This is part of a series of posts representing ideas from the book, Ishmael, by Daniel Quinn. I view the ideas explored in Ishmael to be so important to the world that it seems everyone should have a chance to be exposed. I hope this treatment inspires you to read the original.

In Chapter NINE, Quinn offers an intriguing and compelling take on the Garden of Eden story in the bible. This long chapter is presented in 17 numbered subsections, beginning on page 149 of the original printing and page 159 of the 25th anniversary printing. The sections below mirror this arrangement in the book. See the launch post for notes on conventions I have adopted for this series.

1. Agricultural Revolution

No longer confining himself behind the glass partition, Ishmael returns to the misconception that Leavers represent Chapter 1 of a story while Takers are the Chapter 2 continuation/upgrade. He illustrates by way of a timeline diagram. Rather than a single line broken into Leaver and Taker portions, the Leaver line continues [dwindling] to the present, while the Taker line branches off at some point to form a splinter story. The point of departure is what we know as the agricultural revolution: the start of what we call “history,” in typical self-centered fashion.

This mental map has a flaw: the point of departure connotes a brief moment in time. But since the revolution was not over-and-done in an instant, the point of departure really indicates the beginning of the agricultural revolution. Asked where the dot representing its end should be placed, Alan is stumped. In trying to pin down when the revolution was complete, he realized that it still hasn’t ended. Wilderness areas are still being subdued by the plow, virgin forests are still leveled for resources and development, and Leaver cultures are still being assimilated into modernity.

The never-ending revolution becomes a defining feature of Taker culture: a crushing expression of our sense of manifest destiny. The revolution is central to our cultural identity: we are revolutionaries charged with bringing “order” to the supposed chaos of the jungle. The revolution must be advanced at all costs.

2. A Stolen Story

Ishmael introduces the ironic history of a captivating yet puzzling story told by Takers about their origins. The irony is that it was a denigrating story originally told by Leavers about Takers. Asked about how a Leaver account of the emergence of Takers on the scene might go, Alan has no clue. So, cue a tale from Ishmael.

3. Privileged Knowledge

Takers are self-assured that they possess the type of knowledge necessary to exercise dominion over the planet [e.g., valued plants vs. weeds; valued animals vs. pests]. Moreover, Takers find no evidence of this privileged knowledge among Leaver cultures. To Takers, this knowledge is obvious even to children, so it’s remarkable that Leavers would somehow lack such basic awareness: they must be quite dumb—living like mere animals.

The knowledge of how to rule the world, as possessed by the Takers, is in a mythological sense the kind of knowledge gods must possess—as a job requirement. Takers therefore share the knowledge of the gods. If we understand how the gods came to hold such knowledge, we might better understand Taker origins as well.

4. Wisdom of the Gods

Ishmael weaves a tale of gods debating actions they might take regarding locusts, birds, lizards, grasses, deer, gazelles, rabbits, lions, wolves, and foxes. Favoring one disfavors others in a tangled knot of interdependencies. It’s paralyzing.

As the gods debate, a fox begins to search for food, offering a focal point for their deliberations. One suggests they send a quail to the fox, raising the immediate objection that this would be heinous for the quail. At this moment, the quail closes in on a grasshopper. The confusion only grows, as sparing the quail costs the grasshopper its life [but sparing the grass it would have otherwise eaten].

The argument expands to spring floods, which wipe out many creatures, but also bring vitality to the marshes and all the dependent life. It was recognized that any decision is good for some and evil for others. Abstaining from any decision/action would likewise be good for some and evil for others—but would carry the intolerable downside of inviting ire from the creatures toward careless do-nothing gods.

Despairing the responsibility of parceling good and evil without knowing what’s best, one god remembered [duh!] that a Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil had been planted in the garden, explicitly to bestow on the gods the requisite wisdom to make these tough decisions.

After eating the fruit of this tree, they saw their responsibilities clearly, confidently meting out fortunes both good and evil, in balance. Animals accepted the wisdom of the gods, who possess “the knowledge of who shall live and who shall die,” parceled fairly. [For me, “the gods” are played by evolution, working out the wisdom over deep time as to what works in approximate balance; see my related post.]

5. Fascinating!

This 22-word section simply expresses how gripping Alan finds this discussion to be.

6. Pesky Adam…

The gods wrestle with the proper course of action for a uniquely capable being named Adam. They decide he should live forever (by the grace of the Tree of Life), but that they should let him find the tree on his own. One god worries that Adam may become frustrated and eat the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil instead. [Incidentally, the third paragraph of this section in the book carries a dual meaning: replacing “Adam” with “Alan” and “Tree” with “Law” aptly describes Chapters 6–8, where Alan must discover the Law of Life on his own to move beyond an “adolescent” state.]

Another god rejected the speculative danger of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil as absurd, on the factual basis that the fruit of this tree only works for actual gods, and would have zero effect on Adam. The first agrees with this assessment, but has a more nuanced concern: Adam may think that the fruit bestows upon him the wisdom of the gods, and begin acting as if he truly possessed such wisdom—doing whatever he wishes.

Others simply don’t believe that Adam could behave this way, stuck on the notion that he would not truly possess godly knowledge. The concerned god was adamant: Adam may still get it in his head that “good” means anything that is good for him and “evil” means anything that is evil for him—and believe that he has the “wisdom” to tell the difference. He might become arrogant, hubristic, and greedy—thinking it’s all for him. He may begin to eliminate those who would take what he deems to be his, or who compete with those he favors. He would decide who lives and who dies, defining evil as anything not operating in his [direct; short-term] favor.

The gods began to see the danger of such an “outlaw” creature—growing without recognition of limits and considering himself equal to the gods: above the law. Sure, the gods have no doubt that such behavior must end in failure, but Adam won’t realize this and the result would be tragic for all—including him.

We are then treated to one god’s rendition of a diatribe from Adam proclaiming his right to do as he wishes, violating the Law of Life at every turn. Finally appreciating the danger, the gods decided to explicitly forbid Adam from eating from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, upon punishment of death.

7. Doesn’t Make Sense!

Alan thumbs through a few bible versions at hand, finding that none of them offer any rationale for why this special knowledge should be forbidden. This point has always been mysterious to Takers, as knowledge is highly prized in our culture, and absolutely necessary if we are to fulfill the premise of our mythology by successfully ruling the world that belongs to us—crafting it into a paradise. In the Foreword to the 25th anniversary edition, Morgan Freeman (audio version; Daniel Quinn actually) notes that we hold the Knowledge of Good and Evil in such esteem that its absence constitutes “insanity” in our judicial system.

It just does not make sense that humans were meant to rule the planet, while being forbidden access to the requisite knowledge to do so. The resolution—unthinkable to Takers—rests on the fact that humans [or any other species] are unqualified to master the planet, lacking the wisdom and unbiased stance that allows ecology to work. After working well enough for eons, Takers have brought the living world to the brink in a blink. The punishment of death for eating the tree’s fruit may turn out to be quite accurate, even if not immediate.

8. Taker Version

Had the story not been of Leaver origin, Takers would have framed it entirely differently. Rather than constituting the “Fall,” finally gaining the knowledge we were meant to have would be glorified as the crowning moment that initiated our “Ascent.” At last, we were liberated to stop living off the bounty of the garden like an animal. We would clothe ourselves, leave the garden, and feed ourselves by the sweat of our brows—laboring in the dirt.

Takers became fanatical proselytizers of “the one right way” to live: converting, assimilating, exploiting, displacing, or eradicating Leavers at every encounter. Leaver cultures—even those who tinkered with agriculture—did not tend to adopt this righteous insistence that neighbors ought to live as they do.

Being less wedded to agriculture as the one “right” way allowed Leavers to walk away from labor-intensive agriculture when it no longer suited them. Takers, on the other hand, can’t abandon agriculture because it is a defining feature of their core identity. Letting go would be admitting defeat on a grand scale. It would represent a bitter capitulation to the gods. [Not to mention the prospect of necessarily scaling down the population of the most supreme creature on Earth by an order-of-magnitude or more.]

9. Semitic Spectators

Because the original authors of the story were Leavers, they were not present at the purported eating of the fruit. Ishmael explains that when the Hebrews—a Taker culture—acquired this Leaver story, it was already an ancient hand-me-down from their ancestors, the Semites, and already nonsensical to them.

Ishmael shares a map of Eurasia soon after agriculture had taken hold around the Fertile Crescent. It conveyed the fact that the pre-agricultural world beyond this region was not devoid of humans. Of particular interest, Semites (pastoralists) at the north end of the Arabian peninsula had front-row seats to the expansion of these new Takers. They may not have witnessed the beginnings of Taker culture, but they sure saw the result playing out.

Alan is encouraged to read the story of Cain and Abel in this context.

10. Cain and Abel

Reading three versions of the story, it was quite clear that the agriculturalists (played by Cain) were slaughtering the pastoralists (Abel). It’s a well-worn tale: appropriating land for cultivation; driving off, killing, or assimilating/enslaving its previous inhabitants. Cain, of course, went on to become thee builder of cities.

Alan wonders why biblical scholars are not tuned in to this interpretation, which Ishmael characterizes as “Semitic war propaganda.” It brings clarity to why Abel’s gift (a lamb) was accepted by God while Cain’s gifts (agricultural products) were not. Obviously, the creators of the story would have God on their side, and were thus pastoralists rather than “tillers of the soil.”

Alan speculates some about the original Takers being identified as Caucasians, now synonymous with “whiteness.” Indeed, Cain is marked with this color of caution. Ishmael shows little interest and does not run with this thread.

11. Story Transmission

Even though Takers displaced Leavers in all directions, and no doubt countless stories were told by various Leaver cultures about these demonic people, only one story survived. It did so because Semites were long holdouts against the Taker spread, so the story had multiple generations in which to take hold. By the time the Hebrews descended from Semites, they had become Takers, and kept the inherited story without necessarily understanding its anti-Taker origin. So it was that Takers ended up preserving a story of repudiation about themselves [saddling humans with “original sin” and a fundamental flaw that required salvation].

12. Leaver Interpretation of Takers

How did the Leavers come to reconstruct a story involving the Takers eating from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil? It seems a little odd.

From the Leaver perspective, the behavior of the Takers did not follow the usual pattern of raids or displays of strength to protect their territory. They seemed hell-bent on conquest: on eradicating and occupying. The Leaver way is to protect your own—fiercely—so that you may live the way you choose, and let others live as they choose. Takers do not seem to be content with the live-and-let-live approach. They seem to want the Leavers to die. And it’s not just people: they kill animals and plants that interfere with—or do not fit into—their schemes.

What other beings decide who should live and who should die? The gods do, of course. The gods acquire their wisdom from the Tree, thus the Takers must have found that tree and eaten its fruit—falsely believing themselves to have absorbed its powers.

Naturally, the gods would have been enraged by the hubristic transgression of these people, cursing them forever. This would explain why they were driven from their lands of origin, forced to labor in the dirt to sustain themselves in the absence of help from the gods. Such a meager, desperate existence requires the ruination of one patch of land after another, just to survive.

13. Agricultural Curse

Like the Taker-baffling association of knowledge with a “fall,” the fact that agriculture is cast as a curse is strong evidence that the story did not originate with agricultural Takers. Leavers enjoy the everlasting bounty of their land, but Takers would seem to have been deprived of this luxury. From the Leaver perspective, they must have done something truly awful to be cursed so. Takers celebrate agriculture (and knowledge acquisition) as the beginning of a great ascent, while the story depicts farming as “the lot of the fallen.”

14. The Boys

After some discussion of the significance of Cain being the first-born son, Alan expresses confusion over Adam being the father of both Leavers and Takers. In Hebrew, the name Adam means “man,” and might be associated with the entire human race. Cain and Abel represent the Taker/Leaver split.

15. The Gal

Likewise, the name Eve means “life” in Hebrew. Adam was therefore not tempted by lust or sex so much as the opportunity for creating life.

The expansion-oriented Takers needed babies, and women were the key to bringing more life into the world. For sure, it takes both men and women to make babies, but a clan of 80 women and 20 men can grow much faster than one having 20 women and 80 men. To Leavers, who live within ecological bounds, population limits are a big deal. An imbalance of women leads to an imbalance of babies, and an imbalanced ecology—to everyone’s detriment.

Takers responded to population increases by cultivating more land, which created food surplus (and a need for more labor) that fueled additional increases. This practice goes hand-in-hand with a perceived acquisition of the knowledge of good and evil: deciding who should live and who should die. [Hint: Takers live and all others may die.]

The fact that Eve was cast as the temptress relates to greater life-bearing potential enabling more land to be conquered for cultivation.

16. Isolated Take

Ishmael clarifies that agriculture developed independently in other parts of the world, not acknowledged in the Genesis story. This is completely understandable, as the Semites were cut off by geography. At the time of the story’s emergence, they only knew of themselves (the last Leavers, as far as they knew) and these hostile expansionists to their north.

17. Lost on Takers

The story of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden is known around the world. Why does it have such sticking power? Well, even if it is fundamentally confusing to Takers, it does offer an explanation of what went wrong—and Taker culture has always acknowledged that something is wrong at a deep level [reaching the misguided conclusion that humans are fundamentally flawed, rather than the fault lying in a cancerous premise].

Yet, the original meaning of the story is generally lost on Takers. Their clumsy attempt to explain it usually ascribes to the forbidden fruit the role of a somewhat arbitrary test of obedience. They essentially ignore the whole “knowledge” angle as being irrelevant, or even a sloppy flaw in the story. In this framing, the “fall from innocence” is just a departure from “blissful ignorance.”

When assuming that the story was written by Takers, it fails to add up. From a Leaver perspective, it all falls into place: humans can never have the knowledge of the gods, and attempts in that direction end in death [eventually].

Note that Takers easily identify Adam as one of their own: not innocent/ignorant like those Leavers, but a flawed agriculturalist like themselves.

Next Time

After a chapter of this length, I don’t have the heart to append the bonus material offered by Daniel Quinn in the Foreword of the 25th anniversary edition. So, I’ll make that a separate post for next time (Friday; off cycle), before resuming with Chapter 10.

I thank Alex Leff for looking over a draft of this post and offering valuable comments and suggestions.

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