M. Megaceros
Weesk’s Greatest Trick
An Origin Myth — the trickster origins of civilization (hats off to fredy perlman)
Part I
When the gods painted the earth with life, they did so everywhere. Even in the coldest places, they brought life; in the driest places they painted life. Teeming life, expressed and blooming in multifaceted profusion of color. Dancing life, bulging out and receding in turns. Every species, distinct and yet dependent on all the other forms. They created a spiraling helix of tribes — tribes of plants, animals, stone, and earth. Not once did the gods withhold their lovely paintbrush from any one of their beloved tribes, nor did they miss a single spot — not on the whole of the earth. They never favored one tribe over another nor one land over another. The gods loved all of it and never, ever intended for one species to glower or triumph over another. The blessed gods created life in an intricate, colorful, and sometimes subtle interplay — a delicate spiraling cyclic dance. A celestial dance — yes, but a dance nevertheless. Everyone knows that in any dance no one person dances all the time; some must recede to rest while others exert themselves and express their joy, sorrow, or folly. It is the same with the Great Dance of Life: no single tribe can thrive at all times — no species thrives all the time. When the beetle thrives and her numbers increase — the dandelion suffers and the deer’s numbers decrease. Men, in their turn, must go hungry for a time. But the robin sees the beetles, gobbles them and flourishes . . . for a time. Every tribe has a time to thrive and a time to recede. This is known by the wise as the Law of Life. It is the only real law, and every cell in every creature knows this law. People, like robins and sea stars, know this law. Only fools and mad creatures resent the cycle of the tide, and only idiots slap gifts from the hands of gods. The world that the gods created is one of abundance and acceptance. There is food everywhere and living beings are never expected to suffer in exchange for it. When deer become scarce there are rabbits; when rabbits become scarce, there are salmon or acorns. And when the gods have nothing to give the people — the people share the little they have with one another, and after that, the people fast — together.
It’s been said that to thwart the Law of Life is folly. But it does happen from time to time. I’m not certain how such an idea first starts, but occasionally a being goes mad and attempts to grasp what was never meant to be his. When this happens, the being is not contented with gifts from the gods’ hands. Such a being becomes greedy and selfish. It says to itself: “Today, I will not take my turn to go hungry; I will devour the food that belongs to the others. I will live forever — all others must suffer. . . I alone am master.” When this happens to a wolf, it says to itself, “I will eat the food that was given to the lion; I will also eat the food that belongs to the hyena and the lynx.” If his brothers don’t stop him, this wolf may get the idea to kill the lion and the hyena — he sees all others as competition. Everything he sees is his. This wolf has gone mad and has become the enemy to all life.
When this happens in a man, his brothers become alarmed and naturally pull away. To him the beautiful land is mere real estate; the trees are lumber, and the sacred mountains, minerals. His mother, the Earth is a nothing but a basket of resources to pick through and exploit. Who treats his mother so badly? This man says, “I am the fastest and most clever, why must my life burn away so quickly? I will do whatever I can to live forever- it’s only right that I should have everything I can grasp.” In their compassion, the man’s relations try to show him his mistake. The man’s sisters tease him to show him that he has begun a destructive and foolish path. If the man won’t listen and continues in his clownish error, the man’s cousins may ignore his talk or laugh out-loud at his ideas in the firelight. Soon, no other person will have dealings with the man, and no one will share with him the blessings that the gods bestow. He may move away from the village and sulk, down by the river with no one to care for him. All joy has left his life; he has become an island.
If the man sees his selfishness and his error, no more will be said. The act of sharing his food with the others is accepted as a simple act of contrition. While it is true that he may have a greater share of strength, cunning and ability- he must not separate himself from the others. He is one of Earth’s many children and he knows it. He knows that when his life ends the worms will digest his remains and he will feed the grasses which, in turn feeds the deer and so on. He also remembers that every being must share in the ebb and flow of the gods’ generosity. There are no exceptions to the Law of Life- none. Humbled and sobered, he exhales and relents. He shares the bounty of the hunt with the others. All his relatives embrace the man and life will continue as before. His insane myopic episode has passed. The life of the people has returned. A meal is prepared and shared. He admits his mistake and has returned to the bosom of life. That’s all it that is required.
The man decides to help his niece and nephew in their passage to adulthood. Before their births, the souls of children choose to come to earth for the simple reason that earth is where things are done...where projects are completed. The people know this and are willing to assist the children in all possible ways. They are born into the world surrounded by smiling and welcoming faces. Before a birth, the elders perform a ceremony and lean in close to the mother’s swollen belly. They ask the spirit of the newcomer to speak to them to tell them what task the newcomer wants to complete. In a trance, the mother responds to the elders’ carefully worded queries. Children are given names to help them remember their missions.
Infants are held by many sets of loving hands and do not sleep alone. Children are encouraged to remember their nighttime dreams and if possible, to act upon them in the daylight. They are not placed in school to regulate or tailor their growth to notions of an expected educational result. On the contrary, children are left free to imitate or ignore their uncles, aunts, cousins, and the animals they observe during their play. Children are encouraged to emulate everyone and everything under the Sun, as well as the twinkling stars that sparkle over their heads. The grownups open doors and provide constant opportunities for the children to wander where they want — unharmed and unhindered. Adult mentors resist inflicting undue difficulties or personal problems on the young. Such acts are frowned on by the people.
The man resolves to build dream lodges in the forest, one for his nephew and one for his niece. The children are old enough to choose their paths as adults. Their childhoods have been full, and their play has prepared them for a seamless transition into adulthood. The youngsters go away, and in a green, hidden place of silence and seclusion, they stop eating and begin to dream until each is visited by a spirit guide in the form of an animal. The spirit promises to guide the child along a specific path, a strong life-long connection.
The spirit offers to the boy certain powers with which to defend himself, and power with which to light his path. After his initiation, the young man ventures outside of the known world on solitary hunting forays. His guide never leaves his side as he walks beside mirror lakes or puzzles over the ways of the animals whose tracks he travels, whose ways he ponders, whose last, gasping breaths he shares. When he returns home with meat and medicine and tales of his travels, he in turns builds a dream lodge for his own nephew.
If we understood the meaning of his life, we wouldn’t ask why he fights the civilized men, the land thieves, and resists encasing himself in the grinding concrete, machine world we find ourselves in. We wouldn’t ask why he’d rather die than live as we do. We wouldn’t ask him to work in the factories or office cubicles as we do. We wouldn’t ask why he refuses to drag his children into these classrooms and these prisons. Why he doesn’t dessert his elders in the parking lots of nursing facilities. Nor would we ask him to choose the best mobile phone plan or to compare new car options. If we fully grasped the content and meaning of his world, perhaps the flicker of life still smoldering deep within our own hearts would wake and flare up to give cause for us to shudder for all that has been lost to us.
The man’s sister, in the meantime, finds that like the gods, she is a creator, a painter of things. She turns tule reeds into soft sleeping mats for her relatives. She turns pine needles and sweet grass into watertight cooking baskets. Her dreams inspire the colorful symbolism with which she finishes everything she makes. When her children find their own way to experience the world, the woman is neither disappointed nor surprised. She knows that the children are following their own dreams, as she herself had. She gravitates toward the center of the ritual life of the village, to the council of elders — the learned protectors of the tribe. Nothing her people do or know is alien to her. Her life is long and filled with abundance and autonomy.
After her marriage, she participates in the planning of rituals and parties. One of the festivals involves reenactment of the expulsion of the Trickster from the village: Weesk, the Promethean trickster who has a fondness for sly jokes and malicious pranks. Weesk, the smasher of boundaries. Weesk, who sneaks in and sows the spirit of disorder with his bargaining and his sack of useful and amusing toys and sweets.
Parents warn their children about long-eared Weesk and his sack of schemes. His diversions never fail to be amusing and tempting — especially to children and simpletons. The people must be ready for his tricks. It is tempting to listen to him, for his suggestions create efficiencies in food distribution and negate shortages during the dry months. His tricks, however also teach the people to defy the Law of Life — to become isolated, sad, and selfish beings. The tribe knows Weesk and his ways. They know that with all of the trickster’s offers, there is a price to pay. The tribe wants to remain autonomous, free beings — not inmates at a labor camp.
Every few years, people don masks to personify the ritual characters in the drama. In the reenactment, Weesk leads the passive, dreaming tribe away from traditional life and into servitude, into the hierarchy of strongmen and priest-kings: toward a poisonous civilization. The elders stand ready, shoulder to shoulder to face the Domesticator — this time. During the reenactment, the elders cleverly suggest that Weesk offer his competitiveness and innovations elsewhere — to a people less autonomous — to a people more vulnerable to foolish suggestions. On this occasion, thankfully, the seed of domestication has failed and finds no purchase in the hearts of the people. The joy is palpable after the ritual/drama ends and the pretend Civilizer leaves the village. Broadly grinning, friends take off their masks and share a meal together.
Part II
Long ago, this is how all people lived. Food was held in common; the land and sea were the common home to all life. All requirements for food, clothing, and shelter only required a few minutes per day. The majority of the day was spent talking, visiting, playing, and making things. What sort of person would think of toil in such a life? The idea of exploiting the land, animals or each other as a resource was an unthinkable obscenity — a kind of near-sighted madness. Would any sane person treat his grandmother in this manner? Of course not!
One tribe let their guard down and was unable to withstand the offers of the trickster, Weesk. Here’s how it happened. Elders of an autonomous village persuaded the trickster to go south to their old rivals, the Marsh People. It was said that the marsh people were greedy, foolish and lazy.
Weesk liked the sound of these rumors and left to go and see for himself. He followed the Great Trail, guided by the southern stars. The Trickster slipped down into a lush river valley. He entered a dense cluster of huts. In this community, Weesk was welcomed and revered for his complicated schemes and amazing gadgets.
It was the children who rushed out to greet him, and before anyone knew it, he moved right in. Parents went to retrieve their lost children and they, too, looked into his sack of tricks. Oh, the wonders in that bag! In one of his schemes, he taught the women to save the choicest, fattest grass seeds and plant them into the black earth. The women brought out their grinding stones and began to sing the Grinding Song. In another scheme, the people were told to trick their brothers, the game animals. Members of the tribe, whom Weesk called his nephews, trapped the animals alive and enclosed them in pens. They bred the herds for docility, meat, and dairy production. One woman stood up and mocked these practices. This person asked why anyone would bother to toil and sweat to obtain food — because after all, the black Earth provided abundance to everyone with almost no effort. She was shouted down and boxed on the ears for her trouble. Oh, the wonders!
The first harvests were enormous. Weesk told the people to collect clay from the river to form pots to hold the grain. He taught them to burn the pots in great banked fires. He softly suggested that all grain be stored in the vessels, in his hut...for safekeeping.
One night, the Trickster called for a gathering of the entire Marsh tribe.
By ones and two they came to the fireside. He began by telling them that they the most intelligent people he had ever encountered in his long journeys. He said his heart was full because on this very night he had very good news to tell them. Since they were so special, they were no longer brothers to mere animals. He said that he was about to give the people a special kind of freedom- freedom from unhelpful superstitions. The dark days were over! Weesk went on to say that that the forest was full of evil things. He insisted that the people must shut their ears to the wildness of the forest voices. They must dominate the wildness within their own hearts.
In his speech, he used a new word, “master.” “The people,” he hissed, “are masters of the forest and everything in it.” Then the Domesticator said something that struck all the listeners like a blow. He lowered his voice to a whisper, and here is what he told them: some people were beasts and like dogs they needed masters to manage and control their lives and relationships. He maintained that people were fools to share what they could keep for themselves. The best and wisest people, he told them, hoard goods for the hungry times. Let the best people, he said become my nephews and let the weak and hungry fend for themselves. Everyone should be responsible only to themselves.
His arguments were convincing, and the elders were confused by his talk — they argued among themselves, unable to agree about how to react to the strange ideas and tempting inventions from this new god, Weesk. Some elders grumbled. Others waxed nostalgic about life in the old days — when the world was a garden filled with creatures who were brothers and sisters to men. No one fought over food or toiled for want of it. Everyone took his turn in sharing the gifts of the gods. The oldest among the elders suggested that the people return to the old ways and wondered if it was still possible to expel the Domesticator and return to the Law of Life. Weesk overheard this talk and shook his head. “We can never go back — only forward- that’s progress!” he said. He did, however, offer the elders a walled garden of their own. The Trickster presented the elders a scented paradise where they would spend long, relaxing days discussing the nature of the cosmos — away from the troubles of ordinary men and women. The elders liked their new temple garden with its servants, fountains, paths, and fruit trees. They turned their faces away from the world and retired within its ivy-covered walls.
In the meantime, the astounded villagers were left without the wisdom and presence of their elders. When some people asked Weesk what he desired as his reward for the gifts he had bestowed on the world, the trickster said that he desired nothing. He cleared his throat and then in a humble and sincere voice, he spoke, “I am a mere servant of the people — my needs are simple.” He did indicate, however, that he might like to be carried around in a sedan chair, supported by his strongest nephews, away from the muddy ground.
“Also perhaps,” he whispered, “I would enjoy a soil mound piled up in my honor. . .but only if it’s not too much trouble.”
His nephews organized the task. A mound was duly constructed for Weesk. Baskets of soil were dumped and piled up one upon another, and the pile grew into a small pyramid that overlooked the river valley. Everyone, all the people, joined in these herculean labors. When certain persons became bored with endless toil and wandered away to rest and make music under the shade trees, Weesk rolled his eyes and exhaled loudly in exasperation. When the evening mealtime came, the food was withheld from these shirkers. When this happened, he narrowed his eyes, gave a knowing smile and a sideways glance in the loafers’ direction. Everyone saw it in the firelight and the incident changed everything.
At harvest the strongest nephews collected and stored all the grain. Weesk’s most ruthless nephews went to guard the food lest undeserving and ungrateful wretches steal some of it. Since all the game animals had been driven away by the violence and clamor, some people went hungry and subsisted on a diet of grass seed alone. The hungry begged the nephews for small handfuls of the grain. The nephews granted the wishes of those they found pleasing. Those who were not as pleasing suffered greatly.
Some people became weak on the new diet — their bones became brittle; teeth were ground flat and fell out; their children were sickly and stunted. When a desperate parent took what was needed, the nephews caught and detained her in a sturdy, locked hut. They called this special hut “prison.” It was designed to teach the common people the complicated and contradictory new logic of morality. It taught the people to be humble and thankful for the “generosity” of their superiors. It taught them to fear the nephews’ wrath. It also taught them to be watchful of others, not as fortunate as themselves. Poverty and hunger were effective punishments, yes — but not always enough to deter the hardened criminal. More severe deterrents were designed and given. Panels of arrogant nephews convened and adorned themselves with robes and elaborate headdresses. They sat at special tables flanked by spear men. In ominous voices they judged the errant villagers. It was widely held that these wrongdoers had no common sense and were dangerous to themselves and others. “After all”, they sniffed “who else but a willful criminal or a dolt would attack the interests of the powerful nephews”?
“The land,” Weesk bellowed from atop his dirt mound, “is property and is owned by my nephews. All the others must pay tribute.” Common or low people were to be called “zeks.” Obtaining food, clothing and shelter was to be called “work”. All work was to be determined and assigned by the nephews. Only the nephews were true owners of land. Weesk’s nephews were shepherds of the zeks. Refusing to work was stealing and therefore immoral. Hard work for the nephews’ benefit was said to be right and moral. Cooperation with the plans of the nephews was rewarded with extra rations and privileges. It was easier to follow their plans than to withstand the violence and starvation that the nephews inflicted for even the smallest of infractions. These principles were said to benefit everyone equally and duly recorded on baked clay tablets as “laws.”
Any zek who demonstrated above-average ability was given special privileges in exchange for exclusive service to the nephews. In “schools” the youngsters were sorted and graded. Each graduate was awarded with a position in the hierarchy based on his usefulness to the interests of the nephews. Any zek who was capable of launching an effective critique of the hierarchy was lifted above his fellow zeks. Effectively buying off all meaniful opposition and any potential critics of the new social hierarchy. In this way, the structure of the social structure was always being refined and infused with vitality and never dismantled or even challenged. Weesk called it “total buy-in”.
The machine of civilization began to grind forward and spread. Its fuel was forests, earth, mountains, and the peoples it encountered. Everything was changed by contact with this machine. Rivers and streams were redirected and channeled. Forests were cleared away and meadows were overgrazed by the relentless herds. Topsoil simply washed away leaving behind an acrid smelling desert. The nephews told themselves and the zeks they ruled- that it was under their careful husbandry that the desert bloomed. But the desert did not bloom- the land was in fact withering. No zek dared to state the obvious- it was the tampering with nature which had caused the deserts to begin in the first place! Zeks continued to graze the herds owned by the nephews. Zeks continued to plant the nutrient greedy grains. Who could blame them?
Because of the increase in the food supply, the size of the village doubled and in time doubled again. The valley and surrounding hills became very crowded. Food shortages, jealousy and violence became common. There were periodic famines and droughts. From this time forward, the nephews’ values of accumulation, hoarding, innovation, and efficiency and watchful suspicion became core virtues of even the lowest zeks. The valley was changing — becoming domesticated and fouled. The people were corrupted and ill at ease. At night, their sleep was fitful and monsters plagued their minds. The only wildness in their lives occurred at night, when they dreamed. The people dreamed of nothing but escape.
From the top of the pyramid, the cunning nephews now commanded the people to work. Dense concentrations of people created conditions suitable for outbreaks of sickness and plague. Old, weak, and feeble people were being told that their misfortunes were their own fault — they must earn the favor of the gods and the powerful nephews of Weesk to prosper. Only by making oneself pleasing to the nephews could a zek be pleasing to the gods. Zeks tried to alter their behavior and appearances — so as to be more pleasing to the powerful nephews. Some were found pleasing and were rewarded with food and mercy from the anger and violence. Others simply lived and died in pain and squalor. Wilier zeks were rewarded with teams of their own zeks to command. Regardless of food stocks, nephews encouraged zeks to have more and more children. The holy books, written by the nephews commanded it.
It became necessary for people to exchange their labor for food just to stay alive. Of course, those lower in the hierarchy experienced the greater share of suffering. It was apparent to very few that the people had lost their autonomy. Even the language itself would no longer support the notion of autonomy and true equality. Their former freedoms were literally unthinkable. To stay alive and out of trouble meant to serve their masters. To have a safe place to sleep meant to pay rent to the nephews. To eat nutritious food meant to labor for the nephews. In stories, games and songs, zek mothers taught their children the the ethics and values of hard work. “Work makes you free, work makes you happy — rest is for the afterlife,” they hummed to the little ones.
The constant grumbling of the zeks was an annoyance to the nephews. The confused nephews faced each other: “Why do these zeks begrudge us our due? We are their protectors. We are the very best people and the reward for our cleverness, intelligence and hard work is well deserved.” The nephews devised additional laws to protect their own privilege from the ungrateful zeks. Certain zeks came to the attention of the nephews and were recruited to be trained in the use of arms, punishment, and homicide; they kept order over their fellows. The nephews reasoned, “why shouldn’t zeks deal with their own problems? Why must we always get them out of trouble?”
When food again ran short, the nephews assembled an army to head north and seize a neighboring tribe’s land for crop planting and tree felling. After all, the nephews reasoned, planting crops and resource extraction are the only good use for land. “Besides, the Northern tribe is uncivilized” the soldiers joked, “a little culture will do them good.” The zek army brought home captives and exotic new resources. From the nephews, new orders came. The orders said that Weesk’s mound would have to be rebuilt, this time in white limestone — a stone mountain with a golden pinnacle. Only this act would please the one and only creator of the universe — Weesk.
God, they said, was angry with the ungrateful and lazy zeks; it was their fault that the valley was increasingly unproductive. He had become wrathful and jealous. When the flood waters receded and spring planting time again returned, Weesk was not found on his stone mountain or in his temples, treasure vaults, or even in the darkest corner of his locked prisons. The Domesticator seemed to have finished his work and vanished into thin air. From atop the battlement walls, the nephews who had become the armored kings, generals, priests and entrepreneurs looked out upon the land and muttered into their braided, perfumed beards, “There is wilderness to subdue, zeks to rule, and no amount of time-wasting and loafing will speed this important work”.
