Análisis Descriptivo

The biological case for selfishness

A true 'it fell off the back of a truck' story occurred some years ago in the United States when a man of limited means found a sack of money that had fallen from a Brinks truck. He returned the money to Brinks, who had not yet even discovered the loss. The media made him a hero - but he received scores of letters and phonecalls telling him that he was a fool, and should look out for himself in the future.'

This story illustrates how far our society has gone towards the twin assumptions that 'looking out for number one' is the only sensible thing to do, and getting more money is the way to do it. If we accept these assumptions, we are not making the ultimate choice about how we are to live. Our culture makes it for us. It limits the range of possible ways of living that seem to be worth taking seriously.

The story also suggests one reason why some people hesi- tate to do what they know to be right, if they can get more money, or something else they want, by doing what they know to be wrong. Absurd as it may sound, they don't want to do what is right because they think that by doing so they will look bad in the eyes of their friends. Their worry is not, of course, about looking morally bad, but about looking stupid. Behind this response lies the idea that ethics is some

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kind of fraud. Since, according to this line of thinking, every- one - or almost everyone - does put herself or himself first, and this includes those who keep preaching to us about ethics and self-sacrifice, you'd have to be a fool not to do the same.

In an earlier book called The Expanding Circle, I discussed the view that no-one ever acts ethically. There I suggested that every blood donor who gives blood to strangers without any reward beyond an indifferent cup of tea and a biscuit redeems human nature from the denigration of its cynical critics. For this simple claim I was severely taken to task by Richard Alexander, professor of evolutionary biology at the University of Michigan, and one of the leading biologists writ- ing about morality. According to Alexander, I had been led astray by my 'commonsense' assumption that people who give blood do so in order to help others. This appeal to common- sense, Alexander sternly informed his readers, fails to take into account 'well established biological facts and theories' and ignores 'the probability that what one thinks is the reason behind one's act may not convey its real significance'.2

Is there really something in our biological nature that compels us to be selfish? Is this the biological equivalent of Original Sin? When eminent biologists say that established biological facts show the impossibility of genuine altruism, are they right? How serious is the threat from established bio- logical theories to our commonsense belief in the possibility of living unselfishly? This and the following two chapters of this book examine the constraints our biological nature really does — or does not — impose on our ultimate choice.

Here, in popular form, is the gist of the biological argu- ment that leads many to think that selfishness is inevitable:

Modern human beings are the outcome of a long and unceas- ing evolutionary struggle. In that struggle some individuals succeed in feeding themselves and surviving long enough to

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reproduce. Others do not. Those who succeed pass their genes on to the next generation; the genes of those who lose are extinguished from the population. Egoists who act first and foremost in their own interests stand a better chance of win- ning than altruists, who put helping others to win ahead of maximizing their own chances of winning. Since traits like selfishness are at least in part determined by our genes, this means that the number of egoists will grow and the number of altruists will shrink. In the long run - and evolution has already had a very long run indeed — there will be no true altruists at all.

This is not a quotation; it is a distillation of a strand of thought that can be found in many books and popular arti- cles, as well as in general conversation and letters to the edi- tors of newspapers. It has scientific supporters like Richard Alexander. Edward O. Wilson, founding father of the field of sociobiology (which studies the biological basis of social behaviour in humans and other animals), has also denied the possibility of pure altruism. Confronted with the example of Mother Teresa's lifelong dedication to the sick and dying street people of Calcutta, he pointed out that she is a Christian, and therefore presumably believes that she will receive her reward in heaven.3 Another sociobiologist, Pierre van den Berghe, has

said flatly: 'We are programmed to care only about ourselves and our relatives'.4 Garrett Hardin, an American professor

with a background in the biological sciences, has gone even further, suggesting that social institutions and public policies should be based on 'an unwavering adherence to the Cardinal Rule: Never ask a person to act against his own self-interest' ?

It is, of course, true that humans have evolved from other animals. We are apes. We share 98.6 percent of our genes with chimpanzees. Genetically, we are closer to chimpanzees than chimpanzees are to orang-utans. Human beings and

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chimpanzees evolved from a common ancestor by a process of natural selection, sometimes called 'the survival of the fittest'. But if this phrase conjures up images of 'nature red in tooth and claw', those images should be put aside. The 'fittest' sim-i ply means, in evolutionary theory, those who are best equipped to have offspring who will themselves survive and reproduce.! Together with other apes, and primates more generally, humans are social mammals. Social mammals live in groups, and care for their young. That is how they manage, not always but often, to leave descendants when they die.

Among the social mammals, it is relatively easy to find examples of animal behaviour that are anything but selfish. Perhaps the most famous - because it has sometimes been directed at humans - is the way in which dolphins help injured members of their group to survive. Dolphins need to come to the surface of the water to breathe. If a dolphin is so badly wounded that it cannot swim to the surface by itself, other dolphins will group themselves around their wounded com- panion, pushing it upward to the air. If necessary, they will do this for many hours. Social animals also share. Wolves and wild dogs bring meat back to members of the pack who were not in on the kill. Chimpanzees lead each other to trees that have ripe fruit. When a whole group of chimpanzees is at a good tree, they make a loud booming noise that attracts other chimpanzees up to a kilometre away. Social animals warn each other of danger. When hawks fly overhead, blackbirds and thrushes give warning calls, helping other members of the flock to escape, but perhaps at some risk of attracting the hawk to themselves. An even more remarkable case is that of Thomson's gazelle, a small species of antelope that is hunted by packs of African wild dogs. When a gazelle notices a dog pack, it bounds away in a curious stiff-legged gait known as 'slotting'. This appears to be a warning signal; every other gazelle immediately flees. But stotting is a slower gait than

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normal running, so the stotting gazelle gives up some pre- cious ground in order to warn others of the danger.6

When animals do fight with other members of their spe- cies, they will often appear to obey rules, much like the ethical rules of combat adopted by medieval knights. When one wolf gets the better of another, the beaten wolf makes a submissive gesture, exposing the soft underside of its neck to the fangs of the victor. Instead of taking the opportunity to rip out the jugular veins of his or her foe, the conquering wolf trots off, content with the symbolic victory.7 From a purely selfish point

of view, such noble conduct seems foolish. Why let the beaten enemy live to fight another day? Could the answer lie in something larger than the interests of the victorious wolf?

In short, it is a mistake to view nature as a life and death struggle in which those who worry only about their own food, safety and sexual satisfaction are'bound to eliminate the others. This is not what biology and evolutionary theory tell us. The landscape we must traverse in order to survive and pass on our genes is much more complex than that represented in the crude sketch given above; or to put it another way, there is more to life, and more to passing on our genes, than eating and copulating. In this chapter, I shall give three reasons why we are not biologically determined to think and act in the narrowly selfish way that the popular view suggests; a fourth, more complex reason, receives separate treatment in Chapter 7, and I put forward a more speculative fifth reason in the final chapter.