Elaine. Yes, I see.
Daniel. But we’re getting off the track here. I’m not trying to recapitulate what I’ve already written. I just needed to lay the basis for one question I received that I wanted you to take a crack at.
Elaine. Okay.
Daniel. A woman wrote that, on the basis of what I’d written about living in the hands of the gods, did I justify the practice of medicine and if so, how.
Elaine. Uh-huh.
Daniel. So, thinking like a Martian anthropologist, how do you answer this question?
Elaine [after some thought]. It seems like an instance of translating a description into a prescription.
Daniel. In other words, because Leavers lived their lives in the hands of the gods, so should we.
Elaine. That’s right.
Daniel. This is a valid reply up to a certain point, but it also suggests that no description should be taken as a prescription. Are you familiar with Jean Liedloff’s Continuum Concept?
Elaine. No.
Daniel. Jean Liedloff, an American writer, spent the early 1970s living with the Yekuana and Sanema tribes of South America, finding them to be the happiest people she’d ever known. This led her to pay particular attention to the way they reared their children. What she saw, among other things, was that their children enjoyed constant physical contact with their mothers from birth, slept in their parents’ bed until leaving of their own volition, usually after about two years. She saw that they were breast-fed instantly whenever they were hungry and during infancy were in constant contact with their mothers as they went about their business. There’s a great deal more to it than this, but this gives you the general idea. As a result — or at least so it seemed to Jean — children matured feeling completely secure, happy, and unneurotic. This was a description that tens of thousands — or it may be hundreds of thousands by now — have found to be a very successful prescription for child rearing. I’ve been around children raised this way, and I can tell you that the difference between them and children raised the usual way is striking. So you can’t automatically dismiss the utility of turning a description into a prescription.
Elaine. Okay. But living in the hands of the gods …
Daniel. Keep in mind that this is just an expression. If you were to ask the members of an aboriginal tribe if they were living in the hands of the gods, they wouldn’t know what you were talking about it, and if you explained it to them, they’d probably say, “Well, we never thought about it that way, but I guess you could say so.”
Elaine. I don’t think I quite understand.
Daniel. “Living in the hands of the gods” is just an expression. You could say “casting your fate to the winds” or even “trying your luck.” An example will help. Every year tens of thousands of young people dream of becoming successful actors, but only a few of them actually go off to New York or Hollywood to try their luck. While this handful take acting lessons and go to auditions, they take any kind of work they can get. I say they’re trying their luck, but it would be equally valid to say that they’re living in the hands of the gods. Or you could say that what happens to them is up to the fates. Obviously they don’t all make it; only a very few make it. But if these few hadn’t put themselves in the hands of the gods — hadn’t left home to scuffle for work and face a lot of hardship and rejection — they wouldn’t have made it at all. No one who stays home and plays it safe becomes a success on the stage or screen.
Elaine. Yes, I can see that.
Daniel. Most people in our culture strive for a maximum of control over their destiny — avoid at all costs anything that looks like living in the hands of the gods. This often assures a certain success, but it almost never brings a lightning strike of good fortune. They get along, according to plan, they advance toward collecting their retirement benefits, but that’s it. Lightning strikes only those who are willing to risk living in the hands of the gods.
Elaine. And — if I may ask — how does this translate into your own life?
Daniel. You may definitely ask. For the first twenty years of my life I followed the conventional trajectory, in control as much as possible at every point. I had a career in publishing and over a twenty-year period moved steadily upward. In my last position I just had to hold on and keep my head down, and a vice presidency would have been mine almost certainly — and, ultimately, quite possibly the presidency of the company I was working for. Instead I walked away from it. I won’t say I had no plans at that point, but they were terrible plans, and within a couple of years you could say pretty safely that I had nothing. And having nothing, I started writing a book, and with a little help from the gods or the fates or the universe, I was able to keep working on that book for twelve years until it became Ishmael. And just at that point, with a little more help from the gods or the fates or the universe, it so happened that Ted Turner decided he wanted to sponsor a competition for a novel presenting “creative and positive solutions to global problems.” Winning that competition assured the publication of Ishmael — and there was my lightning strike. But back in 1975, if I’d held on and kept my head down and finally made it to the top in publishing, there would’ve been no Ishmael — or any of the subsequent books. I had to let go of my life for that to happen.
Elaine. That’s quite a story. And quite an example.
Daniel. I should point out, however, that during this period it would never have occurred to me that I was “living in the hands of the gods.” I was, but it wasn’t something I consciously set out to do.
Elaine. I see.
Daniel. So finally we get to the reader’s question. Doesn’t the practice of medicine somehow violate the principle of living in the hands of the gods?
Elaine [after some thought]. It would seem to.
Daniel. So it seemed, at least to this reader. Is that the answer you’d expect me to give her?
Elaine. No.
Daniel. Then what?
Elaine [laughing]. I don’t know.
Daniel. You’ve got to pull back to get a wider perspective on the question. That’s the job of the Martian anthropologist: to pull back, never to be restricted to the questioner’s assumptions.
Elaine shakes her head.
Daniel. This reader was fixated on a detail and not looking at the whole.
Elaine. The whole what?
Daniel. You know the whole. The difference between you and her is that I’m pressuring you to look at it.
Elaine [after a minute]. Aboriginal peoples practiced — still practice — their own kind of medicine.
Daniel. That’s certainly true. Do you think it’s like ours?
Elaine. I can’t claim to know what it is, but … But I suppose I have an impression that it’s more like magic than anything we’d consider medicine.
Daniel. So how does this help answer this woman’s question?
Elaine. I’m not sure it does.
Daniel. What do you think is troubling this woman about our medicine? Why does she think it doesn’t jibe with living in the hands of the gods?
Elaine [sighing]. I guess she’s thinking … “Oh well, I’ve got pneumonia. For someone living in the hands of the gods, that’s it.”
Daniel. You live with it — or die with it.
Elaine. If you’re living in the hands of the gods.
Daniel [after some thought]. What causes pneumonia?
Elaine. I think it can be caused either by bacteria or viruses.
Daniel. And what would a modern doctor’s treatment be?
Elaine. I assume the treatment would be to attack the bacteria or virus, probably with antibiotics.
Daniel. And this attack — do you think this is what’s bothering this reader? All the attacks that medicine provides against the hosts of organisms that are hostile to human life?
Elaine. That sounds like a good guess.
Daniel. Tell me what’s going on in her mind. That’s part of the anthropologist’s job, to understand what’s going on in the minds of hi
s subjects. See if you can speak her thoughts.
Elaine. Wow. Let’s see. I think it’s something like this. “In general, Leaver peoples live at peace with the world. They’ve got plenty of competitors in the world. Other animals compete for the game, but they don’t hunt down these animals to wipe them out. They’ve got competitors for everything they eat, but they don’t try to wipe them out.”
Daniel. Whereas we Takers do. As far as possible, we wipe out the wolves and the foxes and the coyotes that prey on our livestock. As far as possible, we try to wipe out all the creatures that feed on our crops.
Elaine. We’re at war with the world of life around us.
Daniel. So maybe medicine is part of the same war.
Elaine. Yes, that’s it.
Daniel. That’s what’s troubling this reader.
Elaine. I think so.
Daniel. Does it trouble you? Are you going to refuse treatment if you get pneumonia?
Elaine. No, I’m afraid not.
Daniel. You think maybe you should, but you won’t.
Elaine. Something like that.
Daniel. You’re still trapped in this woman’s circle of thought. You have to pull back farther and see the whole.
Elaine shakes her head, discouraged.
Daniel. Let’s call it a day. See if you can use the rest of the day to figure out how to pull back far enough to see the answer we’re looking for.
Elaine. Okay.
Daniel. Try jumping the track this woman’s question has you on. She’s presented you with some lined paper. Stop trying to write on the next line provided. Turn the paper sideways.
Elaine. What is the track?
Daniel. Think about it. I’m sure you can answer that yourself. [After some thought.] It occurs to me that this may help. [Changing the subject.] You understand that this is a process of discovery for me as well. I’m trying to figure out and articulate what I do when presented with a question like this one — or any question.
Elaine. Yes …?
Daniel. This woman was unable to answer her own question because she’s wearing blinders. I’m not sure if horses on the street still wear blinders, but you know what they are.
Elaine. They’re … objects … I suppose squares of leather … put at the side of a horse’s head to keep its eyes on the path ahead.
Daniel. To block out distracting things it might see if it had a wider view of its surroundings.
Elaine. Exactly.
Daniel. Most people, in trying to deal with this woman’s question, will adopt her blinders, will keep their eyes on the path she sees and agree to block out any wider view of the matter.
Elaine. Yes, I see that.
Daniel. So your job tonight is to take off the blinders and see what else there is to think about. This is another — and probably better — way of talking about jumping the track she has us on. We can’t see another track to jump to until we take off the blinders she’s offered us to wear.
Elaine. Got it.
Friday: Morning
Daniel. So. Any progress?
Elaine. I think so.
Daniel. Did you figure out what track this reader had us on, wearing her blinders?
Elaine. The track was medicine.
Daniel. As possibly in conflict with the notion of living in the hands of the gods. And what happened when you took off the blinders she provided for you?
Elaine. I saw everything else.
Daniel. You were able to pull back and achieve a wider vision than she has.
Elaine. That’s right.
Daniel. Go ahead.
Elaine. What I saw was that disease — or at least most diseases — represent an attack by other living creatures. What I saw was that every creature has a right to defend itself from attack any way it can, and that includes us.
Daniel. Attacked by a lion, we’re going to use any weapon that’s available to defend ourselves.
Elaine. That’s right. And medicine provides us with weapons with which to defend ourselves against viruses and bacteria, among other things.
Daniel. And living in the hands of the gods?
Elaine. Living in the hands of the gods has nothing to do with it. Living in the hands of the gods doesn’t mean standing there and letting the lion rip your head off.
Daniel. Well done. What do you think? Was it hard to get to the answer?
Elaine [ponders this for a bit]. I guess I have to say it was … Maybe it’s like learning to ride a bicycle. At first it seems completely impossible, then somehow, suddenly, you’ve got it.
Daniel. Yes. Of course, being able to move forward without falling down is just the basic skill, the beginning of confidence that leads to more advanced feats.
Elaine. Of course … I have a question of my own. It’s probably been asked many times.
Daniel. Go ahead.
Elaine. We’ve been talking about living in the hands of the gods.
Daniel. Yes?
Elaine. But you never make it quite clear whether you believe in these gods, or any god.
Daniel. When Ishmael talks about the gods … Let me start that a different way. The subject of Ishmael is the unrecognized and unacknowledged mythology of our culture, which Ishmael formulates as a story that spells out the relationships among Man, the world, and the gods. In this context the gods are mythological, which is not to say that they’re unreal but rather that their reality is irrelevant. The world was made for Man to conquer and rule, and Man was made to conquer and rule it — according to our mythology. It goes without saying that this is a divinely appointed mission. The Europeans who drove the Indians off their lands and put that land to the plow sincerely believed they were doing God’s work.
Elaine. Yes, I understand that. But I don’t see how it answers my question.
Daniel. Which is, do I believe in God.
Elaine. Yes, I guess so.
Daniel. Being a Martian anthropologist, I have to pull back from your question, have to take off the blinders you’re asking me to wear. Believing in things that may not exist — or disbelieving in things that may exist — is a peculiarity of your culture, not a universal human activity. Because it’s universal among you, you assume it’s universal among humans in general.
Elaine. That’s true. It never occurred to me that it might not be universal among humans.
Daniel. You variously believe in God, though God may not exist, or you disbelieve in God, though God may exist. You variously believe in angels, though angels may not exist, or you disbelieve in angels, though angels may exist. You variously believe in extraterrestrial spacecraft that have the world under surveillance, though these spacecraft may not exist, or disbelieve in them, though they may exist. You variously believe in ghosts, though ghosts may not exist, or you disbelieve in ghosts, though ghosts may exist.
Elaine. Yes, that’s all true.
Daniel. Tell me, do you believe in supermodels?
Elaine [laughing]. Supermodels? I don’t believe in them. That isn’t the word I would use.
Daniel. For you, the existence of supermodels doesn’t require you to exercise the faculty of belief.
Elaine. That’s true. Though I’ve never thought of belief as a faculty.
Daniel. Oh, it definitely is. It’s the faculty you must call upon in the face of the absurd. As William of Occam put it, Credo quia absurdum: “I believe because it is absurd.” A thing whose reality doesn’t seem to you absurd doesn’t require belief.
Elaine. Yes, I suppose that’s true. But the existence of God doesn’t strike me as absurd.
Daniel. It’s absurd in the sense that no one can produce even the slightest evidence of God’s existence. They can produce proofs, but these are only valid if you accept the premises on which they’re based. If you don’t accept those premises, then they’re just empty exercises in logic.
Elaine. I suppose I’m dimly aware that such things exist.
Daniel. Another faculty exists that is a kind of cousin of the faculty of beli
ef. This is the faculty that comes into play with regard to supermodels. You people the world with supermodels. Fifty years ago there were no supermodels, but in the last few decades you have peopled your world with them. A hundred years ago there were no movie stars, but since then you’ve peopled your world with hundreds of them. Europe in the Middle Ages was peopled with saints.
Elaine. Yes, I see what you mean.
Daniel. The Gebusi of New Guinea consort with spirits on a daily basis. Their world is peopled with spirits, and if you were to ask them if they believe in spirits, they would react just the way you did when I asked you if you believe in supermodels … But to return to your original question, I have to say that the faculty of belief is completely atrophied in me. It strikes me as foolish to believe in things that may not exist — or to deny the existence of things that may exist. Nonetheless, I’ve peopled my own personal universe with gods who have a care for all living things. I don’t pray to these gods or build shrines to them or expect favors from them or perform rituals for them. Nor do I expect other people to “believe” in these gods or to people their own universes with them.
Elaine. I understand. This resolves a question that was very much on my mind — and is probably on the minds of many of your readers.
Daniel. What question is that?
Elaine. I imagine a great many of your readers consider you a nonbeliever.
Daniel. I assume you mean a nonbeliever in the Judeo-Christian God.
Elaine. In any kind of god.
Daniel. I’m afraid I don’t know whether that’s true or not. But I’m not sure why this is relevant. Or what question I’ve resolved for you.
Elaine. You’ve explained how it was possible for you to write a book like Tales of Adam, in which the gods figure so prominently.
Daniel. Yes …?