Ishmael

They needed a Draco and a Solon and a Moses and a Jesus and a Muhammad. And the Leavers didn’t, because they had a way—had a whole bunch of ways—that… Hold on. I think I’ve got it.”

“Take your time.”

“Every one of the Leavers’ ways came into being by evolution, by a process of testing that began even before people had a word for it. No one said, ‘Okay, let’s form a committee to write up a set of laws for us to follow.’ None of these cultures were inventions. But that’s what all our lawgivers gave us—inventions. Contrivances. Not things that had proved out over thousands of generations, but rather arbitrary pronouncements about the one right way to live. And this is still what’s going on. The laws they make in Washington aren’t put on the books because they work well—they’re put on the books because they represent the one right way to live. You may not have an abortion unless the fetus is threatening your life or was put there by a rapist. There are a lot of people who’d like to see the law read that way. Why? Because that’s the one right way to live. You may drink yourself to death, but if we catch you smoking a marijuana cigarette, it’s the slammer for you, baby, because that’s the one right way. No one gives a damn about whether our laws work well. Working well is beside the point…. Again, I’m not sure what I’m getting at.”

Ishmael grunted. “You’re not necessarily getting at one specific thing. You’re exploring a deep complex of ideas, and you can’t expect to get to the bottom of it in twenty minutes.”

“True.”

“However, there is a point I set out to make here before we go on to other things, and I would like to make it.”

“Okay.”

“You see now that the Takers and the Leavers accumulate two entirely different kinds of knowledge.”

“Yes. The Takers accumulate knowledge about what works well for things. The Leavers accumulate knowledge about what works well for people.”

“But not for all people. Each Leaver people has a system that works well for them because it evolved among them; it was suited to the terrain in which they lived, suited to the climate in which they lived, suited to the biological community in which they lived, suited to their own peculiar tastes, preferences, and vision of the world.”

“Yes.”

“And this kind of knowledge is called what?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Someone who knows what works well for people has what?”

“Well… wisdom?”

“Of course. Now, you know that the knowledge of what works well for production is what’s valued in your culture. In the same way, the knowledge of what works well for people is what’s valued in Leaver cultures. And every time the Takers stamp out a Leaver culture, a wisdom ultimately tested since the birth of mankind disappears from the world beyond recall, just as every time they stamp out a species of life, a life form ultimately tested since the birth of life disappears from the world beyond recall.”

“Ugly,” I said.

“Yes,” Ishmael said. “It is ugly.”

9

After a few minutes of head–scratching and earlobe–tugging, Ishmael sent me away for the night.

“I’m tired,” he explained. “And I’m too cold to think.”

ELEVEN

1

The drizzle continued, and when I arrived at noon the next day there wasn’t even anyone around to bribe. I had picked up two blankets for Ishmael at an Army–Navy store—and had one for myself to keep him in countenance. He accepted them with gruff thanks but seemed glad enough to put them to use. We sat for a while wallowing in our misery, then he reluctantly began.

“Shortly before my departure—I don’t remember what occasioned the question—you asked me when we were going to get to the story enacted by the Leavers.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Why are you interested in knowing that story?”

The question nonplussed me. “Why wouldn’t I be interested in knowing it?”

“I’m asking what the point is, in your mind. You know that Abel is all but dead.”

“Well… yes.”

“Then why learn the story he was enacting?”

“Again, why not learn it?”

Ishmael shook his head. “I don’t care to proceed on that basis. The fact that I can’t give you reasons for not learning something doesn’t supply me with a reason for teaching it.”

He was clearly in a bad mood. I couldn’t blame him, but I couldn’t much sympathize either, since it was he who had insisted on having it this way.

He said: “Is it just a matter of curiosity for you?”

“No, I wouldn’t say that. You said in the beginning that two stories have been enacted here. I now know one of them. It seems natural that I’d want to know the other one.”

“Natural…” he said, as if it wasn’t a word he much liked. “I wish you could come up with something that has a bit more heft. Something that would give me the feeling I wasn’t the only one here who was supposed to be using his brain.”

“I’m afraid I don’t see what you’re getting at.”

“I know you don’t, and that’s what irks me. You’ve become a passive listener here, turning your brain off when you sit down and turning it on when you get up to leave.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“Then tell me why it isn’t just a waste of time for you to learn a story that is now all but extinguished.”

“Well, I don’t consider it a waste of time.”

“That’s not good enough. The fact that something is not a waste of time does not inspire me to do it.”

I shrugged helplessly.

He shook his head, totally disgusted. “You really do think that learning this would be pointless. That’s obvious.”

“It’s not obvious to me.”

“Then you think it has a point?”

“Well… yes.”

“What point?”

“God… I want to learn it, that’s the point.”

“No. I won’t proceed on that basis. I want to proceed, but not if all I’m doing is satisfying your curiosity. Go away and come back when you can give me some authentic reason for going on.”

“What would an authentic reason sound like? Give me an example.”