"Ishmael" by Daniel Quinn

I hadn't heard of Ishmael when a friend suggested reading it, but it turns many of my contemporaries had. My husband almost balked when he saw it on our counter. Turns out he'd read it in high school and many of his peers had treated it reverently. Naturally he was suspicious of anything that received that much adulation from teenage boys. When I asked another friend, he said he remembered it being part of the AP Environmental Science curriculum in high school, though he hadn't read it himself. While not a representative sample, these responses did make me wonder: what does an philosophical environmental treatise popular among high schoolers in the '90s have to offer today?

It's important to establish that Ishmael is a philosophical treatise. It proposes a new way of looking at the world and man's relationship with it, but it offers no practical solutions or concrete actions. It offers no solutions at all, in fact, beyond a exhortation to spread Ishmael's gospel further. On the whole, this approach made me skeptical. I'm all for changing hearts and minds, but the activism of the past few decades has suggested to me that raising "awareness" just doesn't mean a lot. We're all "aware" that bullying is bad, that racism is bad, that mental health needs to be attended to, that we need to conserve our planet. Yet problems in those arenas remain stubbornly high. It's too easy to agree that bullies should be stopped while excluding that annoying person; to toss a can in the recycling bin while buying a giant new SUV. 

To make his treatise, Quinn has set the book up as a Socratic dialogue between the wise gorilla Ishmael and a clueless unnamed narrator. On the one hand, such a structure allows Quinn to explain his ideology in a clear, didactic manner, working through misunderstandings and offering additional explanation as necessary. On the other hand, it means Quinn treats the narrator--obviously a proxy for the reader--as an utter buffoon, unable to do more than gawk at Ishmael's profound wisdom. I love being startled with new ideas, but I'm not sure I like being treated condescendingly for 200 pages.

I think both of theses are legitimate criticisms--there's issues with actionability and with tone--but neither of those issues reflect judgment about Quinn's ideology itself. And to be fair, there's plenty compelling about Quinn's approach. His premise is that there are two groups of humans--the Takers, which encompasses most modern humans; and the Leavers, which encompasses pre-agricultural humans and a few isolated groups today. The Leavers see themselves as part of the world, subject to the same laws as all other living things. The Takers see themselves as rulers of the world and thus seek to subjugate it. Our problems today, Quinn argues, are a result of this Taker ideology, which will eventually lead to complete destruction of our planet. It's not an entirely new philosophy, but Quinn frames it in a new package, emphasizing the way "Mother Culture" has led us to wrongly believe that a modern way of living is preferable.

Quinn's other original contribution is to explain how the Bible reinforces his philosophy through the stories of Adam's Fall and the conflict of Cain and Abel. It's a fascinating premise, primarily because it speaks to challenges many people have with the Bible: for example, why was it so bad that Adam ate of the Tree of Knowledge? 

Still, I'm all too aware that I am not an anthropologist, a biologist, an environmental scientist, a historian, or a biblical scholar--and neither is Quinn. I have no doubt that any of these specialists would take at least some objection to Quinn's overly-broad, un-nuanced claims about evolution and species behavior. Part of Quinn's appeal is that he makes his points simple and all-encompassing--a few sentences explain everything, everywhere, for all of time. But my experience has taught me that nothing, especially the entire history of our planet, is that straightforward.

So why did (and perhaps does) the book have appeal, particularly among young people? As Ishmael himself argues, many of us sense that something is wrong with human culture and the way we live. We may pinpoint specific targets--perhaps social media or polarized politics--but it's frustrating to not have a clear answer for our discomfort. Quinn offers a simple answer, and there's something reassuring in that. He also provides a privileged viewpoint, a sense that you, as a reader of Ishmael, are "in" on a secret the rest of the world is not privy to. It's ego-feeding at a time in life where people are trying to figure things out and form some sort of understanding of the world.

I'm left then wondering if Ishmael does have relevance and place today. I'm not sure. As an intellectual exercise, it was interesting and challenging. As a reminder of the harm our human-centric culture causes, it was clear and effective. But as an avenue for anything beyond? To that I think we need more concrete writers and thinkers. I kept thinking of Kentucky writer Wendell Berry, who writes primarily about farming in concert with the land. Though many of Berry's suggestions are extreme by the standards of modern culture, he also offers tangible paths forward for the individual, something Quinn lacks. So perhaps Ishmael does have value as an introduction, but not an end point.