We
have become aware, in the past half century or so, that science is not done in
a vacuum of pure thought. Rather, it tends to reflect the social values --- and
especially those untested assumptions that are accepted as self-evident truths
--- of its time.
When Darwin published The Origin of Species
in 1859, he was working in a world of almost restrained economic expansion,
unabashed colonialism, and jingoistic empire-building. Whatever Darwin's personal
views of these developments may have been, his book avoided a near perfect rationalization
for them in the concept of the survival of the fittest. (The phrase was actually
coined by Herbert Spencer, but endorsed by Darwin himself.) Hence, a scientific
explanation of biological evolution as operating by natural selection of genetic
advantages was quickly transformed in "social Darwinism" --- a justification of
exploitation that is still alive and well today.
From the
beginning, the word fittest was packed with ambiguity. Did it mean simply the
strongest, the most ruthless? If nature is "red in tooth and claw," why should
human society be expected to be different? Or, are the fittest those endowed with
superior intelligence, entitled by that fact to control those less fortunate in
their I.Q. scores? Or, were the fittest the products of high culture, so that
"civilized" nations might rightly dominate (and indeed enslave) peoples that could
be written off as mere "primitives"? I suppose some idealistic preachers must
have glossed "fittest" as possessing higher moral qualities, as more embodying
the will of God, but I have never encountered such a spiritualized Darwinism.
As early as 1899, the American poet Stephen Crane perceived
the self-serving hypocrisy inherent in social Darwinism:
The
trees in the harden rained flowers
Children ran there joyously.
They gathered
flowers
Each to himself.
Now there are some
Who gathered great heaps
---
Having opportunity and skill ---
Until, behold, only chance blossoms
Remained for the feeble
Then a little spindling tutor
Ran importantly
to the father, crying:
'Pray, come thither!
See this unjust thing in
your garden!'
But when the father had surveyed,
He admonished the tutor:
'Not so, small sage!
This thing is just.
For, look you,
Are not
they who possess the flowers
Stronger, bolder, shrewder
Than those who
have none?
Why should the strong ---
The beautiful strong ---
Why
should they not have flowers?'
Upon reflection, the tutor bowed to the ground,
'My Lord,' he said
'The stars are displaced
By this towering wisdom.'
Crane expresses no overt judgement on this situation, but there is no doubt about
where he stands. Note how "Why should the strong ---/The beautiful strong" seems
to articulate our sense that something is wrong with a predatory social order.
But this expectation is dashed by "Why should they not have flowers?" -- the repeated
shoulds, the postponed position of the negative, throw all the emphasis on not.
How different it would sound if Crane had written "Why shouldn't the strong .
. ."! And the spindling tutor, small sage that he is, is convicted by the obsequious
exaggeration of the final lines.
Academics can be fawning
tools of the power structures of their societies. It is well to recall Crane's
sardonic parable as we listen to our national debates on welfare reform, tax breaks,
reductions in medical and educational benefits, equal opportunity legislation,
immigration. Or as we ponder the fact that each year, fewer and fewer of us have
more and more.
John B. Harcourt
