Robinson Crusoe

This is a truly excellent book, and I wish I'd read it several years ago. I recommend it thoroughly.

My enjoyment, however, was somewhat diminished by the truly awful introduction,written by L. J. Swingle, in which that notable presumes to explain a thoroughly self-explanatory work to an audience that he supposes cannot grasp the idea of a self-sufficient man. He is most emphatic in asserting that no one in today's culture could find the book even remotely realistic. Defoe is guilty, somehow, of cheating, because Crusoe finds himself in circumstances that favor his survival and even allow him to flourish.

I hasten to disagree. Most men find themselves in circumstances well-suited to their survival; just look at how many of us there are! What is absolutely vital is for them to recognize this fact and apply themselves to making the best use of those circumstances that they can manage.

It is not any surprise, then, that Swingle fails to grasp the purpose and value of Crusoe's religious experiments and explorations, which accompany his physical efforts throughout the book. The religion (in the sense of a sort of philosophy) is in large part just as much a survival issue as food and shelter. Without grasping the idea that he was well-situated on his island and content with its simple pleasures, Crusoe would have doubtless engaged in many fruitless and dangerous escape attempts. He would not have planted his barley and rice or domesticated goats, not anticipating many future years on the island, and his situation would have become dire as soon as he ran short of powder and shot.

Swingle also dwells uselessly on Crusoe's supposed exploitation, both of his natural resources and of the savage he later acquires for his "slave", Friday. I have to say that on reading the book I recieved quite a different impression. Such exploitation consisted of: killing numerous wild animals to protect himself and his stores, and saving a man who was the captive of cannibals from certain death. I know I would be eager to enter into the service of someone that assisted me in that way, especially since he so obviously knew how to provide sustainence for us both. It's called having a job. In a world full of dangerous and untrustworthy men, I'd be in a hurry to cling to the honest ones that I'd found.

Swingle's failure to grasp that Defoe's work is as applicable to the modern day as to any other time is just another demonstration as to how detached modern intellectuals are from the business of living.