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Title: Primitives and Extropians
Author: Hakim Bey
Language: en
Topics: AJODA, AJODA #42, futurist, primitivist, technology, Peter Lamborn Wilson
Source: Retrieved on August 9, 2009 from http://www.hermetic.com/bey/primitives.html

Hakim Bey

Primitives and Extropians

The anarcho-primitivists have backed themselves into a situation where

they can never be satisfied without the total dissolution of the

totality. Luddism as a tactic has much to recommend it: — on the local

level, machine-smashing can actually accomplish something. Even one or

two nuclear reactors have been shut down by “sabotage” (legal,

political, or actual) — and one can always gain at least a moment of

satisfaction with a wooden shoe or a monkey wrench. On a “global” level

however — the “strategic” level — the totality of the neo-primitive

critique of the totality itself begins to take on a disturbing air of —

totalitarianism. This can bee seen most clearly in certain strains of

“deep” ecology and “ecofascism”, but it remains an inherent problem even

in the most “left-wing” strains of primitivism. The puritan impulse —

purification, the realization of purity — imparts a certain rigidity and

aggression to all possible actions on behalf of such a total critique.

This must seem especially the case when the critique extents beyond,

say, urban civilization (or “History”) into the “prehistoric” realm of

art, music, techné, language, and symbolic mediation itself. Short of

some hypothetically “natural” evolution (or devolution) of the very

species, how precisely is such purity to be attained? Primitivism in

effect has proposed an absolute category — the “primitive” itself —

which assumes the function of a metaphysical principle. Of course the

primitive in its “true essence” remains beyond definition (beyond

symbolic mediation), but until mediation itself is abolished, the

primitive must assume (in relation to all other possible totalities) the

philosophical trappings of an imperative, and even of “doctrine”. This

brings us perilously close to the notorious violence of the sacred. The

deepest of this violence is directed at the self, since the reification

of the eschaton (either in the future or the past) precisely devalues

the present, the “place” where we are actually living our everyday

lives. But invariably the violence must be directed outwardly as well.

Fine, you say: — let the shit come down. Yet the successful resolution

of the violence (i.e., the total abolition of symbolic mediation) can

logically be defined only by a presumptive vanguard of the “pure”. The

principle of hierarchy has thus reappeared — but hierarchy contradicts

the initial premises of primitivism. This, I believe, can be called a

tragic contradiction. On the level of the individual and of everyday

life such a contradiction can only manifest as ineffectuality and

bitterness.

By contrast, the anarcho-Extropian or futurians are also forced to reify

the eschaton — since the present is obviously not the utopia of techné

they envision — by placing perfection in a future where symbolic

mediation has abolished hierarchy, rather than in a past where such

mediation has not yet appeared (the ideal Paleolithic of the

primitivists). Obviously for the Extropians, mediation per se cannot be

defined as “impurity” or as the invariable source of separation,

alienation, and hierarchy. Nevertheless, it remains obvious that such

separation does in fact occur, that it amounts to immiseration, that it

is bound up in some way with techné and mediation, that not all

technology is “liberating” according to any anarchist definition of the

term, and that some of it is downright oppressive. The Extropian

therefore lacks and needs a critique of technology, and of the

incredibly complex relation between the social and the technical. No one

with any intelligence can any longer accept the notion of technology as

“morally neutral”, with control of the means of production the only

criteria for valuation. The social and the technological are somehow

bound in a complex relation of co-creation (or “co-evolution”), such

that techné shapes cognition even as cognition shapes techné. If the

extropian vision of the future is viable it cannot depend on “machine

evolution” alone to achieve realization. But unless anarcho-futurism can

develop a critique of technology, it is relegated precisely to this

passive role. Invariably a dialectic of “good” machines and “evil”

machines is developed, or rather of good and evil modes of

social-technological relations. This rather manichaean world view

however fails to eliminate or even plaster over the contradictions which

arise from such premises, and which revolve around the “bad-fit” between

human values and machine “logic”, human autonomy and machine autonomy.

As M. de Landa pints out, the autonomous machine derives from and

defines the war machine (Taylor developed “Taylorism” while working in

an arsenal). Extropianism has marked “cyberspace” as the area of

struggle for “good” human/machine relations (e.g. the InterNet), and

this struggle has taken on the aspect of a resistance against the

“militarization” of cyberspace, its hierarchization as an “Information

Highway” under centralized management. But what if cyberspace itself is

by definition a mode of separation and a manifestation of “machine

logic”? What if the disembodiment inherent in any appearance within

cyberspace amounts to an alienation from precisely that sphere of

everyday life which extropianism hopes to transform and purge of its

miseries? If this were so, the results might very well resemble the

dystopian situations envisioned by P. K. Dick and W. Gibson; — turned

inward, this violent sense of contradiction would evoke the kind of

futility and melancholia these writers depict. Directed outward, the

violence would conjure up other SciFi models such as those of R.

Heinlein or F. Herbert, which equate “freedom” with the culture of a

technological elite.

Now, when I talk about “the return of the Paleolithic” I find myself

leaning toward the primitivist position — and have consequently been

criticized by extropians for luddoid reaction, nostalgism, and

technophobia. However, when I talk about (say) the potential use of the

InterNet in organizing a TAZ, I begin to tilt a little toward my old

SciFi enthusiasms and sound a bit like an extropian — and have

consequently been criticized by primitivists for being “soft on

technology” (like some sort of melting watch by Dali), seduced by

techno-optimism, by the illusion that separation can overcome

separation. Both these criticisms are correct to some degree, inasmuch

as my inconsistency results from an attempt to think about techné and

society without any recourse to an inviolate system of absolute

categories. On the one hand, most of my thinking about technology was

shaped by the radical ad-hoc-ism and briocolage theory of the 60’s and

70’s, the “appropriate tech” movement, which accepts the de facto link

between techné and human society, but looks for appropriate ways to

shape situations toward low-cost/maximal-pleasure tendencies. In fiction

a model is attempted by B. Sterling in his short-story “Green Days in

Brunei”, a brilliant imagining of low-tech non-authoritarian solutions

to “3^(rd) world” over-population and poverty. In “real” life a smaller

but most exquisite model is provided by the New Alchemy Institute, which

turns polluted sinkholes into arcadian springs with low green

technologies in cheap installations which are aesthetically beautiful.

On the other hand, I prefer the burden of inconsistency (even “foolish”

inconsistency) to the burden of the Absolute.

Only an impure theory can do justice to the impunity of the present —

which, as everyone knows, is only a psychological impossibility caught

between a lost past and a nonexistent future. “Everyday life” is not a

category — even “the body” is not a category. Life — and the body — are

“full of holes”, permeable, grotesque — ad hoc constructions already

compromised with an impure empiricism, fated to “drift”, to

“relativism”, and to the sheer messiness of the organic. And yet it is

“precisely” here, in this imprecise area of contradiction and “vulgar

existentialism”, that the creative act of autonomy and

self-actualization must be accomplished. Critiques can be directed at

the past or future, but praxis can only occur in the impure and

ontologically unstable here-and-now. I don’t want to abandon the

critique of past-and-future — in fact I need it, in the form of a

utopian poetics, in order to situate praxis in the context of a

tradition (of festivity and of resistance) and of an anti-tradition (of

utopian “hope”). But I cannot allow this critique to harden into an

eschatology. I ask of theory that it remain flexible in regard to

situations, and able to define values in terms of “the struggle for

empirical freedoms” (as one modern-day Zapatista put it). “Revolution”

no less than Religion has been guilty of promising “pie in the sky” (as

Joe Hill put it) — but the real problem of theory is (as Alice put it)

“jam today.” The concept of the TAZ was never intended as an abandonment

of past or future — the TAZ existed, and will exist — but rather as a

means to maximize autonomy and pleasure for as many individuals and

groups as possible as soon as possible — even here and now. The TAZ

exists — the purpose of the theory has been simply to notice it, help it

to define itself, become “politically conscious”. The past and future

help us to know our “true” (revolutionary) desires — but only the

present can realize them — only the living body, for all its grotesque

imperfection.

Suppose we were to ask — as anarchists — what should be done about the

problem of technology “after the revolution”. This exercise in utopian

poetics may help us to clarify the question of desire, and of praxis in

the “present”. The primitivist might argue that there can be no

revolution without the abolition of symbolic mediation, or at least of

the technological imperative; extropians might say that no revolution

can occur without technological transcendence. But both parties must

perforce admit a transitional stage, when de facto power has been seized

by the “Revolution”, but the full unfolding of revolutionary society has

yet to occur. Let’s imagine that the one rough principle agreed upon by

“everyone” is the freedom of the individual from coercion by the group,

and the freedom of the (self-organized) group from coercion by all other

groups. The only “price” of this freedom is that it damage no other free

and autonomous interests. This would seem to be a minimalistic but

adequate definition of basic anarchism. At this point the primitivist

may hold that the dialectic of freedom moves irrevocably toward the

re-appearance of the Paleolithic, albeit at a “higher” and more

conscious level than the first time around, since this re-appearance

will have been announced by revolution, by consciousness. Similarly at

this point the extropian may argue that the further unfolding of freedom

can only be envisioned as self-directed evolution through the

co-creation of humanity and its technology. Fine and dandy. But now

what? Are these two anarchist tendencies going to become armies and

fight it out to the last recalcitrant computer jock or neo-wild-man? Are

they going to force their visions of the future on each other? Would

such action be consistent with the basic anarchist premise of — mutual

non-coercion? Or would it reveal each of these tendencies to be flawed

by destructive and tragic contradictions? I’ve said before that in such

a situation, the problem of technology can be solved only by the

principle of revolutionary desire. Since we’ve “ruled out” coercion of

all those who accept the premise of mutual non-coercion, all competing

models of utopia are submitted to the crucible of desire. How much do I

want a computer? I can’t force Taiwanese and Mexican women to make

silicon chips for slave wages. I can’t pollute other peoples’ air with

some outrageous plastic factory to make consoles. I’m free to have a

computer, but I must meet the price of mutual non-coercion. Or — how

much do I want the wilderness? I can’t force people to get out of “my”

forest now because it’s also “their” forest. I can do what I want with

“my share” of the forest, but only at the agreed-upon price. If my

neighbors desire to plant wheat, or hand-craft fine computers, so long

as they respect my “Nature” I must respect their “Culture”. Of course we

may wrangle about “acceptable emission standards” or forest preservation

— about the appropriateness of a given technological or

non-technological “solution” in a given situation — but we will accept

the price of mutual non-coercion in the form of mess and compromise,

impurity and imperfection — because “empirical freedoms” are worth more

to us than categorical imperatives.

Of course, everyone if free to play this game of utopian poetics with

different “rules”, and different results. After all, the future does not

exist. However, I would like to push the implications of my

thought-experiment a bit further. I suspect that this “utopia” would

prove disappointing to both the primitives and the extropians. I suspect

that a workable utopia would adhere more closely to the “messy” model

than to either of the “pure” models of the pro-tech/anti-tech theorists.

Like bolo’bolo, I imagine a complex multiplicity of social models

co-existing under the voluntary aegis of the social “price” of mutual

non-coercion. In effect the primitivists will get less wilderness than

they demand, and the extropians will get less tech. Nevertheless, all

but the most fanatical extremists on either side will be reconciled to

the messy utopia of desire — or so I predict — because it will be

organized around pleasure and surplus, rather than the denial and

scarcity expressed by the totality. The desire for wilderness will be

fratified at a level undreamed since the early Neolithic, and the desire

for creativity and even co-creation will be gratified at a level

undreamed by the wildest science fiction. In both cases the means for

this enjoyment can only be called appropriate techné — green, low

energy, high information. I don’t believe in the abolition of symbolic

mediation, and I don’t believe that separation can overcome separation.

But I do hypothesize the possibility of a much more immediate and

satisfactory experience of creation and conviviality through the human

(animal/animate) scaling of economy and technology — and this, however

untidy, I would call utopia.

If I have disagreed with both primitives and extropians here, it was not

to reject them as allies. The only useful purpose served by our “after

the Revolution” game is to shed light on our present situation, and our

possible options for concrete action here and now (more or less). It

seems to me that both the P’s and E’s are quite capable of grasping the

theory of “messiness” and the “impure” model of the TAZ. A night, a

week, a month of relative autonomy, relative satisfaction, relative

realization, would be worth far more to most anarchists than a whole

lifetime of absolute bitterness, resentment, and nostalgia for the past

or future. The most enthusiastic cyberpunk can still embrace the “festal

body”, and the most savage primitives have been known to succumb to

civilized impurities such as beer, or art. I fear that a few diehards in

both camps will still sneer at our enjoyment — of the impure TAZ or the

impure uprising — because it falls short of the perfect revolution. But

realization arises only from direct experience, from participation. They

themselves admit this. And yet action is always impure, always

incomplete. Are they too fastidious? Will nothing suit them both the

void — wither of wilderness, or of cyberspace? Are they dandies of the

Absolute?

The TAZ project is one of indiscriminate syncretism, not of exclusion.

By disagreeing with both parties we are attempting to reconcile them —

at least pro tem — to a sort of “united front” or ad hoc tendency,

determined to experiment now with various modes of contestation as well

as enjoyment, of struggle as well as celebration. The palimpsest of all

utopian theories and desires — including all redundancies and

repetitions — forms the matrix of an anti-authoritarian movement capable

of “lumping together” the mess of anarchist, libertarian, syndicalist,

council communist, post-situationist, primitivist, extropian and other

“free” tendencies. This “union”-without-uniformity will not be driven

(or riven) by ideology, but by a kind of insurrectionary “noise” or

chaos of TAZ’s, uprisings, refusals, and epiphanies. Into the “final”

totality of global capital it will release a hundred blooming flowers, a

thousand, a million memes of resistance, of difference, of non-ordinary

consciousness — the will to power as “strangeness”. And as capital

retreats deeper and deeper into cyberspace, or into disembodiment,

leaving behind itself the empty shells of spectacular control, our

complexity of anti-authoritarian and autonomist tendencies will begin to

see the re-appearance of the Social.

But at this present moment the TAZ (in its broadest possible sense)

seems to be the only manifestation of the possibility of radical

conviviality. Every non-authoritarian tendency should support the TAZ

because only there (aside from the imagination) can an authentic taste

of life without oppression be experienced. The vital question now

concerns the “technology” of the TAZ, i.e., the means for potentiating

and manifesting it most clearly and strongly. Compared to this question,

the problems of technology (or of zero-technology) take on an air of

theological debate — a ghostly and querulous other-worldliness. My

critics have a point — but it’s aimed somewhere about 10,000 years in

the past, or “five minutes into the future”, and misses the mark.

I must admit that my own taste inclines neither toward Wilderness World

nor spaceship Earth as exclusive categories. I actually spend far more

time defending wildness than “civilization”, because it is far more

threatened. I yearn for the re-appearance of Nature out of Culture — but

not for the eradication of all symbolic mediation. The word “choice” has

been so devalued lately. Let’s say I’d prefer a world of indeterminacy,

of rich ambiguity, of complex impurities. My critics, apparently, do

not. I find much to admire and desire in both their models, but can’t

for even a moment believe in either of them as totalities. Their

futurity or eschatology bores me, unless I can mix it into the stew of

the TAZ — or use it to magic the TAZ into active existence — to tease

the TAZ into action. The TAZ is “broad-minded” enough to entertain more

than two, or even six, impossible ideas “before breakfast”. The TAZ is

always “bigger” than the mere ideas which inspire it. Even at its

smallest and most intimate the TAZ englobes all “totalities”, and packs

them into the same kaleidoscope conceptual space, the “imaginal world”

which is always so closely related to the TAZ, and which burns with the

same fire. My brain may not be able to reconcile the wilderness and

cyberspace, but the TAZ can do so — in fact, has already done so. And

yet the TAZ is no totality, but merely a leaky sieve — which, in the

fairy tale, can carry milk or even become a boat. For the TAZ,

technology is like that paper fan in the Zen story, which first becomes

a “fan”, then a device for scooping cake, and finally a silent breeze.