never been able to lean into that much labor for long is that it has never been a social experience.
Also, to embrace the practices, one would have to build a body for it. One reason I allowed myself a day to read the book was because I felt so sore from the amount of air squats I had done the day before. Perhaps if you are fit enough, this much work can be looked at as a type of play. Perhaps. But if the average person is like me, they are months, maybe years away from being able to do Boyle's level of work, even if they wanted to.
Boyle is a philosopher in the truest sense of the word. His concept of meditation is a type of living-in-the-moment focus that comes from doing tasks that hurt if down inattentively. Boyle mentions three at various times in the book: picking stinging nettles, carving a wooden spoon, and sharpening a scythe. I remain skeptical how much preferable this type of meditation is, but it is an idea Boyle clearly both believes in and embodies.
iii) With Misanthropes Like This . . .
I am glad Boyle will probably never see the online reviews of his book. I, however, did, trying to see how much of my work in commenting on the book was already done for me, and thinking, very humanly but mistakenly, that it would be good to get a "feel" for peoples' opinions in this manner. (When will I ever fully learn)? Let me pick out a very bad criticism: that Boyle is a misanthrope. Seeing this, I replied:
Boyle is apparently the type of deep-seated misanthrope who talks to his neighbors everyday and drops whatever he is doing to help [them]. The kind of misanthrope that travels for several hours to go to events at pubs. The kind that runs a free hostel on his property. . .I think the children of Modernity, particularly Americans, are very inclined to mis-read books like Walden or The Way Home. The reader activates a mental stereotype of "the rugged individual," and then assumes the author is consciously trying to perform to that stereotype. This as a general rule is false -- you get to such an alternative lifestyle by perceiving and thinking for yourself. Furthermore, the only way 99% of people can sustain any lifestyle is to have an adequate amount of human contact. To learn about Thoreau's contact with people see the book The Thoreau You Don't Know, this article, or just read Walden closer and notice all the scenes he is interacting with people. In Boyle's case, he is even more explicit about how many people he is connected to.
Boyle and Thoreau are more rugged than most people would think, but far less individual.
