The Bruce Report

He is just a year old, but already my grandson Euan knows he is much more than the vessel into which my wife pours her bottomless spring of affection. He toddles with purpose, pointing at objects that fascinate him and people who arouse his curiosity. “Da,” he declares, demanding answers from his caretakers like a miniature CEO.

            “That’s a bird,” Gramma coos. “And that’s a box. That’s a book. And that’s a cat. Who’s that? You know who that is. It’s Poppy. Can you say ‘Poppy’?”

            When satisfied with the report, he observes us with cool, but not unfriendly, regard, as if to say, “That’s quite enough for now. Although we shall revisit the task of naming things at a later date, I believe it’s now time for my nap.”

            And, like any good corporate executive, he’s almost always right.

            In fact, a thread of research now infiltrating some of North America’s better universities suggests that infants possess an innate, if rudimentary, moral compass. Certain things matter more than others. They’re not taught the distinctions; they simply, inexplicably, know.

            Writing in a recent edition of The New York Times Magazine, Paul Bloom, a professor of psychology at Yale, concludes: “Babies possess certain moral foundations – the capacity and willingness to judge the actions of others, some sense of justice, gut responses to altruism and nastiness. Regardless of how smart we are, if we didn’t start with this basic apparatus, we would be nothing more than amoral agents, ruthlessly driven to pursue our self-interest.”

            All of which invites an intriguing question: If we’re born with the ability to understand the difference between right and wrong – indeed, to prefer the former over the latter – does the complex business of living inevitably corrupt us?

            What was Bernard Madoff’s multi-billion-dollar pyramid scheme, which emptied savings accounts around the world and destroyed thousands of lives, if not an explicitly amoral act of ruthless self-interest? What were the heads of America’s biggest banks thinking when they traded in exotic credit instruments they didn’t comprehend and so, in the process, brought the global financial system to the brink of collapse?

            Today, the European Union is monetizing a massive $670-billion emergency fund to prevent the all-but-failed state of Greece from dragging Portugal, Spain, Ireland, Iceland, and even the United Kingdom into yet another recession – a calamity that would quickly spread to the United States and Canada, signalling more layoffs, business shut-downs, foreclosures, homelessness, poverty and crime.

            And yet, at the centre of this latest economic contagion is the sin of gluttony: Goldman Sachs’ wilful disregard for the junk status of Greece’s bonds even as it traded them to earn a quick and easy buck; and that Mediterranean nation’s propensity for living beyond its means, erstwhile certain that some EU partner would rescue its unproductive, ignoble leadership and bureaucracy, keeping them safe from the madding mobs of apoplectic citizens.

            The world as we’ve made it is replete with caprice and treachery. The Catholic Church refuses to acknowledge the full extent of the crimes its minion priests have committed against the most vulnerable members of its flock. A would-be car bomber grins and gyrates like an imbecile for cameras in Manhattan’s Times Square. U.S.-deployed robot drones drop bombs, killing un-tolled numbers of civilians along the Afghanistan-Pakistan border. Oil fouls the Gulf of Mexico, possibly for decades to come; still, the “drill baby, drill” lullaby trills off the environmentally sensitive coasts of North America.

            Naturally, my grandson is oblivious to these outrages. He’s up from his nap now, and ready to pursue his project of deliberate self-improvement.

            “Da. . .”

            I smile: “That’s a dog.”

            “Da. . .”

            I grin: “That’s Poppy’s beard.”

            “Da. . .”

            I explain: “Oh, that colourful pattern on the wall is sunlight refracted through a crystal prism. It’s rather interesting, don’t you think?”

            He looks at me, brow furrowed.

            “Okay,” I concede. “It’s pretty.”

            He seems to agree, and moves on with his inventory.

            Is it any wonder why humanity’s great saviours have always been babies?

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