Chimp, Chump, or Other…

I’ve encountered a fair amount of chatter lately regarding higher primates and their kinship with humanity—not the standard evolutionary fare, but more along the lines of higher primate morality. The chatterers by and large embrace the naturalistic evolutionary paradigm in its full rigor, and consider it a fact demonstrated beyond question that morality is a product of natural processes, and natural processes alone.

 

What caught my attention was a particular discussion directed at chimpanzee behavior: tool use, conception of future states, and social mores, among other things. The chatterers seemed cyber-spatially prostrate in homage and obeisance to two spirits of the age: the “just so” evolutionary tale, and the virtual, if restricted, similitude between humans and higher primates.

 

As reported by naturalists, then, morality is merely a human conception, a societal by-product of blind evolutionary forces; one that we share to a limited degree with higher primates. End of story, get over it, move on, say the chatterers.

 

Given the truth of the standard, naturalist paradigm, we may or may not accept that morality developed precisely as claimed, but what we must adopt, if we wish to be rational, is that morality is as claimed: relative, merely human, non-absolute. If this is true—and I am convinced that it is not—those who believe it appear not to believe it with enough conviction to live it.

 

As I have stated elsewhere, philosophies hatched in captivity do not so easily survive in the wild. Talk is cheap, especially internet talk, my friends: do those who preach such a conception of morality actually practice what they preach? I think not.

 

A horrid event recently befell a woman who was mauled by a chimpanzee. My heart goes out to her, and nothing said here diminishes or trivializes her pain. As should be plain at the end of this post, it is actually I as non-relativist, and those like me—which is ultimately all of us—who can empathize with this woman who was wronged in a very real and strikingly tangible manner.

 

For those, then, preaching that higher primates evolved morality, how can we determine that anything wrong or evil actually occurred here? Certainly no one blames the chimpanzee, even though he recompensed for the deed with his life with bullets in his chest. There’s no chimpanzee court, no chimp penal institutions, no primate rehabilitation facilities. In fact, in the wild, there’s not even the thought, presumably, that any wrong or evil occurs in such instances. Indeed, we would predict this under naturalistic evolution: survival, fitness, reproduction, natural selection, but certainly not evil.

 

To suggest that evolutionary thought denies this by some sort of standard whereby societies evolve moralities to sustain their genetic pools is just to move the difficulty back a step. Even if this were the case, and it’s nowhere near clear that this evolutionary “just so” state of affairs obtains, there would still exist the identical proposition between societies and their respective gene pools. Better to maul the other society first: maul or be mauled, but reproduce and have your children reproduce no matter what the means.

 

One might conclude that this underlies the inchoate humanistic mantra for the brotherhood of man and the kinship of all living things: to salve the uncomfortable naturalistic, evolutionary logical conclusion that nothing is wrong in the struggle of life, and the all-encompassing drive to protect and sustain our DNA. Yet this, again, is only a further removal of the problem back a step. For then it would still be our planetary gene pool versus that of competing civilizations elsewhere. Perhaps we should begin singing about galactic, or even universal, peace, love, and understanding.

 

Nevertheless, in the human realm the idea that nothing wrong occurred with the chimp mauling certainly does not appear to be the case. The hue and cry is deafening. What a horrid event. What a crime. What an evil. And guess what—the hue and cry is right. Something wrong did in fact occur, namely that the chimp’s owner was apparently negligent. It wasn’t an act against human convention. It wasn’t an act against sensibilities. This horrid event was more than an act against a social contract. It was wrong. And those who preach that morality is merely a human convention know it was wrong. Relativism, most particularly naturalist varieties of relativism, is an academic philosophy that cannot survive in the wild.

 

Now, suppose, for a moment, that another human had mauled this woman instead of a chimpanzee. Here we have a fatal defeater for naturalistic morality: if we are but members of the same evolutionary family with our higher primate cousins and our morality is merely evolved, merely a human conception, then there’s no substantive difference in a chimp mauling and a human mauling.

 

Again, my heart goes out not only to this particular woman, but all who have experienced pain and suffering. And the thing is, when I make that claim, it actually means something—because morality is more than a human convention.

 

If you believe there’s not an objective standard of goodness and morality out there, independent of humanity, you’re in effect saying you’re nothing more than a chimp. If you believe there’s not, but act as though there were, you’re a chump (although I thank you for doing so. It makes my time on this earth more pleasant). But there’s another option other than chimp or chump: morality is somehow more real than you’re currently willing to admit. It’s okay, take the plunge: fact is, you’re already living as though it were true.

As some of your own poets have said, episode 1

Percy Bysshe Shelley’s masterpiece, Ozymandias, is an essential. And with salute to the upcoming Watchmen release, I encourage you to take a moment and read Shelley’s sonnet if you haven’t previously, or reacquaint yourself if you have:

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter’d visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp’d on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock’d them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains: round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

If you can read this poem and remain unmoved, your heart is hewn from the same stone Of that colossal wreck. The imagery of this poem haunts me: the wasteland stretching far and away, the windswept sand battering the shatter’d visage, the vanity of power, nature’s and time’s ultimate conquest over human folly, and the emptiness of existence.

And on the pedestal these words appear: “My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!” How many rulers throughout the ages have echoed this sentiment? How many of the influential, the wealthy, the powerful? Who’s not felt the “proud man’s contumely?” On a lesser scale, does not this sentiment even crop up within your small set? Within your family perhaps? Your church? Your place of employment?

Meaningless! Meaningless! said the preacher. And he was right. How our works suppurate and decay with the onslaught of unfettered time, works of we, the present unknowns, most of all. Yet how many Pharaohs of Egypt can you name? Chinese Dynastics? I wager few within our own present culture are able to name all American Presidents, much less the most powerful and influential men and women of times long past.

Sobering, indeed, and crippling when Shelley’s boundless and bare vision adds a desolate texture to our human predicament: as some of your own poets have said: we are alone. We are meaningless. We are purposeless. We are absurd.

Without God, that is. Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. I saw the Holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.

He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new!” Then he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.”

He said to me: “It is done. I am the Alpha and Omega, the Beginning and the End. To him who is thirsty I will give to drink without cost from the spring of the water of life. He who overcomes will inherit all of this, and I will be his God and he will be my son.

Mission Impolitical

Then Jesus came to them and said, All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age. Matt 28:18-20

Arguments from silence are typically weak; they’re best to be avoided when possible. To move from the Great Commission to a conclusion that the Church’s mission does not include politics borders on such an argument, which is to say that because Jesus did not teach his disciples to be involved in politics, then He must have been against it.

On closer inspection, however, I think something approximating this conclusion may be maintained. Christ gives three instructions here for his disciples:

  • Go and make disciples of all nations
  • Baptize them in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit
  • Teach them to obey everything I have commanded you

This appears to be the Church’s mission. Presumably, political involvement is not entailed in discipling and baptism. That leaves point three: teaching them to obey everything that Jesus commanded. The underlying Greek supports the everything of everything here. Thus, the Great Commission would include everything Jesus commanded. Is political involvement something Jesus commanded? If so, it’s not a verse or passage I’m aware of. In fact, the Gospels, and the remainder of the New Testament contain the commands of Jesus, and nowhere is political involvement endorsed.

Quite opposite is actually the case. “But our citizenship is in heaven,” “No one serving as a soldier gets involved in civilian affairs” “Do not be yoked together with unbelievers.” The NT is stuffed with proscriptions against the Christian’s entanglement with the world. Even the Jews were confused in this regard as they expected the Messiah to come as a great military and political champion. A simple, cursory reading of the NT text suggests that politics were not part of the will of the Father Jesus came to perform, nor did He or His apostles give any indication that political activity was part of the command.

I’m open to suggestions if I’ve missed something, but it seems apparent to me that a prima facie case exists for politics not being a part of the Great Commission. And if not a part of the Great Commission, then not part of the Church’s mission.