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Growing up, I had been fed a steady diet of anti-marijuana propaganda and stoner stereotypes that included Cheech and Chong, Jeff Spicoli ("Fast Times at Ridgemont High"), John Bender ("The Breakfast Club"), and later, the lecherous Lester Burnham ("American Beauty"). Watching these movies, I never once got the impression that marijuana use was a good idea, or that "successful" people smoked pot. In fact, the message was just the opposite; these people were nothing but riffraff, losers and miscreants who could not get off the couch or formulate a clear idea if their lives depended on it.
No, popular culture during the '70s, '80s, and '90s generally did not proffer any respectable pot-smoking personages. Perhaps these and other stereotypes of marijuana users are not that surprising given the fact that the United States government and a throng of pot-fearing citizens have had the last century to create and nurture them. But given everything we now know, I think it's high time that we broadened our discussions of pot's importance to include the perspectival, intellectual and, dare I say, empathic value of the plant.
I first became aware of this unsung utility many years ago after meeting a man whom I will call Holt. For although Holt would smoke every day, he was a direct and sobering rebuttal of all the negative and scary things that I had been taught to associate with marijuana. He wasn't a lost, punk kid or a loser, misfit, drop out, sexual deviant or escapist. Far from it. He was extremely articulate and thoughtful, a visionary teacher, an accomplished writer and a full professor at a tier one research university.
As someone who had been taught to fear marijuana and its mind-altering effects, I found Holt's regular use of the plant both troubling and fascinating. Could it be that marijuana might actually improve our mental lives and in turn make us better human beings, despite all I seen and heard to the contrary? This appeared to be the case with Holt but, not wanting to make any assumptions, one afternoon when we were hiking in the Superstition Mountains I asked him why he got high.
"Well, Max," he said in that low, woody voice of his. "Look around. What do you see?"
I did as I was instructed and saw for miles in every direction. Then I turned to him and said, "Everything?"
Holt laughed a little. "Maybe not everything," he said, passing me the canteen. "But clearly you can see more than you would if you were way down there." Holt pointed to the desert floor below us.
"True," I said. "Height does seem to have its advantages."
Of course Holt and I were speaking metaphorically, but it's also true that as humans we have always sought out high vantage points from which we could more fully survey, exploit and, ultimately, survive our environment. What if, far from being an impediment to (in)sight, marijuana is the mental equivalent to the mountain top, and just one more tool we can use to promote greater awareness of ourselves, other people and the world we share?
Not until Utah finds the courage to reject the prevailing, irrational marijuana narrative will it ever truly live up to its motto, "Life Elevated."
Maximilian Werner is the author of four books including "Gravity Hill" and "Evolved: Chronicles of a Pleistocene Mind." His next book, "The Bone Pile: Essays on Nature and Culture," will be published in the fall.