The Book of Hope: A Survival Guide for Trying Times(14)
She had stared deeply into the face of evil—she understood only too well the dark side of our nature. But Jane being Jane was always quick to see the wider perspective.
“Still,” she said, as though addressing her own dark thoughts, “even though there is a lot of violence and evil in the world, from a historical perspective we can see a lot of change for the good. Just think—we’re in the Netherlands. Less than a hundred years ago this land was soaked in blood during World War Two as the British fought the Germans. Recently, I was with some German friends, and I said, ‘Isn’t it weird that here we are—great friends, and our fathers were killing each other?’ Now we have the European Union,” Jane said. “All those countries that were warring with one another for hundreds of years are now united for the common good. It’s a big sign of hope. Yes, we have had Brexit, which is a step backward, but we are unlikely to have war within the EU anytime soon.”
I was inspired by Jane’s hopefulness about the direction of human history and our increasing ability to prevent large-scale wars.
“But aren’t you worried by the fact that authoritarian strongmen are rising all over the world right now?” I asked. “And by all the internal conflicts, the rise of nationalism. Even fascism is gaining traction—the neo-Nazis are getting stronger in America and, incredibly, in Germany. And on top of that there are so many conflicts going on in the world, so much violence—school shootings, gang warfare, domestic violence, and racism and sexism. How can you possibly be hopeful for the future?”
“Well, first of all, over the couple of million years that we have been humans, I do think we have increasingly become more caring and compassionate. And although there is much cruelty and injustice everywhere, there is general agreement that these behaviors are wrong. And more people understand what is going on thanks to the media. And when all’s said and done, I do honestly believe that a far greater percentage of people are basically decent and kind.
“And there’s another thing, Doug. Just as only we are capable of true evil,” Jane said, “I think only we are capable of true altruism.”
A New Universal Moral Code
“A chimpanzee,” Jane continued, “will try to help another who is in trouble, but I think only we can perform an altruistic action even though we know it may harm us. Only we can decide to help someone in spite of knowing that it could put us in danger. It is truly altruistic when you help someone even when your intellect knows the risk you run. Think of the Germans who helped the Jews escape Nazi Germany, even hiding them in their houses. They knew it meant death if they were caught—and often they were.”
“There was the theory of sociobiology that was very popular among scientists in the 1970s that explained altruism as merely a way of ensuring the survival of your own genes,” I said. “So if you die helping family members, it’s fine because your genes will survive into future generations. But I seem to remember you did not agree with that?”
“Well, though it’s true so far as it goes,” Jane said, “the research was based on helping behavior in social insects. Whereas we humans not only help our own kin but others in our group. And we also help individuals to whom we could not possibly be related.
“When it was realized that other animals also helped nonrelatives, the next theory proposed was reciprocal altruism—you help someone in the hope that one day they will help you. But though these theories may explain the evolutionary origin of altruistic behavior, our intellect and imagination seem to allow us to be altruistic in a more inclusive way. We humans help others even if it has no obvious positive impact on our own lives. When we see a picture of starving children, we can imagine how they feel and we want to help them. The picture triggers our pity, our sympathy. And most people feel this way even when those arousing this pity are from a different culture from their own. Photos—or even descriptions—of refugees from war huddled in the winter in flimsy tents, or victims of earthquakes who are starving and homeless, create a sort of visceral emotion. It hurts—psychologically, that is. And it doesn’t matter whether they are European, African, or Asian, young or old. I remember sobbing when I first read Uncle Tom’s Cabin. How I hated the cruel slave owner and all the others who inflicted this kind of pain and misery. Just as I hated the German Nazis during the war.”
After a pause Jane told me that it was only at that moment, as we sat there in the hut in the Dutch wood, that she suddenly understood how a sense of compassion for the victims of oppression can lead to a hatred of the oppressor—and there you have a recipe for reciprocal violence and internecine war like in Rwanda and Burundi.
“Are you saying we have to find a way of forgiving the oppressor?” I asked, somewhat suspect of this ability to forgive or have compassion for the oppressor.
“Yes, I suppose we do. We have to think about the way they were brought up, the code of ethics they were taught as children.”
I referenced how Archbishop Tutu had chaired the Truth and Reconciliation Commission in South Africa to avoid his country devolving into civil war. He had said that forgiveness is how we unchain ourselves from the past. We choose the forgiveness cycle instead of the revenge cycle.
“But you see, Doug,” Jane continued, suddenly animated again, “this just shows you the importance of language. We can discuss these problems. We can teach our children the importance of looking at a problem from different points of view. To keep an open mind. To choose forgiveness instead of revenge.”