Point Enough

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A couple years back, as I was milling around following a talk I’d done relating to my first book, an attractive woman approached and palmed me a note. This doesn’t happen too often, and by “too often,” I actually mean “ever.” I guess I’m just not the sort of fellow who inspires discreetly passed notes from attractive women. Or anyone else, come to think of it.

Anyway. There were exactly two words scrawled on that piece of paper: Read Ishmael. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the first time I’d heard of Daniel Quinn’s novel, but it’s the first time I remember. Since then, I’m think Ishmael has been mentioned in the comments section of this space a time or two.

Still and all, it took me until the past few days to finally get around to it. For those of you who haven’t read it, Ishmael is the fictionalized account of one man’s mentorship at the hands of a gorilla named Ishmael. It sounds sort of ridiculous, but that’s part of the genius of the book, I think. The small absurdity of the arrangement – a man and a gorilla inaudibly communicating about the mythology of modern humankind – somehow makes it all the more accessible. If Quinn had simply presented his ideas in a non-fictionalized format, I suspect they wouldn’t have gained nearly as much traction.

There’s a lot to say about Ishmael, but the aspect that’s stuck with me is notion that humans have, by-and-large, transitioned from being a species of Leavers to a species of Takers. And furthermore, that much of what it means to be a Taker is written so indelibly into modern culture that we don’t even think to question its righteousness. This is part of the mythology Ishmael reveals.

There are many factors that go into differentiating between Leavers and Takers, but generally speaking, Takers aren’t content to merely compete for the minimum resources essential to their survival; they want to dominate. It’s not about having enough; it’s about having as much as possible. Or, at the very least, having more than can be reasonably justified by our perfectly logical quest for personal wellbeing.

All other species are, of course, Leavers, which is to say, they seem to innately understand the difference between, say, competing with rivals for the day’s nourishment and hoarding years, if not decades worth of resources, in the process making those resources inaccessible to others. And also potentially eradicating entire other species; witness the fact that the world is now losing species at 1,000 to 10,000 times the natural extinction rate, due primarily to human activity, most of which, when you get right down to it, is elective. And much of which, when you get right down to it, isn’t actually improving our wellbeing, either individually or collectively.

It’s not as if the ideas presented in Ishmael are so radical, at least to anyone who’d been living with the unsettling sense that perhaps things are not exactly as they’ve been taught (which I’m guessing is the majority of those who hang around here), but they are presented in a particularly clear and affecting manner.

As so often happens when you read something you knew but could not quite articulate, the book has prompted us to evaluate certain aspects of our life and in particular those aspects where the unquestioned assumptions of Taker culture are still rooted. Primarily I think of the sheer quantity of stuff we have accumulated over the years, most of it purchased used or even handed-down for free, to be sure, but still: Stuff. Enough to make our basement feel crowded. Enough that it often seems we spend more time rearranging it than actually using it. Enough that if you were to drop by right now and demand to see it all, I’d be sort of embarrassed. I mean, really: How did we end up with three circular saws? (Actually, I know exactly how, but it’s way too long a story to relay here)

I’m not sure what my point is. Perhaps in part it’s to acknowledge my own duplicity, all the ways in which I’ve lived – and continue to live – in accordance with the Taker story. But then, haven’t we all? Don’t we all? Maybe it’s just because I think you all ought read the book; it’s one of the few I’ve read, like Elliot Merrick’s True North, like Harry Middleton’s The Earth is Enough, like Charles Eisenstein’s Sacred Economics, that holds the promise of sticking with me long after I closed the cover, turned out the light, and asked Penny to please hold my grubby little hand until I fall asleep which, lucky for her, generally takes about 74 seconds.

I guess maybe that’s point enough.