An Introduction to Evolutionary Ethics (8 page)

Even in the case of self-sacrificing behavior toward
non-relatives
, evolution may offer some explanation. It may be, on the one hand, that the psychological system put in place by the processes of inclusive fitness is not “fine-grained” enough to distinguish relatives from non-relatives. From the point of view of natural selection, it was good enough that we were attuned to those around whom we live. So in environments where many of the people in your close proximity are
not
biologically related to you, you may nevertheless see yourself as having a moral duty to protect
their
well-being, too. On the other hand, self-sacrificing behavior toward non-relatives may be a function of the high value we place on preserving cooperative relationships. We may regard it as a moral imperative to “follow through on our commitments” or to “keep our promises” or to “repay our debts.” But insofar as these attitudes dispose one to preserve cooperative relationships, they serve ultimately to advance one's biological fitness. Mutual cooperation pays. You get by with a little help from your friends – and they get by with a little help from you.

Important pieces of the puzzle, however, remain to be filled in. I have said very little about morality itself. I have only hinted at the role of emotions. And I have only gestured at the intricacies of real-world cooperative exchanges. In the next chapter we'll fill in these details, and by doing so we'll begin constructing the bridge from these earliest roots of morality to morality as we know it and experience it.

Further Reading

De Waal, Frans (1996)
Good Natured: The Origins of Right and Wrong in Humans and Other Animals
(Harvard University Press).

Dugatkin, Lee Alan (2006)
The Altruism Equation: Seven Scientists Search for the Origins of Goodness
(Princeton University Press).

Hamilton, W.D. (1998)
The Narrow Roads of Gene Land: The Collected Papers of W.D. Hamilton. Evolution of Social Behavior
(Oxford University Press).

Joyce, Richard (2006)
The Evolution of Morality
(MIT Press).

Maynard Smith, J. (1982)
Evolution and the Theory of Games
(Cambridge University Press).

Skyrms, Brian (1996)
Evolution of the Social Contract
. (Cambridge University Press).

Sober, Elliott and David Sloan Wilson (1998)
Unto Others: The Evolution and Psychology of Unselfish Behavior
(Harvard University Press).

Trivers, R.L. (1985)
Social Evolution
(Benjamin/Cummings).

Trivers, R.L. (2002)
Natural Selection and Social Theory: Selected Papers of Robert L. Trivers. Evolution and Cognition Series
(Oxford University Press)

Williams, G.C. (1966)
Adaptation and Natural Selection
(Princeton University Press).

The Caveman's Conscience: The Evolution of Human Morality
Zigong asked: “Is there any single word that can guide one's entire life?” The master said: “Should it not be reciprocity? What you do not wish for yourself, do not do to others.”

(Confucius)
Good and evil, reward and punishment, are the only motives to a rational creature: these are the spur and reins whereby all mankind are set on work, and guided.

(John Locke, Some Thoughts Concerning Education) We have reached the point in our discussion where we are ready to take on the evolution of morality itself. The stage for this discussion has, I hope, been set. We've discussed the fundamentals of Darwin's theory; we've seen how natural selection can generate surprising solutions to adaptive problems; we've explored the “gene's-eye” point of view and seen how aiding relatives is a standard biological imperative; and we've seen the advantages and risks of reciprocal exchanges. It is time now to connect these early stages with morality itself. In this chapter, I want to present a sketch of how natural selection may have produced our moral minds. I call the forthcoming a “sketch,” but it may as well be called a
distillation
because it attempts to distill a single story from a family of different of views. As we proceed, I'll make a point of noting the differences that separate these views; however, the larger aim is to present the core idea that runs through these views.

That idea, put simply, is this: moral thought, together with our moral feelings, was natural selection's way of ensuring social harmony. And this, by extension, fostered reliable reciprocal exchanges. So, for example, feeling bad about a certain action or believing that an action is
bad
or
morally wrong
serves a purpose: it “keeps us in line,” which (it is thought) yields long-term biological advantages. Those individuals
not
disposed to think morally or who did not experience moral emotions were at a distinct disadvantage, for (as we'll see) they jeopardized important reciprocal relations. The goal of this chapter is to present this idea, taking note of differences among authors. I will conclude the chapter by laying out some of the questions and concerns raised by critics of the idea.

But first things first. Any hope of sketching out a plausible evolutionary account of human morality requires getting clear on what morality is – or, better yet, what we take ourselves to be doing when we are “morally aroused.” The point is not to settle basic philosophical questions about the nature of justice or wrongness or rights. Rather, the point is to identify as clearly as possible what it is that makes moral creatures like us
moral
. That is, if we want to assert that evolution is responsible for the human moral capacity, we had better have a very clear picture in mind of what that capacity looks like – without any specific regard for evolution. Here, moral philosophy comes in handy, for moral philosophers have long been involved in the quest to understand what we are doing when we engage in moral thought. So we'll begin by forming a picture of the human moral capacity.

3.1 What Makes Moral Creatures
Moral
It might be thought that what it is to be moral is to
behave morally
. As tempting as this thought is, it is almost surely mistaken. If we define behaving morally as simply behaving in ways that accord with accepted moral standards (e.g., not harming others needlessly, helping our neighbors), then we'll be forced to count many creatures as moral that, on reflection, probably aren't. For example, just because a rat doesn't murder his neighbor, it would be stretching things to say that, for
that
reason, the rat is moral. (By the same token, it seems strange to call a rat a murderer if it
did
kill its neighbor.) Likewise, calling a vampire bat moral because it shares blood with a hungry neighbor seems inappropriate. Suppose I design a robot that assists me with yard-work, does it follow that the robot is moral? It seems not. The lesson is that, for a given creature, simply behaving morally (a welcome trait, perhaps) is not
sufficient
for calling that creature moral. Indeed, it may not even be
necessary
. If you tell a lie for personal gain, it seems a bit excessive to conclude that you are therefore not a moral person. True, what you
did
was immoral, but you still count as moral. What this should reveal is that being moral – while surely connected behavior in some way – is not the same thing as simply behaving morally.

This parallels our discussion of altruism in the previous chapter. There, I insisted that altruism was not determined by a creature's behavior, but by a creature's
motives
. Something similar is being proposed here. Being moral has to do with, first and foremost, what's going on
inside
a creature. The standard philosophical approach is to describe our moral capacity as the capacity to make
moral judgments
. Now, I will be understating things when I say that philosophers are deeply divided over the nature of moral judgment. About the most one can say – without getting into too much philosophical hot water – is that moral judgments consist of certain
attitudes
individuals have toward actions, persons, institutions, and the like. This, however, is not saying much. For on some views these attitudes are essentially
beliefs
, as in
Jones believes that capital punishment is wrong
. On other views, these attitudes are nothing more than (non-belief-like)
expressions
of one's emotional attitude, as in
Capital punishment, yuck!
And these views just scratch the surface. Suffice it to say that whatever a moral judgment is, there is at least this much that (most?) philosophers will agree on: it's distinct from mere behavior. To avoid diverting our attention too much, I will return to moral judgment later on.

What we're trying to characterize here are the surface-level features of our moral experience – in particular, the experience of judging that something is wrong.
¹
For these are the features an evolutionary account is supposed to capture. To move things along, let's focus on an example that you'll probably recognize. Walking across campus one day, you pass by a group of students chanting “Abortion is murder!” They display photos of aborted fetuses and graphs depicting global abortion rates. Occasionally, they manage to engage passers-by in discussion. What's going on here? What is it these students think they are doing when they insist that abortion is murder?

Set aside the question,
Is
abortion murder? That's a question about the moral status of abortion. Focus instead on what's going on inside the minds of these students: what do they take themselves to be doing? Now the question might seem a bit thick-skulled. (
Isn't it obvious? They're expressing their moral views!
) In fact, what's going on here requires careful analysis.

First, you might infer from the students' statements that they themselves would not want to have an abortion, that they themselves possess a strong aversion to having an abortion. While that's probably a safe inference, it misses the point. By asserting that abortion is murder, the students (at least think they) are
doing more
than expressing a strong desire not to have an abortion. After all, if, by their assertion, they mean nothing more than that, why are they bothering to advertise it to the campus community? It would be like me “protesting” the campus community with:
I don't desire the taste of lobster! I don't desire the taste of lobster!
This is why, incidentally, defenders of abortion miss the point by insisting (as some bumper stickers do) that “If you don't like abortion, don't have one.” In asserting that abortion is murder, our student activists are not
just
expressing an aversion to an abortion. So, then, what else is going on?

One reasonable suggestion is that by asserting that abortion is murder, the students are asserting that abortion is
prohibited
, that it's something that should not be done by anyone. Presumably, if you ask the students whether you yourself should have an abortion, the answer is going to be
No
. But if moral assertions were nothing more than expressions of one's inhibitions, then the answer would be
It depends
. It depends on your inhibitions. But it would be very surprising indeed if our student activists had this in mind in asserting that abortion is murder.

According to the philosopher Richard Joyce (2006), one of the essential ingredients of any moral capacity is understanding
prohibitions
, that is, understanding that some things shouldn't be done because they're wrong. The distinction that Joyce is highlighting is the distinction between
judging
that some act is prohibited and
being disinclined
to perform that act. They often go together, but not always. Joyce (2006: 50) offers this example. A friend prepares you a rather large helping of your favorite meal. After working your way through most of it, your friend says: “Don't feel obliged to finish it.” You say (because it's your favorite meal and you're particularly hungry): “I don't. I really
want
to finish it.” Joyce's point is that
wanting
to do something is different in an important way from judging that you
ought
to do something. After all, you could have been full. You could have thought that not finishing would have hurt your friend's feelings. Since you think you ought to avoid hurting your friend's feeling, you could have thought: “I
ought
to finish the meal.” In the former case, there is no reason at all to suppose that your action is motivated by anything like morality. You simply want to continue enjoying the meal. In the latter case, your motivation is clearly moral.

The larger lesson here is that creatures that fail to understand prohibitions fail to possess a moral sense. This means that even if members of a species sometimes benefit their neighbors (e.g., vampire bats) or show sympathy toward the suffering of others (e.g., chimpanzees), this is not enough to deem them
moral
creatures. A race of creatures with a strong desire to treat others kindly and no desire to harm others, who genuinely love each and every neighbor, will not, on Joyce's view, count as
moral
creatures. We can perfectly well describe this race of creatures as nice and friendly and loving and so on. But we cannot describe them as moral
unless
they regard some acts as prohibited.
²
For our purposes, this means that any attempt to explain our moral sense must account for this distinct appreciation of prohibitions. Explaining human sympathy or empathy or compassion, while part of the package, is not sufficient.

Talk of desires prompts a second observation. Suppose you respond to the abortion protesters by saying, “But I actually
desire
to have an abortion. Indeed, it's been one of my lifelong pursuits. So is it wrong for me?” Undoubtedly, the students will insist: “Yes!” The wrongness of abortion (if it is wrong) does not disappear for those individuals who actually desire to have an abortion. Abortion, the students will insist, is murder
whatever your desires are
; that is, what makes abortion wrong does not depend on what you or I or (perhaps) anyone desires. Telling someone that they shouldn't have an abortion because it's wrong is not a piece of advice – as in, “You shouldn't eat so many French fries.” The judgment that someone shouldn't eat so many fries rests on the reasonable assumption that the listener
desires
to live a long and healthy life. Asserting that abortion is murder rests on no such assumption. And so it goes for other acts: when we assert that something shouldn't be done because it's morally wrong, we seem to mean that it shouldn't be done – period – whatever your desires or interests happen to be. If moral judgments weren't like this, then our student activists would happily revise their judgment that abortion is murder when confronted with someone who positively desires to have an abortion or genuinely does not care about being punished. So an explanation for our moral sense must explain the sense in which moral judgments appeal to prohibitions, where these prohibitions are distinct from our desires.

Granted, the students may use the threat of punishment (e.g., eternal damnation) as a means of getting their listeners to comply, but this is very different than saying that the threat of punishment is what makes abortion wrong. That would be getting things backwards. It would be strange if expressing our moral views were not like this. Imagine being the brutal and powerful dictator of some reclusive nation, and imagine that you desire to have some nondescript peasant killed – because, let's say, he insulted you (remember: you're brutal). Since you face no threat of punishment, does this mean that killing the peasant is therefore not wrong? That seems absurd. If you cheat on an exam and get away with it, does this mean that your cheating was, for that reason, morally permissible? No. The correct thing to say in both cases is that
you got away with your crime
. It was still a crime; you just went unpunished. By invoking crimes and criminal behavior, I do not mean to suggest that morality and legality are the same, that what makes something wrong is that it's illegal. To see why, return your attention to our abortion protesters.

Suppose our protesters are protesting in the United States. Surely they know that first-and second-term abortions are protected under the United States criminal code? If the law was the sole determinant of an act's morality, then it would be hard to make sense of the protesters' actions. Why would they be seeking to change the law, unless they thought that the law was, in some way, mistaken? If legality made morality (so to speak), then we would regard the protesters the way we would regard someone staging a moral protest (in the US) against the practice of driving on the right-hand side of the road. Such a person would be utterly confused. The law requiring that US motorists drive on the right-hand side of the road does not derive from some deep metaphysical truth about how people should drive. It's merely a convention, inherited from tradition. But we do not regard the abortion protesters that way. We may disagree with their moral (or perhaps theological) views, but we don't believe that they're utterly confused. The upshot–and this is my third observation about morality–is that it seems the moral prohibitions at the heart of our moral judgments are distinct from human convention. Human legal conventions – we might say – should reflect the underlying moral order.