by Daniel Quinn
“I know the animal,” I replied briefly, as if I might know thousands more like him.
“Might go twenty–five hundred,” he said.
“Trouble is, I don’t have twenty–five hundred.”
“See, I already got a painter in New Mexico workin’ on a sign for me,” he said. “Paid him two hundred in advance.”
“Uh huh. I could probably raise fifteen hundred.”
“Don’t see how I could go below twenty–two, that’s a fact.”
The fact was, if it was right there in my hand, he’d be delighted to take two thousand. Maybe even eighteen hundred. I said I’d think about it.
2
It was a Friday night, so the suckers didn’t start going home till after eleven and my senectuous bribee didn’t come round to collect his twenty dollars till midnight. Ishmael was asleep sitting up, still bundled up in his blankets, and I didn’t feel any qualms about waking him; I wanted him to reassess the charms of the independent life.
He yawned, sneezed twice, cleared his throat of a mass of phlegm, and fixed me in a bleary, malevolent glare.
“Come back tomorrow,” he said in the equivalent of a mental croak.
“Tomorrow’s Saturday—hopeless.”
He wasn’t happy about it, but he knew I was right. He managed to put off the inevitable by laboriously rearranging himself, his cage, and his blankets. Then he settled down and gave me a look of loathing.
“Where did we leave off?”
“We left off with a new pair of names for the Takers and the Leavers: Those who know good and evil and those who live in the hands of the gods.”
He grunted.
3
“What happens to people who live in the hands of the gods?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what happens to people who live in the hands of the gods that does not happen to people who build their lives on the knowledge of good and evil?”
“Well, let’s see,” I said. “I don’t suppose this is what you’re getting at, but this is what comes to mind. People who live in the hands of the gods don’t make themselves rulers of the world and force everyone to live the way they live, and people who know good and evil do.”
“You’ve turned the question round back to front,” said Ishmael. “I asked what happens to people who live in the hands of the gods that doesn’t happen to those who know good and evil, and you told me just the opposite: what doesn’t happen to people who live in the hands of the gods that does happen to those who know good and evil.”
“You mean you’re looking for something positive that happens to people who live in the hands of the gods.”
“That’s right.”
“Well, they do tend to let the people around them live the way they want to live.”
“You’re telling me something they do, not something that happens to them. I’m trying to focus your attention on the effects of this life–style.”
“I’m sorry. I’m afraid I just don’t know what you’re getting at.”
“You do, but you’re not used to thinking about it in these terms.”
“Okay.”
“You remember the question we started out to answer when you arrived this afternoon: How did man become man? We’re still after the answer to that question.”
I groaned, fully and frankly.
“Why do you groan?” Ishmael asked.
“Because questions of that generality intimidate me. How did man become man? I don’t know. He just did it. He did it the way birds became birds and the way that horses became horses.”
“Exactly so.”
“Don’t do that to me,” I told him.
“Evidently you don’t understand what you just said.”
“Probably not.”
“I’ll try to clarify it for you. Before you were Homo, you were what?”
“Australopithecus.”
“Good. And how did Australopithecus become Homo?”
“By waiting.”
“Please. You’re here to think.”
“Sorry.”
“Did Australopithecus become Homo by saying, ‘We know good and evil as well as the gods, so there’s no need for us to live in their hands the way rabbits and lizards do. From now on we will decide who lives and who dies on this planet, not the gods.’ ”
“No.”
“Could they have become man by saying that?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because they would have ceased to be subject to the conditions under which evolution takes place.”
“Exactly. Now you can answer the question: What happens to people—to creatures in general—who live in the hands of the gods?”
“Ah. Yes, I see. They evolve.”
“And now you can answer the question I posed this morning: How did man become man?”
“Man became man by living in the hands of the gods.”
“By living the way the Bushmen of Africa live.”
“That’s right.”
“By living the way the Kreen–Akrore of Brazil live.”
“Right again.”
“Not the way Chicagoans live?”
“No.”
“Or Londoners?”
“No.”
“So now you know what happens to people who live in the hands of the gods.”
“Yes. They evolve.”
“Why do they evolve?”
“Because they’re in a position to evolve. Because that’s where evolution takes place. Pre–man evolved into early man because he was out there competing with all the rest. Pre–man evolved into early man because he didn’t take himself out of the competition, because he was still in the place where natural selection is going on.”
“You mean he was still a part of the general community of life.”
“That’s right.”
“And that’s why it all happened—why Australopithecus became Homo habilis and why Homo habilis became Homo erectus and why Homo erectus became Homo sapiens and why Homo sapiens became Homo sapiens sapiens.”
“Yes.”
“And then what happened?”
“And then the Takers said, ‘We’ve had enough of living in the hands of the gods. No more natural selection for us, thanks very much.’ ”
“And that was that.”
“And that was that.”
“You remember I said that to enact a story is to live so as to make it come true.”
“Yes.”
“According to the Taker story, creation came to an end with man.”
“Yes. So?”
“How would you live so as to make that come true? How would you live so as to make creation come to an end with man?”
“Oof. I see what you mean. You would live the way the Takers live. We’re definitely living in a way that’s going to put an end to creation. If we go on, there will be no successor to man, no successor to chimpanzees, no successor to orangutans, no successor to gorillas—no successor to anything alive now. The whole thing is going to come to an end with us. In order to make their story come true, the Takers have to put an end to creation itself—and they’re doing a damned good job of it.”
4
“When we began and I was trying to help you find the premise of the Taker story, I told you that the Leaver story has an entirely different premise.”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps you’re ready to articulate that premise now.”
“I don’t know. At the moment I can’t even think of the Taker premise.”
“It’ll come back to you. Every story is a working out of a premise.”
“Yes, okay. The premise of the Taker story is the world belongs to man.” I thought for a couple of minutes, then I laughed. “It’s almost too neat. The premise of the Leaver story is man belongs to the world.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning—” I barked a laugh. “It’s really too much.”
“Go on.”
“It
means that, right from the beginning, everything that ever lived belonged to the world—and that’s how things came to be this way. Those single–celled creatures that swam in the ancient oceans belonged to the world, and because they did, everything that followed came into being. Those club–finned fish offshore of the continents belonged to world, and because they did, the amphibians eventually came into being. And because the amphibians belonged to the world, the reptiles eventually came into being. And because the reptiles belonged to the world, the mammals eventually came into being. And because the mammals belonged to the world, the primates eventually came into being. And because the primates belonged to the world, Australopithecus eventually came into being. And because Australopithecus belonged to the world, man eventually came into being. And for three million years man belonged to the world—and because he belonged to the world, he grew and developed and became brighter and more dexterous until one day he was so bright and dexterous that we had to call him Homo sapiens sapiens, which means that he was us.”
“And that’s the way the Leavers lived for three million years—as if they belonged to the world.”
“That’s right. And that’s how we came into being.”
5
Ishmael said, “We know what happens if you take the Taker premise, that the world belongs to man.”
“Yes, that’s a disaster.”
“And what happens if you take the Leaver premise, that man belongs to the world?”
“Then creation goes on forever.”
“How does that sound?”
“It has my vote.”
6
“Something occurs to me,” I said.
“Yes?”
“It occurs to me that the story I just told is in fact the story the Leavers have been enacting here for three million years. The Takers’ story is, ‘The gods made the world for man, but they botched the job, so we had to take matters into our own, more competent hands.’ The Leavers’ story is, ‘The gods made man for the world, the same way they made salmon and sparrows and rabbits for the world; this seems to have worked pretty well so far, so we can take it easy and leave the running of the world to the gods.’ ”
“That’s right. There are other ways to tell it, just as there are other ways to tell the story of the Takers, but this way of telling it is as good as any.”
I sat there for a while. “I’m thinking about… the meaning of the world, divine intentions in the world, and the destiny of man. According to this story.”
“Go ahead.”
“The meaning of the world… I think the third chapter of Genesis had it right. It’s a garden—the gods’ garden. I say this even though I myself very much doubt that gods have anything to do with it. I just find this a wholesome and encouraging way to think of it.”
“I understand.”
“And there are two trees in the garden, one for the gods and one for us. The one for them is the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, and the one for us is the Tree of Life. But we can only find the Tree of Life if we stay in the garden—and we can only stay in the garden if we keep our hands off the gods’ tree.”
Ishmael gave me a nod of encouragement.
“Divine intentions… It would seem… There is a sort of tendency in evolution, wouldn’t you say? If you start with those ultrasimple critters in the ancient seas and move up step by step to everything we see here now—and beyond—then you have to observe a tendency toward… complexity. And toward self–awareness and intelligence. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes.”
“That is, all sorts of creatures on this planet appear to be on the verge of attaining that self–awareness and intelligence. So it’s definitely not just humans that the gods are after. We were never meant to be the only players on this stage. Apparently the gods intend this planet to be a garden filled with creatures that are self–aware and intelligent.”
“So it would appear. And if this is so, then man’s destiny would seem to be plain.”
“Yes. Amazingly enough, it is plain—because man is the first of all these. He’s the trailblazer, the pathfinder. His destiny is to be the first to learn that creatures like man have a choice: They can try to thwart the gods and perish in the attempt—or they can stand aside and make some room for all the rest. But it’s more than that. His destiny is to be the father of them all—I don’t mean by direct descent. By giving all the rest their chance—the whales and the dolphins and the chimps and the raccoons—he becomes in some sense their progenitor…. Oddly enough, it’s even grander than the destiny the Takers dreamed up for us.”
“How so?”
“Just think. In a billion years, whatever is around then, whoever is around then, says, ‘Man? Oh yes, man! What a wonderful creature he was! It was within his grasp to destroy the entire world and to trample all our futures into the dust—but he saw the light before it was too late and pulled back. He pulled back and gave the rest of us our chance. He showed us all how it had to be done if the world was to go on being a garden forever. Man was the role model for us all!’ ”
“Not a shabby destiny.”
“Not a shabby destiny by any means. And it occurs to me that this…”
“Yes?”
“This gives a little shape to the story. The world is a very, very fine place. It wasn’t a mess. It didn’t need to be conquered and ruled by man. In other words, the world doesn’t need to belong to man—but it does need man to belong to it. Some creature had to be the first to go through this, had to see that there were two trees in the garden, one that was good for gods and one that was good for creatures. Some creature had to find the way, and if that happened, then… there was just no limit to what could happen here. In other words, man does have a place in the world, but it’s not his place to rule. The gods have that in hand. Man’s place is to be the first. Man’s place is to be the first without being the last. Man’s place is to figure out how it’s possible to do that—and then to make some room for all the rest who are capable of becoming what he’s become. And maybe, when the time comes, it’s man’s place to be the teacher of all the rest who are capable of becoming what he’s become. Not the only teacher, not the ultimate teacher. Maybe only the first teacher, the kindergarten teacher—but even that wouldn’t be too shabby. And do you know what?”
“What?”
“All along, I’ve been saying to myself, ‘Yes, this is all very interesting, but what good is it? This isn’t going to change anything!’ ”
“And now?”
“This is what we need. Not just stopping things. Not just less of things. People need something positive to work for. They need a vision of something that… I don’t know. Something that…”
“I think what you’re groping for is that people need more than to be scolded, more than to be made to feel stupid and guilty. They need more than a vision of doom. They need a vision of the world and of themselves that inspires them.”
“Yes. Definitely. Stopping pollution is not inspiring. Sorting your trash is not inspiring. Cutting down on fluorocarbons is not inspiring. But this… thinking of ourselves in a new way, thinking of the world in a new way… This…”
I let it go. What the hell, he knew what I was trying to say.
7
“I trust you now see a point I made when we first began. The story being enacted here by the Takers is not in any sense chapter two of the story that was being enacted here during the first three million years of human life. The Leaver story has its own chapter two.”
“What is its chapter two?”
“You’ve just outlined it, haven’t you?”
“I’m not sure.”
Ishmael spent a moment in thought. “We’ll never know what the Leavers of Europe and Asia were up to when the people of your culture came along to plow them under forever. But we do know what they were up to here in North America. They were looking for ways to achieve settlement that were in accord with the way they’d always lived, ways that left room for th
e rest of life to go on around them. I don’t mean that they did this out of any sense of high–mindedness. I simply mean that it didn’t occur to them to take the life of the world into their own hands and to declare war on the rest of the community of life. Proceeding in this way for another five thousand years or ten thousand years, a dozen civilizations might have appeared on this continent as sophisticated as yours is now, each with its own values and objectives. It’s not unthinkable.”
“No, it’s not. Or rather, yes it is. According to Taker mythology, every civilization anywhere in the universe must be a Taker civilization, a civilization in which people have taken the life of the world into their own hands. That’s so obvious it doesn’t need to be pointed out. Hell, every alien civilization in the history of science fiction has been a Taker civilization. Every civilization ever encountered by the U.S.S. Enterprise has been a Taker civilization. This is because it goes without saying that any intelligent creature anywhere will insist on taking his life out of the hands of the gods, will know that the world belongs to him and not the other way around.”
“True.”
“Which raises an important question in my mind. What exactly would it mean to belong to the world at this point? Obviously you’re not saying that only hunter–gatherers truly belong to the world.”
“I’m glad you see that. Though if the Bushmen of Africa or the Kalapalo of Brazil (if there are any left by now) want to go on living that way for the next ten million years, I can’t see how this can be anything less than beneficial for them and for the world.”
“True. But that doesn’t answer my question. How can civilized people belong to the world?”
Ishmael shook his head in what looked like a mixture of impatience and exasperation. “Civilized has nothing to do with it. How can tarantulas belong to the world? How can sharks belong to the world?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Look around you and you’ll see some creatures who act as though the world belongs to them and some creatures who act as though they belong to the world. Can you tell them apart?”
