Planet of the Apes and Philosophy (25 page)

Second, there are good pragmatic reasons why we might want to extend and expand the knowledge that we already have. Suppose someone has made, or knows how to make, some particularly dangerous organism. I certainly would want more research on the topic, to find out if this organism is a one-off or part of a series. I would want more research to find out whether the organism could be countered, perhaps by artificially manufactured predators or parasites. I would want . . . Well, you can see how the discussion goes. Having gone this far, the last thing I would want is a ceasing of all activity in this direction. If anything, we might make the case for increased effort, at least for a while.

Simply trying to contain new knowledge, the Dr. Zaius approach, might be problematic—perhaps both impossible and undesirable. There's also the other side to the matter, whether in principle we should ever restrain the search for new knowledge, including especially new empirical knowledge. “And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free” (John 8:32). Is there not something inherently good about the search for knowledge, whatever the consequences? At a glance, I'm inclined to think that there is.

Would I want to stop a biologist looking at the reproductive behavior of a new species of lizard? Would I want to stop a mathematician deriving a new theorem? Would I want to stop a philosopher finding a new proof for the existence of God? If I were footing the bill, I might be a little wary of signing a blank check. I rather doubt that, at this stage of the debate, anyone is going to come up with much new in the God proof business—although perhaps enthusiasts for the anthropic principle would disagree. That discussion is over whether the physical
laws of nature are so exactly tuned and necessary for the existence of life that they cannot be pure chance. As best I know, this is a fairly recent discussion—see Barrow and Tipler's 1986
The Anthropic Cosmological Principle
—although perhaps it had a precursor in some speculation by the Scottish philosopher David Hume in his
Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion
(1779).

I'm not entirely sure that all search for knowledge is necessary. Suppose somebody wanted to see if having a large nose is genetically linked to being sharp in business. I confess I would be very wary of this, suspecting anti-Semitism somewhere down the line. Although perhaps the issue here is not the knowledge as such but the search for it, and my feeling both that (from what we know about genetics) it's highly improbable that such a link exists and that someone engaged in such an inquiry is motivated by less than admirable intentions. I realize however that at this point I'm walking on thin ice that may give way to controversy.

Many gays are worried about the possible effects of research into the genetic basis of sexual orientation—find a gay gene and the next thing is that we're into selective abortion against such genes and gays become unfortunate people whose parents were too lazy to get the appropriate genetic counseling. On the other hand, we might argue that knowing about the genetic bases of sexual orientation could be another nail in the coffin of thinking that gay people have made a deliberate decision not to live the life and thoughts of heterosexuals: yet another reason to ignore Saint Paul's admonitions on the subject.

My general feeling therefore is that knowledge is a good thing and the search for knowledge is consequently a good thing. So overall therefore on both pragmatic and intellectual grounds I'm opposed to Dr. Zaius. But I can see that sometimes it might be necessary to make a special case for the knowledge search, especially if it's expensive or inconvenient and there is no good reason to cherish whatever knowledge might be discovered. Even more is it necessary to make a special case when there are prima facie reasons to think that a proposed search
seems unlikely to prove profitable and may well be motivated by less than seemly factors.

However there is one uncomfortable thought that does strike me. It does tie in rather nicely with what I said was part of the main message I extract from the
Planet of the Apes
.

I said that I found the movie stimulating (and fun to teach) because of the assumptions about the nature and course of evolution. Humans were clearly top dogs—or primates rather—and then they messed things up and the apes stepped into their place. Evolution is ever pushing upwards and the top position will be occupied and reoccupied as it becomes vacant. But what is the top position? Humans yesterday, apes today, who knows what tomorrow? The lurking question is whether this is the limit, the highest possible point of evolution. If the apes could move up the ladder from a lower status to a higher status, does this imply that that is the upper point of evolution? Surely not! Could not the apes, or if not the apes some other animal on the ladder, just keep climbing and so at some point in the future we will get super-beings? Isn't this at least implied or presupposed in the movie?

I think it is, but I think something else important is not so much implied as flung right in our faces. The kind of animals that humans are (or, in the movie, were) does not bolster confidence in our emotional or social stability. Humans blew up their civilization! We evolved as social beings but not as perfect social beings. We are the products of evolution which means that we are as good as we need to be, at least until a new factor intrudes. In this case, the frightening new scientific knowledge and the appalling possible technology-fired consequences. In the
Planet of the Apes
, making the fairly reasonable assumption that a perfect society would not blow itself to bits, humans' abilities to find new knowledge is balanced by—or more precisely tipped over by—humans' inabilities to function as a perfect social society.

Dr. Zaius knows this. “You are right, I have always known about man. From the evidence, I believe his wisdom must walk hand and hand with his idiocy. His emotions must rule his brain. He must be a warlike creature who gives battle to everything around him, even himself.” Moreover, given Dr. Zaius's determination to suppress the dangerous knowledge, the movie rather suggests that now that the apes have taken over things
are not much improved in that direction. There are still tensions and conflicts. (It is interesting to compare this with
The Day the Earth Stood Still
. In themselves the aliens may not be socially perfect, but they have put themselves under the suzerainty of robots that ensure that they will behave in a socially perfect way.)

What this all suggests to me is something that I suspect is really true. The search through the galaxies for super beings is probably doomed to failure. Humanoids—human-like beings—may have evolved again and again. But the success carries the seeds of failure or at least of limitation. We have evolved big brains because biologically that is a good thing to have. We have also evolved socially because biologically that is a good thing to do. My suspicion (and this would be shared by today's evolutionary psychologists) is that the two are connected. While intelligence is very important for exploring the world around us, it's also very important for dealing with our fellow humans. And there is probably a cause and effect situation here. As I have argued in
The Philosophy of Human Evolution
, those who were better socially were brighter and the brightness led to being better socially.

However neither intelligence nor sociality is an absolute. We're as good as we need be to get along. In fact biologists point out that neither is necessarily the best in a certain situation. Having big brains requires lots of high-quality fuel, that is to say lots of protein, and getting this (in the old days at least meaning getting large chunks of dead animal) is expensive in itself. If food is scarce, you might be better off on an all-grass diet even if the cost is being intellectually challenged. In the immortal words of the paleontologist, the late Jack Sepkoski, whom I interviewed for
Monad to Man
: “I see intelligence as just one of a variety of adaptations among tetrapods for survival. Running fast in a herd while being as dumb as shit, I think, is a very good adaptation for survival.”

I suspect therefore that the
Planet of the Apes
scenario may repeat itself again and again. In the universe as a whole, humanoids with the intelligence to find weapons of mass destruction may well appear on a regular basis. (I myself am not
sure how often this would happen, but let's assume that in a universe big enough it does occur repeatedly.) But that is a threshold, and the social nature of these humanoids will only keep things in the air for so long. Today, tomorrow, sometime in the future, someone will use the knowledge to destroy the humanoid civilization and resting place. This will happen before there has been much more rise in the humanoid intelligence.

You think I exaggerate? In real life we have had nuclear knowledge for less than a hundred years. Already the most civilized of us all have been prepared to use it against others. Does anyone truly think that in the next twenty thousand years—a blink in the evolutionary timescale—in a world that already contains North Korea, the knowledge will never be used again? If you honestly think that within the next million years we shall not have destroyed ourselves, then let me tell you that I have a bridge for sale that might interest you.

So I see the chief message of
Planet of the Apes
as being that human civilization as we know it is not likely to survive. With great knowledge comes great responsibility and frankly we are probably not up to the task. Beneath the surface of a stirring adventure story, laced with humor—who can forget the response of Zira when she's expected to kiss Taylor: “Alright, but you're so damned ugly!”—is a grim explication of the awful human situation.

L
ORI
G
RUEN

I
n fourth grade, I pretended to get sick the day my class went on a field trip to the zoo. For as long as I can remember, I've been drawn to other animals, but zoos made me sad. The animals seemed bored or silly or uncomfortable. They seemed to me to be misunderstood and as a child I too felt misunderstood. Sometimes I identified more with animals than with humans.

I hadn't seen
Planet of the Apes
yet when I was in grade school, I had to wait until I was a bit older. When I first saw it I was terrified by it—all of the apes, the humans, the gorillas, the chimpanzees, and the orangutans were behaving in ways that were so frightening. But I also like being scared so I saw the movie as often as I could.

Looking back, I think what scared me the most about that original movie (and also what thrilled me so much about
Rise of Planet of the Apes
, but more about that in a bit) was thinking about being locked in a cage, unable to communicate with the captors. When I imagine myself in the position of Taylor, who had been shot in the throat before he was captured and now could not communicate his desires, I feel frustrated, angry, and also really scared.

In the movie, the ape captors thought he was just a dumb animal and he had to struggle, often futilely, to try to communicate that he was somebody—with likes and dislikes, fears and hopes and plans. He had a personality and thoughts and he could suffer. Yet he was treated as if none of this was even possible, his captors seemed unable to imagine that he was anything other than a struggling specimen, sort of like a bug
captured in a jar. He had to suffer all sorts of physical assaults without being able to express his pain verbally, although he obvious expressed his displeasure in other ways. He also was subject to humiliations and other indignities. But then his voice came back and through language he was able to escape his captivity.

What Taylor experienced as a captive is similar to what some chimpanzees and other apes, including humans, actually experience in captivity today—although most captives are now kept in sterile, cement and steel enclosures, not the dirt and wood enclosures from
Planet of the Apes
. To hold someone captive is to deny him a variety of goods and to frustrate his interests in a variety of ways. Though captive situations usually vary, one thing about captivity is that it confines and controls those who are captive and makes captives reliant on those in control to satisfy their basic needs.

We tend to think that being held captive constitutes a harm. We justify holding humans captive when they have done something that warrants our depriving them of their freedom. Of course, imprisoning people harms them, but it may not be wrong to do so. Some of the incarcerated people I work with understand that they are being held captive because of what they did—they committed crimes and violated the social contract so are now being punished for their transgressions. But not everything they experience in captivity constitutes rightful punishment (for example, being denied contact with their children and families or being humiliated and degraded by prison guards) particularly in those cases, and there are many, in which the people who are incarcerated didn't really have genuine options when they committed their crimes.

While denying someone their freedom harms them, certain forms of captivity can sometimes be justified. But denying freedom to one who is innocent, who does nothing to deserve the deprivation, is much harder to justify. Taylor in
Planet of the Apes
and Caesar in
Rise of Planet of the Apes
did nothing to deserve being held captive. They were confined and controlled simply for who they were.