"That's right."

"Can you imagine any circumstances in which you yourself would trade your life for that sort of life?"

"No. Frankly, I can't imagine why anyone would, given the choice."

"The Leavers would. Throughout history, the only way the Takers have found to tear them away from that life is by brute force, by wholesale slaughter. In most cases, they found it easiest just to exterminate them."

"True. But Mother Culture has something to say about that. What she says is that the Leavers just didn't know what they were missing. They didn't understand the benefits of the agricultural life, and that's why they clung to the huntinggathering life so tenaciously."

Ishmael smiled his sneakiest smile. "Among the Indians of this country, who would you say were the fiercest and most resolute opponents of the Takers?"

"Well . . . I'd say the Plains Indians."

"I think most of you would agree with that. But before the introduction of horses by the Spanish, the Plains Indians had been agriculturalists for centuries centuries. As soon as horses became readily available, they abandoned agriculture and resumed the huntinggathering life."

"I didn't know that."

"Well, now you do. Did the Plains Indians understand the benefits of the agricultural life?"

"I guess they must have."

"What does Mother Culture say?"

I thought about that for a while, then laughed. "She says they didn't really really understand. If they had, they would never have gone back to hunting and gathering." understand. If they had, they would never have gone back to hunting and gathering."

"Because that's a detestable life."

"That's right."

"You can begin to see how thoroughly effective Mother Culture's teachings are on this issue."

"True. But what I don't see is where this gets us."

"We're on our way to discovering what lies at the very root of your fear and loathing of the Leaver life. We're on our way to discovering why you feel you must carry the revolution forward even if it destroys you and the entire world. We're on our way to discovering what your revolution was a revolution against against."

"Ah," I said.

"And when we've done all that, I'm sure you'll be able to tell me what story was being enacted here by the Leavers during the first three million years of human life and is still being enacted by them wherever they survive today."

4.

Having spoken of survival, Ishmael shuddered and sank down into his blankets with a kind of moaning sigh. For a minute he seemed to lose himself in the tireless drumming of rain on the canvas overhead, then he cleared his throat and went on.

"Let's try this," he said. "Why was the revolution necessary necessary?"

"It was necessary if man was to get somewhere."

"You mean if man was to have central heating and universities and opera houses and spaceships."

"That's right."

Ishmael nodded. "That sort of answer would have been acceptable when we began our work together, but I want you to go deeper than that now."

"Okay. But I don't know what you mean by deeper."

"You know very well that for hundreds of millions of you, things like central heating, universities, opera houses, and spaceships belong to a remote and unattainable world. Hundreds of millions of you live in conditions that most people in this country can only guess at. Even in this country, millions are homeless or live in squalor and despair in slums, in prisons, in public institutions that are little better than prisons. For these people, your facile justification for the agricultural revolution would be completely meaningless."

"True."

"But though they don't enjoy the fruits of your revolution, would they turn their backs on it? Would they trade their misery and despair for the sort of life that was lived in prerevolutionary times?"

"Again, I'd have to say no."

"This is my impression as well. Takers believe in their revolution, even when they enjoy none of its benefits. There are no grumblers, no dissidents, no counterrevolutionaries. They all believe profoundly that, however bad things are now, they're still infinitely preferable to what came before."

"Yes, I'd say so."

"Today I want you to get to the root of this extraordinary belief. When you've done that, you'll have a completely different understanding of your revolution and of the Leaver life as well."

"Okay. But how do I do that?"

"By listening to Mother Culture. She's been whispering in your ear throughout your life, and what you've heard is no different from what your parents and grandparents heard, from what people all over the world hear daily. In other words, what I'm looking for is buried in your mind just as it's buried in all your minds. Today I want you to unearth it. Mother Culture has taught you to have a horror of the life you put behind you with your revolution, and I want you to trace this horror to its roots."

"Okay," I said. "It's true that we have something amounting to a horror of that life, but the trouble is, this just doesn't seem particularly mysterious to me."

"It doesn't? Why?"

"I don't know. It's a life that leads nowhere."

"No more of these superficial answers. Dig."

With a sigh, I scrunched down inside my blanket and proceeded to dig. "This is interesting," I said a few minutes later. "I was sitting here thinking about the way our ancestors lived, and a very specific image popped into my head fully formed."

Ishmael waited for me to go on.

"It has a sort of dreamlike quality to it. Or nightmarish. A man is scrabbling along a ridge at twilight. In this world it's always twilight. The man is short, thin, dark, and naked. He's running in a half crouch, looking for tracks. He's hunting, and he's desperate. Night is falling and he's got nothing to eat.

"He's running and running and running, as if he were on a treadmill. It is is a treadmill, because tomorrow at twilight he'll be there running still-or running again. But there's more than hunger and desperation driving him. He's terrified as well. Behind him on the ridge, just out of sight, his enemies are in pursuit to tear him to pieces-the lions, the wolves, the tigers. And so he has to stay on that treadmill forever, forever one step behind his prey and one step ahead of his enemies. a treadmill, because tomorrow at twilight he'll be there running still-or running again. But there's more than hunger and desperation driving him. He's terrified as well. Behind him on the ridge, just out of sight, his enemies are in pursuit to tear him to pieces-the lions, the wolves, the tigers. And so he has to stay on that treadmill forever, forever one step behind his prey and one step ahead of his enemies.

"The ridge, of course, represents the knifeedge of survival. The man lives on the knifeedge of survival and has to struggle perpetually to keep from falling off. Actually it's as though the ridge and the sky are in motion instead of him. He's running in place, trapped, going nowhere."

"In other words, huntergatherers lead a very grim life."

"Yes."

"And why is it grim?"

"Because it's a struggle just to stay alive."

"But in fact it isn't anything of the kind. I'm sure you know that, in another compartment of your mind. Huntergatherers no more live on the knifeedge of survival than wolves or lions or sparrows or rabbits. Man was as well adapted to life on this planet as any other species, and the idea that he lived on the knifeedge of survival is simply biological nonsense. As an omnivore, his dietary range is immense. Thousands of species will go hungry before he does. His intelligence and dexterity enable him to live comfortably in conditions that would utterly defeat any other primate.

"Far from scrabbling endlessly and desperately for food, huntergatherers are among the bestfed people on earth, and they manage this with only two or three hours a day of what you would call work-which makes them among the most leisured people on earth as well. In his book on stone age economics, Marshall Sahlins described them as 'the original affluent society.' And incidentally, predation of man is practically nonexistent. He's simply not the first choice on any predator's menu. So you see that your wonderfully horrific vision of your ancestors' life is just another bit of Mother Culture's nonsense. If you like, you can confirm all this for yourself in an afternoon at the library."

"Okay," I said. "So?"

"So now that you know that it's nonsense, do you feel differently about that life? Does it seem less repulsive to you?"

"Less repulsive maybe. But still repulsive."

"Consider this. Let's suppose you're one of this nation's homeless. Out of work, no skills, a wife the same, two kids. Nowhere to turn, no hope, no future. But I can give you a box with a button on it. Press the button and you'll all be whisked instantly back to prerevolutionary times. You'll all be able to speak the language, you'll all have the skills everyone had then. You'll never again have to worry about taking care of yourself and your family. You'll have it made, you'll be a part of that original affluent society."

"Okay."

"So, do you press the button?"

"I don't know. I have to doubt it."

"Why? It isn't that you'd be giving up a wonderful life here. According to this hypothesis, the life you've got here is wretched, and it's not likely to improve. So it has to be that the other life seems even worse. It isn't that you couldn't bear giving up the life you've got-it's that you couldn't bear embracing that other life."

"Yes, that's right."

"What is it that makes that life so horrifying to you?"

"I don't know."

"It seems that Mother Culture has done a good job on you."

"Yes."

"All right. Let's try this. Wherever the Takers have come up against some huntergatherers taking up space they wanted for themselves, they've tried to explain to them why they should abandon their lifestyle and become Takers. They've said, 'This life of yours is not only wretched, it's wrong. Man was not meant to live this way. So don't fight us. Join our revolution and help us turn the world into a paradise for man.' "

"Right."

"You take that part-the part of the cultural missionary-and I'll take the part of a huntergatherer. Explain to me why the life that I and my people have found satisfying for thousands of years is grim and revolting and repulsive."

"Good lord."

"Look, I'll get you started. . . . Bwana, you tell us that the way we live is wretched and wrong and shameful. You tell us that it's not the way people are meant to live. This puzzles us, Bwana, because for thousands of years it has seemed to us a good way to live. But if you, who ride to the stars and send your words around the world at the speed of thought, tell us that it isn't, then we must in all prudence listen to what you have to say."

"Well . . . I realize it seems good to you. This is because you're ignorant and uneducated and stupid."

"Exactly so, Bwana. We await your enlightenment. Tell us why our life is wretched and squalid and shameful."

"Your life is wretched and squalid and shameful because you live like animals."

Ishmael frowned, puzzled. "I don't understand, Bwana. We live as all others live. We take what we need from the world and leave the rest alone, just as the lion and the deer do. Do the lion and the deer lead shameful lives?"

"No, but that's because they're just animals. It's not right for humans to live that way."

"Ah," Ishmael said, "this we did not know. And why is it not right to live that way?"

"It's because, living that way . . . you have no control over your lives."

Ishmael cocked his head at me. "In what sense do we have no control over our lives, Bwana?"

"You have no control over the most basic necessity of all, your food supply."

"You puzzle me greatly, Bwana. When we're hungry, we go off and find something to eat. What more control is needed?"

"You'd have more control if you planted it yourself."

"How so, Bwana? What does it matter who plants the food?"

"If you plant it yourself, then you know positively that it's going to be there."

Ishmael cackled delightedly. "Truly you astonish me, Bwana! We already already know positively that it's going to be there. The whole world of life is food. Do you think it's going to sneak away during the night? Where would it go? It's always there, day after day, season after season, year after year. If it weren't, we wouldn't be here to talk to you about it." know positively that it's going to be there. The whole world of life is food. Do you think it's going to sneak away during the night? Where would it go? It's always there, day after day, season after season, year after year. If it weren't, we wouldn't be here to talk to you about it."

"Yes, but if you planted it yourself, you could control how much how much food there was. You'd be able to say, 'Well, this year we'll have more yams, this year we'll have more beans, this year we'll have more strawberries.' " food there was. You'd be able to say, 'Well, this year we'll have more yams, this year we'll have more beans, this year we'll have more strawberries.' "

"Bwana, these things grow in abundance without the slightest effort on our part. Why should we trouble ourselves to plant what is already growing?"

"Yes, but . . . don't you ever run out? Don't you ever wish you had a yam but find there are no more growing wild?"

"Yes, I suppose so. But isn't it the same for you? Don't you ever wish you had a yam but find there are no more growing in your fields?"

"No, because if we wish we had a yam, we can go to the store and buy a can of them."

"Yes, I have heard something of this system. Tell me this, Bwana. The can of yams that you buy in the store-how many of you labored to put that can there for you?"

"Oh, hundreds, I suppose. Growers, harvesters, truckers, cleaners at the canning plant, people to run the equipment, people to pack the cans in cases, truckers to distribute the cases, people at the store to unpack them, and so on."

"Forgive me, but you sound like lunatics, Bwana, to do all this work just to ensure that you can never be disappointed over the matter of a yam. Among my people, when we want a yam, we simply go and dig one up-and if there are none to be found, we find something else just as good, and hundreds of people don't need to labor to put it into our hands."

"You're missing the point."

"I certainly am, Bwana."

I stifled a sigh. "Look, here's the point. Unless you control your own food supply, you live at the mercy of the world. It doesn't matter that there's always been enough. That's not the point. You can't live at the whim of the gods. That's just not a human way to live."

"Why is that, Bwana?"

"Well . . . look. One day you go out hunting, and you catch a deer. Okay, that's fine. That's terrific. But you didn't have any control over the deer's being there, did you?"