What immortal hand or eye…

What immortal hand or eye…

Photo by Mike Arney on Unsplash

Originally published 15 August 2004

Chimps and goril­las get about by knuck­le-walk­ing. They curl back their fin­gers and bear the weight of their upper bod­ies on their knuck­les, which per­mits them a four-legged scoot on the ground while retain­ing long, grasp­ing fin­gers for swing­ing Tarzan-like among the branch­es. A nice com­pro­mise between life in the trees and life on the ground.

Recent anatom­i­cal evi­dence from fos­sils sug­gests that our imme­di­ate pre­hu­man ances­tors, Aus­tralo­p­ithe­cus ana­men­sis and A. afaren­sis, descend­ed from knuck­le walk­ers. They took the adap­ta­tion one step far­ther — walk­ing upright on two feet — and that was a cru­cial step on the way to being human.

At he begin­ning of his Meta­mor­phoses, the Roman poet Ovid tells how Prometheus made humankind by mix­ing earth and water. He then adds: “Where­as oth­er ani­mals hang their heads and look at the ground, Prometheus made man erect, bid­ding him look up to the heav­ens and lift his head to the stars.”

Pale­on­tol­o­gists fierce­ly debate the evo­lu­tion­ary ori­gins of upright pos­ture, but all agree that stand­ing on our own two feet is a big part of what makes us human. Hav­ing hands free for tool-mak­ing and weapon-wield­ing was sure­ly a stim­u­lus for brain devel­op­ment, but — as Ovid sug­gests — we should­n’t under­es­ti­mate the abil­i­ty to cock our heads back and look into the star-span­gled night.

The ear­li­est humans kept an eye on the heav­ens and found there some­thing that is not so obvi­ous on earth.

The nit­ty-grit­ty of life works itself out rather close to the ground. Find­ing food. Attract­ing mates. Rais­ing off­spring. Bat­tling preda­tors. Avoid­ing fire, flood, vol­can­ism, light­ning, dis­ease. The pre­car­i­ous­ness of child­birth. It is all rather unpre­dictable. The sting of the hor­net. A fall of stones. The unamorous mate. A water­hole gone dry.

Nose to the ground, the world looks dicey indeed.

Against these ter­res­tri­al uncer­tain­ties the pat­terns of the con­stel­la­tions are utter­ly con­stant. The Sun and Moon move with pre­dictable reg­u­lar­i­ty. The plan­ets tra­verse the dome of night in state­ly and dis­cernible cours­es. Can it be such a sur­prise then that our ances­tors made of the heav­ens the abode of gods and immor­tal souls?

Seek­ing to medi­ate the worlds of gods and men our ances­tors began the sys­tem­at­ic study of the stars, observ­ing their com­ings and goings. Reli­gious fes­ti­vals and rites were tied to the ris­ing and set­ting of sun, moon, and stars. Many of the ear­li­est human arti­facts are celes­tial align­ments of stone. An ancient inscribed bone found in Africa sup­pos­ed­ly records phas­es of the moon.

As sci­ence his­to­ri­an Jacob Bronows­ki has point­ed out, the stars might seem improb­a­ble objects to have aroused such curios­i­ty. The human body is clos­er at hand and a more obvi­ous can­di­date for inves­ti­ga­tion. But astron­o­my advanced as a sci­ence before long before biol­o­gy and med­i­cine, and ear­ly med­i­cine turned to the stars for signs and omens. Behind the dis­or­der of ter­res­tri­al expe­ri­ence, the stars pro­claim the rule of law.

Mod­ern human civ­i­liza­tion is made pos­si­ble by the coor­di­na­tion of mind and hand — a mind that dis­cerns a world of law in the appar­ent chaos of nature, and a hand that holds a tool to exploit the law. More sim­ply: sci­ence and technology.

We have learned, to our ini­tial dis­ap­point­ment, that the heav­ens are not the Elysian Fields of gods and immor­tal bliss imag­ined by the ancients, but rather the infi­nite spaces that so ter­ri­fied Pas­cal. Yet we have learned to love those spaces, and even to explore them, send­ing astro­nauts and exper­i­men­tal vehi­cles out among the celes­tial spheres, and build­ing huge tele­scopes on Earth to extend the range and sen­si­tiv­i­ty of human vision.

We have become, in effect, chil­dren of the Milky Way.

This is the glo­ry of the knuck­le walk­ers, those lum­ber­ing pre­hu­man ances­tors whose agile, grasp­ing hands were formed to swing from limb to limb, and who now and then lift­ed their knuck­les from the earth to run with weapon in hand in pur­suit of a gazelle. Grasp­ing hands and upright pos­ture — two stim­uli for brain devel­op­ment that let our minds soar into the far-flung uni­verse of the galaxies.

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