All The King's Horses

A chat with an Egg

I find myself sitting on top of a high wall. It would be quite a fall from this height. I can’t even make out what’s on the ground below because it is obscured by clouds. The wall goes to my left and right as far as the eye can see. A large egg sits next to me.

“I have a question for you, good sir,” the egg tells me. “I’ve come to realize that the pinnacle of man is the knowledge of good and evil. Do you think there is any hope for me as just a poor egg?”

“The knowledge of good and evil is also the fall of man according to some, you know,” I say to the egg. “It seems the more complex humanity becomes, the more capable of evil we are. It is much simpler in nature. A snake is not evil for eating an egg.”

“The snake cannot be evil because the snake cannot conceive of evil. But you can, eh? If you were starving, what would prevent you from eating me right this moment? Why is it wrong to kill me? You may feel it’s wrong, but where does this feeling come from? Some say the gods planted it in you—or you planted it in yourselves, as you alluded to. But people across different kingdoms, with different laws and customs seem to all recognize certain wrongs. Harm to innocent children yields similar responses in people on the both sides of the wall, does it not? Does this suggest something universal you’re all vaguely pointed at? Or have you simply evolved similar agreements because you face similar problems while living in this world together?”

I ponder this for a few moments, caught off guard by this egg’s sophistication. I get the feeling this egg knows more than it’s letting on.“I want to say the feeling arises from the unconscious; a source of truth greater than my independent mind. But to your point about the universal sense of right and wrong—certainly there can be some big disagreements still. Take the Aztec’s practice of human sacrifice, for example. They thought it was justified to end a human life for religious purposes. Obviously not everyone thinks this is the case. Some may call it evil. Some may call it divine. How do we reconcile moral relativism in cases like this?”

“Good Question!” the Egg exclaims. “What if the Aztecs thought they were saving the world with their human sacrifice? Maybe they thought the world would plunge into darkness and humanity would perish without it. What does this imply they value? It implies they value human life just as you do, does it not? Is it no different then sending people off to war to kill others in response to an invasion?”

“That is kind of my point. Is the military really more virtuous in their killing simply because they have community approval and believe in a patriotic purpose? An entire culture believing something doesn’t make it any more righteous. But I could see how we could eventually come to an agreement since we can at least agree that the preservation of life is good, and the real misunderstanding is how we are going about it. But what about something where the underlying values don’t match, like a murderer. Surely there are some murderers whose only justification for killing is for the feeling of power they get as a result, or from some deep hatred or anger. An Aztec priest, a soldier, and the murderer all kill, but the murderer seems the worst.”

“What is it that the murderer believes about killing that the priest and the soldier don’t?”

“I guess the murderer kills knowing it goes against the preservation of life, while the Aztecs and soldier think they are preserving it.”

“Ah! So the the murderer knows at some level that what they are doing is evil? As if to say it is worse to sin knowing you sin, than to sin believing you do good?”

“Yes, that is part of it I suppose. That’s why we take into account an individual’s psychological state in the court of law. The murderer knows what they do is evil, but they do it anyway.” The egg’s eyes lighten up as I say this. Then it leans closer and says,

“Notice what you’ve revealed! You’re saying there is something particularly evil about knowingly doing evil. Something separate than the act itself. This creates a split in the murderer, does it not? It’s a rejection of something. What is this rejection of? If there is no universal good, what is the person turning away from in their evil deed?”

“It is a rejection against the self,” I say. The words came out without me carefully considering them like I’ve been trying to do for this conversation.

“Yes! Now we’re getting somewhere!” The egg clapped its hands excitedly.

“But this isn’t necessarily helpful in terms of implementing a justice system,” I say. “Accounting for an individual’s psychology can help in a specific case or trial, but in terms of making laws and regulations, we need something that can be applied to many people. At the end of the day we have to prevent people from doing harm to others.”

“Sure, but does this mean that the justice system’s only purpose is practicality? Or is it still reaching towards something true about good and evil, even if it does so imperfectly?”

“To say that it does, gets us back to the problem of moral relativism. If there is such a universal truth, then it seems to be a moving target to some extent… Though, if we take a (large) step back most of us would hopefully agree that justice seems to have improved over time.”

“Are you suggesting that that goal is that human morality itself evolves towards something? There must be a direction to this movement, no? Sure there will be ups and downs, but we’re either getting warmer or colder. The thing we approach can surely inform law and a justice system can’t it? I remind you of the fact that both you and the Aztecs shared a similar value even though it was expressed in conflicting ways. What could this universal truth be? Something fundamental enough to the human experience that it can’t be denied as good.” The egg stroked its shell thoughtfully.

“It sounds like you are trying to get me to say love. But to simply say that love is the answer is just spiritual bypassing which subverts justice. It’s very clear there are atrocious wrongdoings being committed in the world right now where even the justice system is failing. Focusing on love doesn’t seem like its going to help us reach any justice.”

“It sounds like you are implying love is all sunshine and rainbows. I’m just an egg, so take what I’m about to say with a grain of salt, but that’s a shallow understanding. Sure, it would be spiritual bypassing to ignore an act of injustice—to deem it outside of one’s control and instead focus on positivity. But an act of love can be an act of rage. What if to deem rage, sadness, or any other negative emotion as bad or evil is the real fall of man? It seems people like to sit up on their high horses and say they are above such things. Take it from me—sitting on high things doesn’t end well. To accept rage in response to injustice in a productive way, is to avoid the rejection of self we talked about in the murderer, is it not? It can be ignored and repressed (which is just kicking the can down the road), it can be taken down a path of hatred and fear (internally or externally), or it can be fuel for correction towards this underlying current of the human experience that it does seem most people can agree on. Productive and empowered rage can be in in service of love and lead us closer to justice and goodness. If you didn’t love something, then you wouldn’t be angry when it is harmed, or saddened when it is lost.” The egg leaned back and looked down at the clouds below. It seemed like it reached the conclusion it had in mind.

“So how do we get down from here?” I ask.

“That’s the messy part,” the egg responded.