Human beings are animals—but is it true? Are human beings really animals, grouped within a specific genus and delineated as a particular species? If we accept the commonly held distinction between “inanimate” and “animate” organisms, then we have no choice but to affirm that human beings belong to the latter. But this classification is not without its problems. Above all, this seeming truism is misleading, not due to its immediate and veracious content, but due to its impoverishment. It simply does not say enough. Any attempt to craft a substantive anthropology cannot be content with the simple rehashing of what the likes of Melvin Konner, Edward O. Wilson, Theodosius Dobzhansky, and Desmond Morris have been reminding us for four decades and running. Granted, the preoccupation with distinguishing humans from animals is outdated, obsolete, and misleading, but distinguishing man among animals is a project whose contemporary exigency can hardly be quelled.
This essay will seek to sketch a framework for defining one particular element that is peculiar to human beings over against any other species of animal. This element, the capacity for value response, belongs exclusively to humanity and is manifest in its pursuit for those manifold goods that are necessary for survival, flourishing, and personal actualization. Within the limited scope of this essay, I wish to place three moral philosophers in dialogue on the very topic of the distinguishing marks of the human person. Regrettably, these three figures, Mary Midgley, Alasdair MacIntyre, and Dietrich von Hildebrand, have never engaged one another’s thought, yet all are concerned with vindicating philosophical anthropology over against materialism, dualism and pure existentialism. Thus, it shall be my task to construct a forum for the intersection of their ideas.[1]
I divide this paper into two sections, the first of which considers Midgley’s critique of various attempts to identify a particular mark that solely distinguishes man as a species. Her comparisons of human beings with animals entail many of the salient features found in MacIntyre’s book, Dependent Rational Animals.[2] Of particular importance is determining whether his understanding of virtues can stand as a defining mark of man in light of Midgley’s position. The second section of this paper brings von Hildebrand into the discussion in order to solidify the unity of human goods and virtues begun by MacIntyre. Finally, von Hildebrand’s classification of the various goods in degrees of importance, as well as man’s proper response to these goods, will provide a basis for identifying value response as a defining, yet not necessarily solitary, mark which distinguishes man among other intelligent animals.
A fundamental question that must be raised (should one commence the task of determining what a distinctive mark of man could be) is whether man has some specific nature. Such is the initial concern of Mary Midgley in her first and, unsurprisingly, her most notorious work, Beast and Man.[3] Man is a most unusual species whose nature is of prime importance to the moral philosopher who in turn must observe, analyze, interpret, and elucidate human motives and actions. But for Midgley, this “nature” is neither a strict ontological nor a purely biological entity, both of which are presupposed as being unique for man, just as they are for any other respective organism. Instead, she apprehends nature as the unique composition of the whole man manifested in action.[4] Metaphysical, biological, and psychological st
ructures are seen as mutually inclusive, and this holism constitutes what Midgley intends by her use of the term. Freedom, self-determination, instinct, drive—these notions and characteristics point to, and are partially definitive of, human nature.
Over the course of the four previous decades, a flood of literature containing data, observations, studies, and reports on animal behavior and its comparison with that of humans has pummeled the biological sciences. And any academic or scientific deluge is bound to spew forth and draw in tributaries across disciplines. Such was the scene in philosophy, asserts Midgley, where a once dominant Existentialism found itself tempered by the flow of this literature. Now, Midgley does not have in mind a Marcel or a Camus when she describes Existentialism, but rather the idea that man is left only with his human condition through which he defines himself.[5] To Midgley, such a notion is utterly untenable; it seeks liberation from the very biological body that determines the man who conjures it: “It shows how extraordinarily easy it is for many sorts of people now to think of their essential selves as something discontinuous with the body which roots them in the evolutionary process.”[6] Equally unreliable is the more common perspective found in many anthropological and sociobiological circles, the “Blank Paper” view, that man is no more than the product of his own environment and culture, infinitely plastic and malleable. Midgley comments:
Not only do people evidently and constantly act and feel in ways to which they have never been conditioned, but the very idea that anything so complex as the human being could be totally plastic and structureless is unintelligible. Even if—which is absurd—people had no tendencies but the general ones to be docile, imitative, and mercenary, those would still have to be innate, and there would have to be a structure governing the relations among them.[7]
Therefore, man is determined neither strictly by his own will nor by his culture and society. Indeed, he has a nature that not only distinguishes him as a species, but also affects and effects his motivations, actions and values.
How then is this nature to be studied, and better still, how is it to be ascertained? Midgley discerns the root of nature in the very animality of man, and a comparison of animal and human behavior and characteristics can prove most useful in understanding man’s nature. But to understand is to relate, for nothing can be understood in isolation. By considering man within the continuum of evolution, she argues, he is contextualized within his environment and among other organisms, other species.[8] Considered collectively, organisms are differentiated according to their respective natures:
The nature of a species, then, consists in a certain range of powers and tendencies, a repertoire, inherited and forming a fairly firm characteristic pattern, though conditions after birth may vary the details quite a lot.[9]
Gorillas, for example, are naturally hierarchical animals, forming “clans” or communities in which they spend their lives. But this does not necessarily entail a biological determinism. A silverback may occasionally exhibit a certain laxity in his duties despite its headship, perhaps by opting other males first choice in mating. The natural hierarchy is not thereby supplanted, and yet its natural pattern does not rigidly preclude aberrations.[10] So, too, does man have natural powers and patterns of behavior that he cannot usurp. Those anthropologists, philosophers and theologians who obstinately deny this range and condition must ultimately shed their illusion.
Man has his own nature, not that of any other species. He cannot, therefore, be degraded by comparison, if it is careful and honest, because it will bring out his peculiarities, it will show what is unique about him as well as what is not.[11]
Like other animals, man has what Midgley calls advantage, which is a general term for thriving and flourishing, as well as for those things valued, needed, and wanted. The advantage of any species is determined by that species’ instincts or nature. Incidentally, what man discovers as “good” for him, or conversely “bad” for him, is consummate with his nature. Midgley does not shy away from the notion of purpose, and this purposefulness is the potentiality of flourishing within nature. But as she notes, potentiality “only matters because of what will happen when it is actualized.”[12] If one wants to discuss purpose in nature, whether that be of a sea cucumber, an elephant, or a man, the prospering and flourishing of the organism must be accounted for, which necessitates the inclusion of its entire life process. When the question of how man should act in order to effect his purposive goods, a question which occupies moral philosophy and theology, only a turn to his nature—for Midgley, his animal nature—will yield an answer.
Given the advantage of man, which is discerned in his animality, what trait is peculiar to and distinctive of human nature? Midgley considers several of the common candidates for the distinctively human, all of which succumb to the lure of simplistic attribute. Certain excellences have been forwarded as characteristic of man, belonging to him alone, amid the crowd of creatures:
The various things that have been proposed as differentia for man—conceptual thought or reason, language, culture, self-consciousness, tool-using, productivity, laughter, a sense of the future—form part of such a cluster, but none of them can monopolize it or freeze it into finality.[13]
Structural properties of a given species do not have to be exclusive to that species nor must they be excellences. Midgley points to beavers as an example. While many consider the beaver’s ability to construct an intricate dam a defining characteristic, engineering is not the unique capacity of beavers. Beavers are rodents, and rodents in general are excellent burrowers and builders (as are bees, wasps, and termites). Beavers simply have a unique combination and further development of the industrial skills found in other rodents. Midgley asserts that no one characteristic is sufficient to define a species, including human beings:
The logical point is simply that, in general, living creatures are quite unlike mathematical terms, whose essence really can be expressed in a simple definition.[14]
Simply put, Midgley suggests that it is absurd to expect singularly unique differentia in any given organism. But perhaps a closer look at human attributes is needed before this assertion can be embraced.
Historically, the rationality of man has been his perennial “excellence.” Midgley traces this assertion back to Aristotle’s Nichomachean Ethics where it is first implied.[15] It has been long suggested that “consciousness” distinguished man from animal, that animals more or less respond only according to causality and perception.[16] Midgley notes, however, that when one observes the behavior of a human or any other animal, one ascribes motives, expressive behavior, and purposefulness. Intelligent animals in particular clearly have reasons for pursuing their respective advantage and have been known to problem solve if necessary. Motives and reasons precede their action. However, the importance of consciousness in man, namely his emphasis on deliberate choice and abstraction, may be duly noted:
So we are not saying, if we concede some sort of knowledge, reason, intelligence or purpose to the elephant, that we expect to find the next minute that it has written a Beethoven sonata or taken over the government. Nor, indeed, that it is taking legal action against the ivory trade.[17]
Therefore, Midgley is not dismissing the unparalleled achievements of man engendered by his rationality, but only pointing out that neither reason nor consciousness is the key to man’s castle.
Another characteristic to consider is language, another of man’s verisimilar “distinguishing marks.” Midgley admits that language and the ability to speak is valuable and intrinsic to man, linked to the very structural properties of his nature. It involves thinking conceptually, abstract thinking, and self-consciousness. However, recent research has shown a remarkable ability among chimpanzees to acquire and use language. A well-known example is a chimpanzee named Washoe, which was taught a sign language called Ameslan, which is used by many deaf and mute humans. Washoe acquired a working vocabulary of 150 words and another 200 she could understand. The chimp used Ameslan consistently, constantly, spontaneously, and freely. Encouraged by the results, scientists taught four additional chimps Ameslan and observed them in community, isolated from human interferences. The chimps used the language just as frequently and spontaneously as they did in captivity. Even more astounding was the fact that the chimps expanded their vocabulary on their own initiative, inventing new signs to represent various objects, intentions and desires.
Despite the ability to use Ameslan liberally, the chimps could not be taught to speak a given language. Scientists have theorized that the lack of innervations from their brains to their larynx, which humans possess anatomically, prevents them from speaking, suggesting that the inability to vocalize results from biological constitution rather than from inferior brain capacity. From this study, Midgley concludes that there is nothing a priori that suggests only humans should, or potentially can, talk.[18]
Of those characteristics necessary for language, Midgley isolates two, namely, self-consciousness and conceptual thought. Regarding the first, she chimes, “When we turn to more abstract, structural properties like ‘self-consciousness,’ it is much harder to know what counts as proof.”[19] Washoe was able to recognize itself when looking in a mirror, and apes have demonstrated a certain “self-consciousness” when being watched by curious boys and girls during field trips to the zoo. In any case, it is difficult to gauge or decipher “self-consciousness” in organisms. Regarding conceptual thought, Midgley remarks, “There is the same sort of difficulty over what we mean by ‘conceptual thought.’ Of course its higher reaches are exclusive to man; no other animal thinks about relativity or even social theory.”[20] But would we not ascribe conceptual thought to the dolphin whose trainer orders it to “invent a new trick,” and then it promptly does so? Once more, man is a species of animal, and no species holds an exclusive, sole characteristic that sets it apart from others, she argues.
Instead of a finding a single, distinguishing characteristic of man, Midgley suggests looking for a “knot” of general structural properties that constitutes man’s nature. Other animals share these properties, and, in particular, other intelligent animals, yet, like the beaver’s industry, these properties are more fully developed in man. His language is not merely communicative, but is capable also of conveying meanings, intents, and purposes apart from action. His rationality possess high levels of creativity and integration, whereby man has the remarkable capacity to form a unified character whereby he can choose the sort of person he wishes to become and with which type of society he wishes commune. The interface of his emotional and intellectual faculties can form a potent and effective priority system in relation to his advantage or goods.[21] Nevertheless, despite their mature display in man, these characteristics appear inchoate in a number of intelligent non-human animals.
In sum, Midgley grounds the distinctiveness of human beings in their place within the evolutionary process. Humans are organisms, and among organisms, humans are animals. This first distinction points to man’s ability to act positively and deliberately in a manner plants cannot. Among animals, humans are social animals. This second distinction is based upon an evolutionary step in complexity, yet still prior to his actual species, homo sapiens. There is a third distinction that entails man’s distinction among social animals:
Human beings are distinctive in being enormously more aware than other creatures both of their individuality and of the factors, both inside and outside them, that compromise it. They can think and talk and argue about these things, so they can share much of their experience and help each other with these problems. They can be aware of forces that are prolonging or changing their ways of life and they can, if they wish, direct their efforts to supporting or resisting them.[22]
Thus, for Midgley, man is distinct by degree and development, and evolution is the catalyst. The fact that man is ethical makes, so she comments, “evolutionary sense” and his moral capacities are “just what could be expected to evolve when a highly social creature becomes intelligent enough to become aware of profound conflicts among its motives.”[23] And one can certainly infer from this basic data, perhaps rightly or wrongly, that such a social creature could evolve further into another more intellectual and social species, in both cases superior to homo sapiens. The question now is: In terms of the development of man among animals, is there something about his actions themselves that permit an even more expansive view of his distinctiveness? Enter Alasdair MacIntyre.
—
[1] Throughout this paper, I employ the term “man” and its apposite pronouns to denote “humanity” as such, though I use the latter term where appropriate. In so doing, I am adopting the same terminology found in the works of both Midgley and von Hildebrand, as well as in the early work of MacIntyre. This measure stems not from deliberate insensitivity to contemporary sensibilities, but out of strict concern for terminological clarity and consistency.
[2]Alasdair MacIntyre, Dependent Rational Animals: Why Human Beings Need the Virtues (Chicago and La Salle, IL: Open Court, 1999).
[3]Mary Midgley, Beast and Man: The Roots of Human Nature (New York: Harvester Press, 1978). The work went through a number of printings and subsequent publishers. I will be referring to the edition published by Routledge in 2002 as part of the Routledge Classics series.
[4] Midgley is in dialogue with those who espouse one of two common psychological positions, either “nature” or “nurture,” in the development of human autonomy and relation. As we shall see, MacIntyre makes a more concerted move toward the metaphysics of human nature in his treatment of metaphysical biology.
[5] cf. Midgley, The Ethical Primate: Humans, Freedom and Morality (London/New York: Routledge, 1994), 111: “Since Kant’s time, these thinkers have stressed the autonomy of morals. They have often insisted that it is independent of all the facts. Recently, they have denounced as ‘naturalism’ and ‘genetic determinism’ any attempt to find a source for it in the motives innately present in our species, such as natural affection. They have expanded the notion of agency…on to a scale far larger than had ever been claimed for it before. They have used a strong language of unconditional freedom, pure spontaneous activity, a language carefully designed to exclude any reliance on innate tendencies. They have depicted human choice as something self-creating, isolated, without a source, without a past, concerned only with the future—as pure creativity.” Midgley’s hasty and simplistic notion of existential philosophy stems predominantly from her reading of Jean-Paul Sartre, who she consistently flails throughout her writings. She seems to anticipate my observation when she writes, “So I shall sometimes speak of it, not as Existentialist, but as Libertarian—meaning that those holding it do not just (like all of us) think liberty important, but think it supremely important and believe that our having a nature would infringe it.” Beast and Man, 4. In any case, the heart of Midgley’s arguments does not rest upon her interpretation of either “Existentialism” or “Libertarianism.”
[6] The Ethical Primate, 11.
[7] Beast and Man, 18-19.
[8] Ibid., 17. Midgley resists the notion that man is a “tourist,” grafted into a world foreign to his sensibilities. “This means acknowledging our kinship with the rest of the biosphere. If we do not feel perfectly at home here, that may after all have something to do with the way in which we have treated the place. Any home can be made uninhabitable. Our culture has too often talked in terms of conquering nature. This is about as sensible as for a caddis worm to talk of conquering the pond that supports it, or a drunk to start fighting the bed he is lying on. Our dignity arises within nature, not against it.” Ibid., 187.
[9] Ibid., 56.
[10] See ibid., 49-55 for Midgley’s account of the interplay between closed and open instincts in animals.
[11] Ibid., xxxvii.
[12] Ibid., 89.
[13] Ibid., 198.
[14] Ibid.
[15] Aristotle, Nichomachean Ethics, 1.7.
[16] I believe Midgley envisages the concept of “rationality” in her use of the term “consciousness.” Needless to say, these two concepts are signs of two different phenomena in man, and I believe Midgley’s work suffers for this lack of distinction between them.
[17] Midgley, Beast and Man, 205.
[18] See ibid., 206-8.
[19] Ibid., 218.
[20] Ibid., 219.
[21] Ibid., 251-52. Integral is the ability to judge: “Judging is not in general simply accepting one of two ready-made alternatives as the right one. It cannot be done by tossing up. It is seeing reason to think and act in a particular way. It is a comprehensive function, involving our whole nature, by which we direct ourselves and find our way through a whole forest of possibilities.” Midgley, Can’t We Make Moral Judgments? (New York: St. Martin’s Griffin, 1993), 25.
[22] Midgley, The Ethical Primate, 23.
[23] Ibid., 3.
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