The Objectivist Tree: A Parody

And every day the boy would come and he would gather her leaves and make them into crowns and play king of the forest.
He would climb up her trunk and swing from her branches and eat apples.
The tree let him do this because they were both young, and she had not yet developed a consistent moral philosophy.
And they would play hide-and-go-seek.
And when he was tired, he would sleep in her shade, without even paying rent.
And the boy loved the tree…very much.
And the tree was happy.

But time went by.
And the boy grew older.
And the tree was often alone and had time to think.
Then one day the boy came to the tree and the tree said, “Come, Boy, come and climb up my trunk and swing from my branches and play in my shade and be happy. But stay away from my apples.”
“I am too big to climb and play” said the boy.
“I want to buy things and have fun. I want some money.”
“Don’t we all,” said the tree, “but I have no money. I have only leaves and apples. Grow your own apples, Boy, and sell them in the city. Then you will have money and you will be happy.”
But no matter how hard the boy tried, he couldn’t grow apples on his own. After a while, he left.
And the tree was happy.

But the boy stayed away for a long time…and the tree was sad.
And then one day the boy came back and the tree shook with joy and she said, “Come,
Boy, climb up my trunk and swing from my branches and be happy.”
“I am too busy to climb trees,” said the boy. “I want a house to keep me warm,” he said. “I want a wife and I want children, and so I need a house. Can you give me a house?”
“I have no house,” said the tree. “The forest is my house, and it could be yours too. Then you will be happy.”
But in order to live in the forest, the boy would have had to initiate physical force against another tree, and he wasn’t sure whether talking trees qualified as individuals or not, so the boy left empty-handed and instead lived in a dumpster behind Denny’s.

And the tree was happy.

But the boy stayed away for a long time.
And when he came back, smelling of discarded fry oil, the tree was so happy she could hardly speak.
“Come, Boy,” she whispered, “come and play.”
“I am too old and sad to play,” said the boy.
“I want a boat that will take me far away from here. Can you give me a boat?”
“Get your own boat,” said the tree. “You can’t eat your cake and have it too. Maybe hold your breath and float yourself. Then you can sail away…and be happy.”
And so the boy waded into the ocean until the water covered his head.
And the tree was happy…but not really.

And after a long time the boy came back again.
“I am sorry, Boy,” said the tree,” but I have nothing left to give you. My apples have withered on the stems.”
“My teeth are too weak for apples,” said the boy.
“My branches are withered too,” said the tree. “You cannot swing on them–”
“I am too old to swing on branches,” said the boy.
“My trunk is rotted,” said the tree. “You cannot climb–”
“I am too tired to climb” said the boy.
“I am sorry,” sighed the tree. “I wish that I could give you something…but that would violate my consistent moral position. Trees are an end to themselves, you know. I am sorry…but not really.”
“I don’t need very much now,” said the boy. “I wish I had a quiet place to sit and rest. I am very tired.”
“Well,” said the tree, straightening herself up as much as she could, “wishing won’t make it so, now, will it? There’s an anthill over there. Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest.”

And the boy did.
And the tree was happy.
But the ants were awfully upset.