Reason for Hope: A Spiritual Journey

by Jane Goodall

I had gone to Gombe neither to prove that the chimps were better or worse than humans, nor to provide myself with a platform for making sweeping pronouncements about the “true” nature of the human species. I had gone to learn, to observe, and to record what I observed; and I wanted to share my observations and reflections with others as honestly and clearly as I could. Certainly I felt strongly it was better to face up to the facts, however unsettling, than to live in a state of denial.

Dawkins’s book became a best-seller in part, I think, because for many people it provided an excuse for human selfishness and cruelty. It was just our genes. We couldn’t help it. At the same time, medicine was revealing the physical causes underlying many psychological disturbances. It was comforting, perhaps, to disclaim responsibility for our bad behavior. I thought back to the stories of sadistic brutality and torture told by Holocaust survivors. Did Dawkins’s theory help to explain how, in a supposedly cultured, civilized country, mass killings and genocide on such a scale could have taken place?

And so the behaviors of the Gombe chimpanzees provided fuel for much theorizing; and many scientists were eagerly arguing about them, using them—or not—to substantiate or refute their own pet theories on the nature of human aggression; whereas I, with my work at Gombe, was trying to understand a little better the nature of chimpanzee aggression. My question was: How far along our human path, which has led to hatred and evil and full-scale war, have chimpanzees traveled?

Unfortunately, cultural speciation has become very highly developed in human societies around the world. Our tendency to form select in-groups from which we exclude those who do not share our ethnic background, socioeconomic position, political persuasions, religious beliefs, and so on is one of the major causes of war, rioting, gang violence, and other kinds of conflict.

It was particularly shocking for me to reflect on the extent to which different religious groups had, from the beginning, tried to force their beliefs on others. The number of wars throughout history that had been fought over religious issues was staggering.

Yet it was true also that at the heart of the teachings of the great religious leaders was a plea to renounce violence, to gather in rather than exclude those of different faiths.

Clearly, I reflected, cultural speciation had been crippling to human moral and spiritual growth. It had hindered freedom of thought, limited our thinking, imprisoned us in the cultures into which we had been born. And, provided we remained locked within these cultural mind prisons, all our fine ideas about the Family of Man, the Global Village, and the uniting of nations would be just rhetoric. Although, to be sure, there was some comfort in knowing that at least we realized how we ought to want to live, and the kinds of relationships we ought to want to have. But it was obvious that unless we “walked the talk,” racism, bigotry, and fanaticism, as well as hatred, arrogance, and bullying, would continue to flourish. (As, indeed, they have.)

In some respects, however, human aggressive behavior was, indeed, unique. Thus while it seemed that chimpanzees had some awareness of the pain they inflicted on their victims, they were surely not capable of cruelty in the human sense. Only we humans inflict physical or mental pain on living creatures deliberately despite—even because of—our knowledge of the suffering involved. Only we, I concluded, are capable of evil. And in our evilness we have designed a variety of tortures that have, over the centuries, caused unbelievable agony to millions of living, breathing human beings. Thus I could see that human wickedness is immeasurably worse than the worst aggression of the chimpanzees.

Eventually I realized that all young chimpanzees are fascinated and delighted by new arrivals in their families, and that these sibling relationships persist over many years.

This sociobiological theory, while helpful in understanding the basic mechanism of the evolutionary process, tends to be dangerously reductionist when used as the sole explanation of human—or chimpanzee—behavior. After all, whilst our biological nature and instincts can hardly be denied, we are, and have been for thousands of years, caught up in cultural evolution as well. We do things which are sometimes quite unrelated to any hope for genetic survival in the future.

Indeed, for the most part, the chimpanzees follow Danny’s favorite text: they seldom let the sun go down on their wrath.

Surely, I thought, if chimpanzees can control their aggressive tendencies, and diffuse the situation when things get out of hand, so can we. And herein, perhaps, was the hope for our future: we really do have the ability to override our genetic heritage.

Experience is needed, it seems, before a chimp learns that death is irreversible.

The chimpanzees continually surprise us, demonstrating ever more of those qualities that once we believed unique to ourselves. But I do not believe that they have a concept of death. And most surely they can have no concept of life after death.

If I had the time I would like to redesign hospital waiting rooms. How many thousands, in just the same situation as I was, have waited in those bleak impersonal rooms. Waited for news that will make or break their lives.

From at least Neanderthal times, and probably before, humans everywhere have worshipped their gods. And religious, spiritual beliefs have been among the strongest and most persistent of all human convictions, sometimes enduring through half a century or so of intense persecution.

Tanzania was suffering from the aftermath of the war in neighboring Uganda. It was because the Tanzanian army had moved in to strengthen the forces of ousted president Milton Obote that the bloody dictatorship of Idi Amin was finally brought to an end. Tanzanians paid dearly for this—the economy fell to its lowest ebb, food shortages continued, and the poverty of the poor increased.

Was there, I asked myself, hope for the future? It seemed that our selfish greed—our lust for power and land and wealth—was winning out over our longing for peace.

And so, although there always has been and still is a great deal that is clearly unethical and often downright evil in human practices everywhere, a growing number of people around the globe are more aware than ever before of what is wrong, what needs to change.

And so, even as Western democratic governments struggled to address human rights in the sphere of individual freedom, their citizens were being, all unknowingly, exposed to an increasing variety of horrific poisons—from pesticides, from agricultural waste, from toxic waste in rubbish dumps, from synthetic chemicals in pharmaceutical products, from irresponsible misuse of antibiotics, including in intensively farmed animals.

But back then, in the 1980s, the most important concern of all—the terrifying rate of human population growth—was seldom mentioned. Paul Ehrlich’s book The Population Bomb was largely ignored. The topic was held to be “politically sensitive,” since any criticism of family size could be construed as interfering with an individual’s right to self-determination.

The natural resources of the world were not inexhaustible; the world’s human population was increasing inexorably; therefore the time was approaching when there would be more humans than the planet could feed and shelter, wilderness areas and most other species would be gone, the complex web of life, the biodiversity of the world’s ecosystems, would be destroyed. The inevitable outcome would be human extinction.

Of course, I understood why those who had lived through war or economic disasters, and who had built for themselves a good life and a high standard of living, were rightly proud to be able to provide for their children those things which they themselves had not had. And why their children, inevitably, took those things for granted. It meant that new values and new expectations had crept into our societies along with the new standards of living.

And what about those, and there are many, who do not believe in a God—those who are atheists? It does not make any difference, I thought. A life lived in the service of humanity, a love of and respect for all living things—those attributes are the essence of saintlike behavior.

In order to write that book I had struggled to master a great deal of information that biologists usually acquire as undergraduates—topics such as the influence of hormones on aggression, sociobiological theory, and so on. It was hard work but worthwhile. Before expanding my knowledge I had felt ill at ease when talking to “proper” scientists. Snide remarks in the 1960s and 1970s about the “Geographic cover girl” had, I suspect, rankled more than I had admitted, even to myself. But the book was well received when it was finally published, and my self-confidence had a terrific boost.

Up until this point I had believed that there was nothing I could do that would make a difference. My credentials, I had thought, had not been sufficiently academic for me to stand up to those scientists engaged in medical research.

There were many who urged me not to get involved with orphan chimps. It would be costly, and we would have to care for them throughout their long lives (as long as sixty years), for they can almost never be returned to the wild. It would be better, I was told, to use the precious dollars to try to save the wild chimpanzees and their habitat. Others felt I should help the African people rather than “mere” animals. But for me there was no dilemma.

Moreover, as at Gombe, we tried to involve the local people, employing as many as we could, buying fruit and vegetables from them, boosting the local economy. The villagers, often for the first time, had an opportunity to observe the fascinating social interactions between chimpanzees. Tourists were fascinated too, and in Kenya and Uganda the sanctuaries eventually became self-supporting.

I became convinced that it should be mandatory for all scientists who make use of the living bodies of animals, whatever the species, to learn something about the natural behavior of those animals, and to see for themselves how their research affects the individuals involved. Only then can they balance the benefit (or hoped-for benefit) to humanity against the cost in suffering to the animals.

If physiological similarities between chimpanzee and man mean that a disease pattern is likely to follow a similar course in our two species and be affected by similar preventative or curative agents, is it not logical to infer that similarities in the central nervous systems of chimpanzees and ourselves may have led to corresponding similarities in cognitive abilities? And that chimpanzees may experience emotions similar to those of the human primate they so closely resemble? And have a similar capacity for suffering?

It is unfortunate also that the hurdles that must be crossed before a new nonanimal procedure is approved are more numerous and harder to negotiate than is the case if a new animal procedure is proposed. There has been a good deal of research into the history of medicine tracing the contributions made by animal experimentation. This work shows clearly that animals have not been as critical to the advancement of medicine as is typically claimed by proponents of animal experimentation. Moreover, a great deal of animal research has been misleading, and resulted either in the withholding of drugs, sometimes for years, that were subsequently found to be highly beneficial to humans, or to the release and use of drugs that, though harmless to animals, have actually contributed to human suffering and death.

Let science direct its collectively awesome intellect toward phasing out all animal research. Human history is full of inspiring stories of those who achieved the impossible.

If we accept that humans are not the only animals with personalities, not the only animals capable of rational thought and problem solving, not the only animals to experience joy and sadness and despair, and above all not the only animals to know psychological as well as physical suffering, we become (I hope) less arrogant, a little less sure that we have the inalienable right to make use of other life-forms in any way we please so long as there is a possible benefit for human animals. We are, of course, unique but we are not so different from the rest of the animal kingdom as we used to suppose. This knowledge leads to humility, to a new respect for the other amazing animal beings with whom we share this planet, especially those with complex brains and social behavior about whom we know the most, such as dogs and cats and pigs.

To me, cruelty is the worst of human sins. Once we accept that a living creature has feelings and suffers pain, then if we knowingly and deliberately inflict suffering on that creature we are equally guilty. Whether it be human or animal we brutalize ourselves. It is not always an easy message to get across.

We still have a long way to go. But we are moving in the right direction. If only we can overcome cruelty, to human and animal, with love and compassion we shall stand at the threshold of a new era in human moral and spiritual evolution—and realize, at last, our most unique quality: humanity.

My reasons for hope are fourfold: (1) the human brain; (2) the resilience of nature; (3) the energy and enthusiasm that is found or can be kindled among young people worldwide; and (4) the indomitable human spirit.

It’s no good blaming politicians—at least those elected by democratic process. For where is the politician who will push for a tough environmental law, one that will require some degree of sacrifice, unless he or she knows that at least 50 percent of the electorate will be supportive. And we are the electorate. Our votes count. Your vote counts; so does mine.

The trouble is that we suffer—all of us—from just me-ism. “I am just one person. What I do, or don’t do, can’t possibly make any difference. So why should I bother?” Imagine: as more and more people around the world become aware of what is good and what is bad for the environment, and for society, this means there are thousands, then millions, then billions all thinking the same: “It can’t make any difference what I do—it’s just me.” Think how it would be if we could turn that around—thousands and millions and billions of people all knowing that what they do does make a difference.

It can be argued that changes of this sort will lead to major social injustices. Meat farmers, for example, would need alternative livelihoods. The same is true for trappers and miners and those in the animal laboratory industry, and so forth. I am not, for a single moment, denying the complexity, the interrelatedness, the social and political implications of these issues. But we cannot condone forever the pursuit of unethical, cruel, and destructive behaviors simply because to end them will create problems: would anyone advocate the continuation of concentration camps in order to ensure the jobs of those in charge?

Young people, when informed and empowered, when they realize that what they do truly makes a difference, can indeed change the world. They are changing it already.

But, as I’ve stated repeatedly, we don’t have much time. The planet’s resources are running out. And so if we truly care about the future of our planet we must stop leaving it to “them” out there to solve all the problems. It is up to us to save the world for tomorrow: it’s up to you and me.

At Birkenau, where there was no museum, where there were no photos, and only one other couple visiting beside Dietmar and me, I felt the full horror of the Holocaust. The pain, the helplessness, the black despair, the apathy of the Mussulmans, the walking dead. How, in God’s name, how could any have survived?

In the middle of one of the darkest of the six huts, pushing through the concrete under one of the bunks, a little plant had tentatively emerged. Its shoots reached toward the dim light from the minute overhead “skylights” (each about two inches by four inches of thick, cloudy glass); its hopeful buds were ready to burst open. It had broken through the legacy of the darkest and most calculatedly evil period of human history. Where would I ever find a more potent symbol for the impermanence of schemes hatched, surely, in hell? The hell that exists in twisted and warped human minds.

Each one of us matters, has a role to play, and makes a difference. Each one of us must take responsibility for our own lives, and above all, show respect and love for living things around us, especially each other. Together we must reestablish our connections with the natural world