The Philosophical Review/Volume 1/Animal Ethics as Described by Herbert Spencer
THE
PHILOSOPHICAL REVIEW.
ANIMAL ETHICS AS DESCRIBED BY HERBERT SPENCER.
A LIVING interest attaches to the present attempts to complete an evolution theory. Unfinished work is conspicuous in the realm of morals and of spiritual life. One of two things must result, either these two regions must be annexed, or the limitation of the theory must be admitted. Darwin's work was successfully done, as far as research can be carried in biological science by purely natural history methods. He succeeded in developing a working hypothesis, manifestly accurate in its main lines, though open to question as to the range of interpretation to be assigned to it. There is comparative unanimity as to its success in accounting for manifold phases of life with which we are familiar.
To Herbert Spencer has fallen by general consent the task of vindicating the hypothesis in higher realms, embracing rational life, with all the grander problems connected with man's place in nature. The temper of the age is favorable for the thinker on whom these responsibilities rest. There is no such avowed antagonism to an evolution theory as once appeared, — no such unexpressed apprehension as at one time disturbed the minds of many. This is the result of a truer and fuller knowledge of fixed laws in nature. Life of all grades is tried by environment. This natural testing ab extra leads life to adapt itself to circumstances. So much as this belongs to the common belief of our age. In the struggle for existence throughout past ages lay the promise now read by its fulfilment in the history of species. All this is clearly admitted, and our gratitude to Darwin is proportionate.
Spencer's task lies in a different field, where a much more perplexing work is to be done. Possibly we ought to allow that Darwin's task, as the pioneer's, was much more difficult than we now recognize. The honors bestowed upon him, in some measure obscure the times of perplexity through which he passed. But, admitting this to the utmost, the difficulties to be encountered in making out man's place in nature are much greater. Darwin's modes of observation are insufficient here. As long as we can see with our eyes the whole facts to be explained, definite conclusions are more readily reached. When we get beyond this line of evidence, difficulties increase. As compensation, it is true on the other hand, that we have full opportunities for study of our own nature. Thus far, evidence is at command both of investigator and critic, much more readily than when observations are concerned with animal life. Great as this advantage is, however, it is more than counterbalanced by the special difficulties attendant upon research into the conditions of moral and spiritual life. Even to reach the problems, we pass beyond questions of structure and form, and applications of physical law. There are, indeed, some who claim that physiology includes this whole inquiry; but theirs is only a fond belief, not a scientific induction. Impressions from without do not explain our moral life. The most enthusiastic workers in the field of physiological research have failed to make good their contention. The testimony of Clifford is unexceptionable here. Thinking differs so essentially from the known functions of organism, that it is impossible to indicate its characteristics without showing how far apart it is from muscular movement, and from life-results which can be secured by supplies of wholesome food, such as sustains bodily vigor. Even with the wonderful advances of recent years, thought remains a mystery to the physiologist. This is the barrier standing in the way of the Evolution Theory.
In view of this perplexity it is interesting to find Herbert Spencer, when publishing an additional part of his Ethical Philosophy devoted to the exposition of justice, writing a chapter on "Animal Ethics." His previous discussions on "conduct in general" have been welcomed. It has been recognized how reasonable it is for a moralist, who is an evolutionist, to include in his observations the entire range of animal activity. And there can be no reluctance even on the part of the idealist, to honor his declaration that moral action is "the highest phase of activity," however slow the idealist may be to accept Spencer's mode of expressing it, when he makes this a phase of "universal conduct," as if conduct in general were "an organic whole."
There is an obvious perplexity in selecting justice as the ethical virtue in connection with which an attempt is to be made to illustrate traces of moral action in animal life. Among animals, a regard to justice is the very last thing we expect to find. It would seem that the very success of the Darwinian theory depends upon absence of any approach to justice in animal life. The masterfulness of force is the thing most conspicuous as we mark the conduct of animals. Food is the reward of fight; what is to happen to the one who is beaten is matter of no concern for the one who has secured a good repast. On any definition of justice that can be offered, it would seem clear that any regard to it is impossible under the conditions of animal life. This is clear under the admirable account given by Herbert Spencer of the law of justice. He says, the formula of justice "must be positive in so far as it asserts for each that, since he is to receive and surfer the good and evil results of his actions, he must be allowed to act. And it must be negative in so far as, by asserting this of every one, it implies that each can be allowed to act only under the restraint imposed by the presence of others having like claims to act."[1] This is a satisfactory statement of the ethical law; but the statement seems in itself to show how far away animal life is from moral life. We must not, however, in summary fashion, at once close up the discussion, as if the whole matter were settled by a definition. It is natural and reasonable that we should turn to animal life itself, to ascertain whether there are traces of the rudiments of ethical distinctions appearing in the conduct of animals. However faint, obscure, and rare the traces may be, we shall find much to interest in the search for them. After the gathering of evidence is fairly complete, we shall be able to reach a conclusion on the question of "animal ethics." In any case, we may find here a suitable avenue towards the higher problems of a philosophy of rational life. For we need to learn more fully the ethics of evolution, and specially to ascertain the phases of animal conduct suggesting to the evolutionist traces of the beginnings of moral life. Current popular expressions go heavily against the supposition that animals are responsible for their conduct, as we are; but there should be no obstacle in the way of fresh observation, and a revisal of traditional conceptions. There are, besides, many things to favor Spencer here, for there is an undying interest in questions of animal intelligence. The stream of stories is unending, and we never seem to weary of hearing how many ingenious things the dumb creatures can accomplish. Certainly there has been a large reward for those who have consecrated time and patience to the study of animal life. It seems as if literature might ere long be enriched with the biographies of favorite animals. The times are, therefore, favorable to a discussion of "animal ethics." Herbert Spencer is not too early on the field. He has also the advantage of having studied the whole problems of morality from the lower side, having approached them with the belief that all vital movement is an organic whole, advancing by fixed destiny towards the elevations of ethical activity. We can have no better guide to the discovery of the traces of ethical distinctions in animal life, if these are to be found. A brief summary of his positions will guide inquiry.
In the evolution of conduct, "something which may be regarded as animal ethics is implied." Contemplating "conduct in general," that is, the activity of animal life as a whole, "the highest conduct is that which conduces to the greatest length, breadth, and completeness of life; and by implication there is a conduct proper to each species of animal, which is the relatively good conduct, a conduct which stands towards that species as the conduct we morally approve stands towards the human species." Certain acts of animals excite in us "antipathy or sympathy." This is true even of birds. "A bird which feeds its mate while she is sitting is regarded with a sentiment of approval." "Egoistic acts, as well as altruistic acts, in animals are classed as good or bad. A squirrel which lays up a store of food for the winter is thought of as doing that which a squirrel ought to do." There are "two cardinal and opposed principles of animal ethics. During immaturity, benefits received must be inversely proportionate to capacities possessed. . . . Contrariwise, after maturity is reached, benefit must vary directly as worth: worth being measured by fitness to the conditions of existence." "These are the two laws which a species must conform to, if it is to be preserved." "What is the ethical aspect of these principles?" "That without gratis benefits to offspring, and earned benefits to adults, life could not have continued"; "by virtue of them life has gradually evolved into higher forms." "On the other hand, it is true," that to them "has been due the carnage and the death by starvation which have characterized the evolution of life from the beginning," and also the appearance of "torturing parasites." "To those who take a pessimist view of animal life in general, contemplation of these principles can, of course, yield only dissatisfaction; but to those who take an optimist view, or even a meliorist view, of life in general, and who accept the postulate of hedonism, contemplation of these principles must yield greater or less satisfaction, and fulfilment of them must be ethically approved. Otherwise considered, these principles are, according to the current belief, expressions of the Divine will, or else, according to the agnostic belief, indicate the mode in which works the Unknowable Power throughout the universe." "If the preservation and prosperity of a species is to be desired," it follows "that, in order of obligation, the preservation of the species takes precedence of the preservation of the individual"; that the two cardinal and opposed principles of animal ethics must be observed ; and there must be "sacrifices, partial or complete, of some of the individuals" for the good of the species. "Such are the laws, by conformity to which a species is maintained; and if we assume that the preservation of a particular species is a desideratum, there arises in it an obligation to conform to these laws, which we may call, according to the case in question, quasi-ethical or ethical."
From this summary of the argument, it will appear that many ethical questions are raised in the course of it, and these, questions of large import; but it does not seem clear that anything which may be regarded as animal ethics is implied. The more closely the facts are scrutinized, the more obvious it becomes that we have not even the germs of ethical distinctions.
Three things need to be distinguished — references to animal conduct, allusions to human thought and feeling, and the metaphysical questions bearing on the government of the world. These three stand quite apart. Our main concern is with the first of them, animal conduct regarded as a lower stage in the line of advance leading forward to familiar aspects of moral life. No objection is offered to the relation in which the first part of the argument stands to the other parts. The later features may be considered before closing, but meanwhile we are mainly concerned with conduct natural to animals.
It will be readily granted that "there is a conduct proper to each species of animal," and also that such conduct is "the relatively good conduct." But any careful statement of what is meant will show that there is no ethical element involved. Conduct "proper to a species" is only such as the nature of the animal fits it for; such as that the sheep should seek grass, eat grass, flourish, and grow wool. This is the conduct proper to the sheep. So it belongs to the hawk to seek its prey, to dive swiftly and with precision, to eat with avidity, to rest on its perch; to the dog to hunt in the forest; to the horse to roam over the prairie in search of fodder. These are examples of conduct proper to species, that is, conduct for which animals are fitted by structure, appetites, and instinct, in fulfilment of which a healthy existence is maintained, and in accordance with the law of the pleasurable, — accepting the postulate of hedonism as applicable in their case, — the end of their life is served. These things seem to include the whole circle of conduct so far as we can legitimately speak of the action natural to an animal, — action which the animal, left to itself, will naturally do. If we pass beyond this to consider for what ends animals can be used by us, we part from the region of natural history, and from the method proper to our inquiry. If we bring new conditions into the life of the dog and horse, training them to do what they would not do unless trained, we introduce into animal life what does not belong to it under natural law. If in this way we introduce a kind of rule or order of service for animals; and if, in view of this, we begin to speak of "something which may be regarded as animal ethics," the ethics are of our own introduction; they do not appear in actions "proper to the species," but only in actions possible to them under the regulation of man. If it be action "proper" to a dog to point, or to watch our property; and to a horse to draw a carriage, this is no more the end of action natural to the dog and horse, than it is the end of a sheep to produce good mutton. Beyond all question, it is clear that natural laws provide for "the preservation and prosperity of species": but nature does not provide us with watch-dogs, any more than she provides us with wheel-carriages. If animals are to be useful to us in the field of action, we must make them so: we must put into them an aptness unattainable without our guidance, must put into them certain results of our own thought, thus establishing habits which will answer to our call. If, as the result, we begin to see a kind of morality in these animals, we see only a dim reflection of what is in ourselves, and which we have imprinted only for reasons of self-interest.
Our sole purpose here is to form an estimate of so-called "animal ethics"; but we linger for a moment to remark that such phenomena as are consequent on human training, are not available in the service of a theory of evolution. These phenomena are superinduced; they presuppose man's dominion; they belong to a later stage in the history of life — a stage at which a higher life has returned upon the lower, presenting a new departure in natural history.
We have now seen in what sense it can be taken as strictly accurate to say with Spencer that there is "a conduct proper to each species of animal." In what sense do we further speak of this as "relatively good conduct"? That one animal should have insufficient food, and so grow feeble, is not good; that another and stronger should find a more liberal allowance is good, as strength is better than weakness; that by these contrasts there should be gain in development of the species, is good for the species as a whole. But the weaker animal knows only its painful experience; the stronger knows only its own comfort; neither knows anything as to the general good. That animals have always acted as described, we are agreed; that the result has been the advance of the species, is also matter of practical agreement among us now. But no one suggests that the weaker animals always yield, and the stronger always persist in the struggle, with a regard to the common good of the species. No one supposes that the relation of the struggle for existence to survival of the fittest, which has been recognized by us only in the present century, has all the while been well known to the animals, so that if they had only had the use of language for the space of two hours, they could have told us all this, and have saved Darwin most of his toils and uncertainties. But nothing less than such knowledge would be sufficient, if we were to admit that in the natural history of the higher vertebrates "something which may be regarded as animal ethics is implied." In absence of such knowledge, Herbert Spencer's contention fails for lack of evidence.
Confirmation of this will be found by reference to his definition of justice, which is as clearly inapplicable to animals, as it is certainly applicable to man. Justice asserts that each must be allowed to act; and that each so restrain himself as to allow to others equal freedom to act.[2] Such a compromise has no place in animal life. "The struggle for existence" implies the reverse. The compromise never had any place in natural history until the appearance of man. In absence of rational intelligence, it was impossible that such a compromise should be contemplated, or even understood. Appetite, passion, force, are the commanding features in animal life; the fight for superiority is incessant because inevitable; and out of this has come everything so clearly recognized under the general law providing for survival of the fittest. The consequence for the present argument is obvious; of these two hypotheses, evolution of species, and "animal ethics," we must surrender one. Under this alternative, "animal ethics" disappears as a stepping-stone towards evolution of man. From whatever source we have obtained our conception of justice, it has not come up to us from the animals which know nothing of compromise. Ethical conceptions must find their explanation otherwise.
A large part of Herbert Spencer's argument passes quite beyond this; and some reference to its additional features is desirable before closing. We have to consider the "antipathy or sympathy" awakened when we contemplate the actions of animals. This will illustrate how we are affected by benefits conferred or injuries inflicted by one animal upon another. These sensibilities of ours at least throw some light on our own moral nature. Among birds, the feeding of a mate during the nesting season; among animals generally, care for their young; and in many cases, the storing for winter awaken our admiration. And this admiration is not restrained because we attribute the actions to instinct, not to intelligent design and sense of duty. On the other hand, our antipathy is roused by actions quite natural to animals, as in the hawk's attack on a linnet, or in the driving off of a competitor, whether food supply is abundant or scanty. Such forms of feeling in us disclose a great deal as to our better nature; but they carry no testimony in support of animal ethics. They demonstrate that the rational nature is the subject of feeling in which animals have no share. The feelings of admiration and of antipathy are quite natural to us, but we should labor in vain did we attempt to awaken in animals the sentiments we so readily experience. Our difficulty in determining what "instinct" is, and how it affects animal life, in no way concerns our argument here, for instinct is at least in contrast with thought and sense of duty. It disposes the animal to act, as well as fits it for doing so; instinct may even be periodic, as in the nesting season, when we have the singing of birds, in contrast with more advanced summer, when energy goes to something else than song. Everything warns us of our error, if we attribute animal action to moral impulse.
Extending observation to the general laws under which all animal life is placed, we contemplate "gratis benefits to offspring, and earned benefits to adults." These represent two phases of the dependence of animal life, with the double provision nature has made for supply of want. The dependence is on parental care first, on environment next ; the supply is through maternal instinct first, through individual struggle afterwards. The facts are certain, the difficulty is to see "the ethical aspect of the principles." We readily recognize the laws, and, with the aid afforded us by Darwin and his followers, we can trace on a large scale the effects of their application. But there is not any indication of reference to law, or purpose, or obligation, or merit, on the part even of the higher vertebrates; and in absence of this we can speak only of natural laws, not of ethical principles, nor even of "ethical aspects" of these principles, unless we rise to deal with the moral government of the world as determined and maintained by the moral governor himself. Animal necessities we can see clearly; animal benefits we can reckon up accurately; but animal ethics we cannot find even in faintest outline. The weakest life dies off; the completest survives, and contributes to the advance of the species; but the laws applicable are physical, not ethical.
If we judge of things by reference to our emotions, it will be apparent that we do not escape a sense of antipathy, even in contemplating the application of physical law. We may hesitate as to our expression of antipathy, when it concerns what we own to be a law of Nature; but our vindication is this, that Nature has implanted in us the shrinking we feel, as we consider animal suffering, and large destruction of animal life. As the mountain throws its shadow on the plain, covering with its cloud homesteads, as well as pastures and their flocks, so the antipathy to pain like a dark shadow is seen spreading everywhere. This antipathy discovers Nature's deeper law, carrying us further into the knowledge of the fixed order of the universe than does the bright sunshine itself.
What in surface form appears as antipathy to Nature's laws, in deeper significance is sympathy with Nature itself. It is the witness of recoil, for an advance which is not impossible, but is progressing even while we shrink from sight of the procedure, — it is coming through all this suffering which we deplore. Here, as often, the shadow which crosses our spirits helps us to see more readily the brightness still remote. We must learn this lesson of Nature's teaching, — through suffering and through death lies the pathway of progress.
Thus, even in physical law, we find some trace of moral law, — some adumbration bearing witness for a higher order. All this holds good, while we exonerate animals from responsibility for the relentless passion which conquers by cruelty, and even by destroying life.
If we cannot carry moral law so low in the scale as Herbert Spencer thinks we may, at least we can agree with him that we find in Nature the links which connect the physical with the ethical. Thereby, we perceive the inner meaning of Nature as a whole, recognizing an Immanent Deity, ruling and reigning in combinations often bewildering to us, — not unfrequently causing us to shrink with sense of pain. We see the unity of Nature in structure and in history. With such vision of the grand order maintained everywhere, we are warned of the incompleteness of that speculation, — creature of despair, — which calls itself pessimistic. No less clearly are we warned of the inadequacy and inconsistency of this speculation, which adopts the language of optimism, yet cannot proclaim finality. But we can speak, as Spencer obviously desires to do, of the "meliorist view of life in general," of the steady advance towards better things, and of the large expectation with which a rational life may contemplate Nature's future. And if, while valuing both the gratis benefits and the earned benefits which come to every species, we cannot own "two cardinal and opposed principles of animal ethics," we admit as applicable everywhere in Nature, — even when we include deliberately all that belongs to the highest type of life on the earth, — that there must be "sacrifices, partial or complete" in individual experience, — sacrifice even of individual life, — in order that there may be advance toward those higher results for which Nature is manifestly preparing.
UNIVERSITY OF EDINBURGH.