Card replies, "In all likelihood, he's probably correct in the sense that those who do become hyper-violent probably go through patterns like that. But what I suspect is completely lacking in his theory is a way of accounting for the people who go through the same process who do not become spectacularly violent. Because my guess is it's not inevitable. I know people who've gone through terrible things in their lives, and some people act out the script they're given, others end up rebelling against that script and becoming, if anything, remarkably pacifistic."

I notice that both of us are now speaking intensely and starting to breathe hard. There's a good reason for it -- this issue is probably the hardest one for most people who were abused as kids. It's terribly frightening to think that we might become like the people who hurt us. I'm afraid I might. Card's hero Ender, for his part, is terrified that he might. Is Card?

I want to bring Card closer to discussing this fear, so I press my point. "But it's not just the being subjected to violence. It's also the coaching. Ender's coaching and the things he's put through in the school are done deliberately to make him violent in a certain way. It's interesting that you and the criminologist Rhodes champions, Lonnie Athens, have come to the same thesis -- you about what makes a brilliant commander of an army, and Athens about what makes a dangerous killer or rapist."

To my dismay, I can feel Card closing down. "We're perhaps overworking the term 'violence,'" he says tightly. "The essence of good military command is to avoid violence. And in fact that's what Ender did -- the least possible violence in order to achieve the necessary end." The least possible amount of violence? Ender commits genocide.

"Ender's training was merely an exaggeration and echo of what we train all of our soldiers to do, always. We do the same thing with our police. But we try to teach them the proper channels in which that is to be used."

And it never, ever works, I say to myself, but maybe it's time to pose a safer question. "'Ender's Shadow' sounds Jungian," I say, "but Bean doesn't seem to be Ender's shadow in any sort of Jungian sense."

"Well, since I have no respect whatsoever for Jung or any of his works, that's hardly a surprise. The beginnings of the science of psychology are filled with false prophets like Jung and Freud, people who really set back the science of psychology and had a huge and sickening influence in our culture. They are among the great frauds and evils of our time."

By this point I have my own ideas about why he doesn't like Freud and Jung. But I change my tack again, still convinced we'll come to common ground. "You portray armies and police forming among the children of Rotterdam because one of them gets the idea that 'you got to get your own bully' to protect you from the other bullies. That's a fairly left idea, that the police are basically paid bullies. Do you ever see yourself as a leftist?"

Card laughs. "Well, let's put it this way. Most of the program of both the left and the right is so unbelievably stupid it's hard to wish to identify myself with either. But on economic matters, I'm a committed communitarian. I regard the Soviet Union as simply state monopoly capitalism. It was run the way the United States would be if Microsoft owned everything. Real communism has never been tried! I would like to see government controls expanded, laws that allow capitalism to not reward the most rapacious, exploitative behavior. I believe government has a strong role to protect us from capitalism. I'm ashamed of our society for how it treats the poor. One of the deep problems in Mormon society is that really for the last 75 years Mormons have embraced capitalism to a shocking degree."

I find I'm beginning to like Card better! When he says provocative things I agree with, he's my brother. And I truly love it when conservatives and I turn out to share opinions. But as a responsible journalist, I have to ask the boring Mormon Church/gay marriage question now. I expect him to say something innocuous and apologetic like, "It's the position of my church so I have to agree with it." So I dutifully ask, "How do you feel about the Mormon Church's decision to raise over $1.5 million for initiatives banning gay marriage in California, Alaska and Hawaii?"

Card raises his voice. "No, what they've done is oppose efforts to apply the word 'marriage' to a homosexual couple! People are treating it as if they were seeking out opportunities to persecute somebody else! They're simply opposing changing the word 'marriage' to apply to something it's never applied to."

"How is that different from changing the law so that blacks and whites can marry?" I have to force the words out.

Incredulously: "Are you asking that question seriously?"

"Yes."

"I find the comparison between civil rights based on race and supposed new rights being granted for what amounts to deviant behavior to be really kind of ridiculous. There is no comparison. A black as a person does not by being black harm anyone. Gay rights is a collective delusion that's being attempted. And the idea of 'gay marriage' -- it's hard to find a ridiculous enough comparison. By the way, I'd really hate it if your piece wound up focusing on the old charge that I'm a homophobe."

"What old charge?" I've never heard of it.

"It's been raised before. It's been circulating on the Internet for a long time. It's really just one of those annoying things that happens. It's really ugly!"

It's hard to express everything I'm feeling at this moment -- love, betrayal, hurt, desire for conciliation. I say with a curious mixture of gallantry and stiffness, "I doubt it will be the focus of the piece. I really like your books and I really disagree with what you said. That's a contradiction I'm willing to live with."

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