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6. ANIMALS AND RATIONAL
AGENCY
Clever Hans and the Sphex
wasp
Plainly there is no problem of principle about animals
being rational agents - whatever, precisely, the relevant sense of ‘rational
agentÂ’ might turn out to be (this will be investigated as we go along). For
example, if the story I told in Chapter 3 of the university educated apes had
turned out to be true - or, indeed, if almost any story from childrenÂ’s
literature, such as Richard AdamsÂ’s Watership
Down[1],
were to turn out to be true - then it is clear that the animals involved would
be rational agents. Our question is one of fact, not of principle. We are to
consider whether there is sufficiently good reason for thinking that any
animals are rational agents. I shall
begin with two (true) tales designed to illustrate the pitfalls involved in interpreting
animal behaviour.
Clever Hans was a horse who lived in the late nineteenth
century, who was widely believed to be able to count. If an array of objects
was placed before him, and he was asked how many there were, Hans would stamp
his hoof the appropriate number of times. There seemed to be no question of
cheating. His trainer could not have been giving him covert signals, for
example, since Hans would perform equally well whether or not his trainer was
present. But then it was discovered that if the only people present were,
themselves, unable to count, or if they were so positioned that they could not
see the objects to be counted, then Hans did not know when to stop - he just
went on stamping his hoof. What had been happening was that Hans had been
responding to subtle behavioural changes in his audience, such as a slight
intake of breath, when the audience knew that he had reached the right number.
Without these changes, he was lost.
Now, the moral of this story is not that HansÂ’s
behaviour was entirely unintelligent. On the contrary, it did display
intelligence of a sort, only not the kind originally attributed to him. He had
learned to recognize and respond to a variety of subtle behavioural changes,
rather than to count. The real moral is that we need to be cautious in
interpreting animal behaviour in experiments that require animals to interact
with human beings. For it is hard to be sure that we have not been unwittingly
encouraging the animals to do what we want, by conditioning them to respond to
unconscious human signals. Many of the experiments that have claimed to be able
to teach chimpanzees to use an articulate sign language, for example, are
infected with this problem.[2]
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂNow consider the story of the Sphex wasp. The
female of the species lays her eggs in a burrow, leaving them to hatch on their
own. Before she abandons her eggs, however, she captures and paralyses a
cricket, and brings it to the burrow where she leaves it to provide fresh food
for her young when they hatch. Before taking the cricket into the burrow, she
places it on the ground outside and goes in alone, apparently to check for
intruders. She then emerges to drag the cricket inside, leaving it close to her
eggs. All this seems remarkably intelligent - indeed, an example of long-term
planning and foresight. This appearance, however, is an illusion. If the
cricket is moved by an experimenter very slightly while she is in the burrow,
she will re-emerge, drag the cricket back to its original position outside the
entrance, and then re-enter the burrow alone once more. This cycle of behaviour
can be repeated dozens of times. What looked like intelligent behaviour turns
out to have been rigid - presumably a
pre-programmed action pattern.
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂThe moral of this story is that it is not
enough, if we are to show that an animal is intelligent, to show that the
direction of its behaviour may be characterised as intelligent, being such as
to fulfil the creatureÂ’s long-term needs. In order to count as exhibiting
genuine intelligence, the behaviour must also be appropriately flexible. It
must display sensitivity to changes in the environment in a way that suggests
beliefs are being formed, up-dated, and acted upon.
The anthropomorphic tendency
The stories above bear
emphasising, because we have a pervasive tendency towards anthropomorphic
interpretations of animal behaviour. There are two sources of this, one of
which is culture-specific, but one of which is, arguably, universal. I shall
consider each of them briefly in turn.
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂMany cultures tell stories in which animals
act out human roles. But in our Western culture the literature and
entertainment directed at young children has been almost entirely monopolised
by anthropomorphic treatments of animals. There is hardly a childrenÂ’s story,
now-a-days, that does not have an animal as its central character, engaging in
human-like projects, and exhibiting patterns of thought and feeling that are
distinctively human. It is surely inevitable that all this covert propaganda in
childhood should have an effect in later life - if not actually encouraging a
belief that animals entertain conscious thoughts just like ours (a belief that
may seem surprisingly widespread), at least reinforcing a tendency to seek
explanations for animal behaviour in terms of rational planning for long-term
goals. This is not to say, of course, that all such explanations are false -
only that we should be on our guard against attributions of intelligence that
go beyond what the behavioural evidence would really warrant.
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂNo doubt the anthropomorphic tendency derives
partly from facts about our culture. But it also seems to me to have sources
that go much deeper, grounded in the very structure of human cognition, as I
shall now try to explain. One relevant claim here, is that our knowledge of the
psychology of our own species is very probably innate, having been selected for
in evolution because of its decisive advantages in ensuring our survival.[3]
A number of considerations support this claim. One is that our common-sense
psychology is highly complex, but is acquired by young children within the
space of a very few years.[4]
Yet children are never explicitly taught it, and it is hard to see how they
could learn it for themselves, since most of the phenomena with which it deals
- peopleÂ’s thoughts, feelings, and decisions - are hidden from casual
observation. (While young children may be supposed to have access to the
occurrence of such phenomena in themselves, through introspection, this cannot
be the source of their knowledge of the causal relationships between those
states, which is what the bulk of common-sense psychology is concerned with.)
Another consideration is that knowledge of common-sense psychology must be
presupposed before co-operation and communication can take place. If you had no
knowledge of beliefs and desires and the characteristic manner in which they
interact, then, plainly, you could neither co-operate with others, nor
understand what they said to you. It would hardly be surprising, therefore, if
knowledge of common-sense psychology should turn out to be innate, given the
crucial role of both co-operation and communication in human survival.
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂAnother relevant claim to have emerged recently,
is that common-sense psychology provides the source for one of our most basic
explanatory strategies. One body of evidence supporting this claim derives from
studies of primate behaviour, which suggest that the driving force behind the
evolution of human intelligence was distinctively social intelligence, not technical intelligence as has often been
believed.[5]
Another source of evidence comes from studies of child concept acquisition,
which suggest that the basic conceptual repertoire of young children includes
the concepts of common-sense psychology. These concepts are initially
over-extended, being applied well beyond their proper domain, until more varied
explanatory strategies are learned.[6]
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂPut the above claims together, and what you
get is the thesis that it is an innately determined aspect of human cognition
that explanation in terms of beliefs, thoughts, and desires forms one of our
most basic explanatory strategies. Other things being equal, we tend to try to
explain a given phenomenon in terms of attributions of intelligence, having a
natural tendency to offer such explanations until the evidence forces us to
think otherwise. This is certainly consistent with the impulse towards
animistic explanations of natural phenomena, such as storms and earthquakes,
common amongst primitive peoples. So what follows, again, is that we need to
tread carefully in interpreting animal behaviour, taking care that we are not
tempted to attribute intelligence beyond what the evidence will allow.
Animal believers
Whatever else a rational
agent may be, it is, plainly, a creature that has beliefs, and acts on them to
satisfy its desires. Our common-sense view would certainly be that beliefs and
desires may be attributed to most species of animal, including all mammals, as
well as many birds, reptiles, and amphibians (though it would not be correct to
attribute them to insects, if the points made in Chapter 3 were sound). We say
of the dog who leaps up at the familiar sound of his ownerÂ’s car, for example,
and begins scratching excitedly at the door, that he believes his owner to have
returned home. And we say of the cat creeping carefully round the side of a
bush, that she believes the bird to be behind it. Such explanations of animal
behaviour (and also, to some extent, the corresponding predictions) seem
remarkably successful. This creates a powerful presumption that many species of
animal are, indeed, truly believers. This may be further reinforced by
recalling the claim defended in Chapter 3 - that all mammals and birds, at
least, should be counted as genuinely sentient - together with the facts on
which that claim was based, namely the extensive similarities in behaviour, and
of brain structure and function, between such animals and ourselves.
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂThere have been a number of arguments to the
contrary, however.[7]
Many of these are in fact weak, or make eminently deniable assumptions - taking
for granted, for example, without further argument, that all beliefs and
desires must be expressed in natural language. Perhaps the most powerful of
these arguments, however, are those due to Donald Davidson, that have also been
very influential.[8] I
propose to consider the two main ones. The first of these is, in outline, this:
that in order to have beliefs at all you must possess, in addition, the concept
of belief; but that in order to possess the concept of belief, in turn, you
must have a language; in which case it will follow that non-linguistic
creatures cannot have beliefs.
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂDavidson has defended the premisses of this
argument rather differently in different publications. Consider first the claim
that having beliefs requires you to possess the concept of belief. In ‘Thought
and TalkÂ’ he tries to defend this by claiming that having a belief requires
understanding the possibility of being mistaken, which requires, in turn, a
grasp of the contrast between true belief and false belief. Now, the latter
claim is undeniable. But why should we grant the former? No reason for it is
given, and it is hard to see what such a reason might be. For why should there
not be simple, but genuine, kinds of belief where all beliefs are treated as
certainties (without even the possibility of thought of a mistake) until they
are eradicated by conflicting evidence that overwhelms them? In ‘Rational
AnimalsÂ’, on the other hand, Davidson argues that having a belief requires the
possibility of being surprised, which involves, in turn, the belief that your
original belief was false. Presumably the thought here is that it would be
unintelligible that you should, while retaining a particular belief, just carry
on as before when confronted with the fact that it is false (that is, with a
contradictory belief). This may be true, but does not establish the point. For
to say that any organism with beliefs must have cognitive mechanisms for
identifying and resolving conflicts of belief, is not to imply that the
organism need be capable of thinking
about, or have any concept of, its own beliefs. And it is difficult to see
why this latter claim should be true.
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂSince we have rejected the first premiss of
DavidsonÂ’s argument, we have already done enough to avoid the conclusion. But
let us consider, in any case, how he tries to defend the further claim that
possession of the concept of belief requires language. In ‘Thought and Talk’
he argues that the concept of belief is only acquired in connection with the
activity of interpreting the speech of others. But this just begs the question
at issue, given that we also employ the concept of belief in explaining the
non-verbal behaviour of both animals and ourselves. And it is unlikely,
moreover, that the concept of belief is one that we have to acquire at all.
Rather that concept is, plausibly, a component in a theory of the mind
(common-sense psychology) that we know innately.[9]
In ‘Rational Animals’, on the other hand, Davidson argues that the concept of
belief presupposes the concept of objective truth, which presupposes, in turn,
the concept of inter-subjective, communicable, truth. But these claims are
again undefended, yet are highly contentious. For example, why would not a
thought, by description, of the way things are irrespective of what I may take
to be the case, be sufficient for a concept of objective truth? Yet such a
thought need not presuppose that I am a potential communicator or language
user.
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂDavidsonÂ’s other main argument against
animals having beliefs, is again a sophisticated defence of the claim that
beliefs cannot really be possessed by any creatures that are not users of
language. The argument is that, in the absence of language, we cannot draw the
sorts of fine distinctions amongst beliefs necessary for them to have genuine intentionality. But all this will take
some explaining.
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂFirst, the concept of intentionality in
philosophy is a technical one, although the phenomenon it picks out is easily
recognized. (Note that this technical use of ‘intentional’ applies primarily
to beliefs and other representational mental states, including intentions. In
contrast, in the everyday sense it is primarily overt actions that are
intentional - meaning that they are caused in the usual way by beliefs, desires
and intentions.) Intentional states are distinctive in that they contain
representations of things that may or may not exist, and represent them in one
way rather than another. Someone can believe, or hope, that Atlantis once
supported a great civilization, although there is, in reality, no such place.
In contrast, if there is no such place as Atlantis then it is impossible for
anyone to go there. So belief, but not physical travel, can stand you in
relation to a non-existent thing. Moreover, someone can believe that there is
water in the jug without believing that there is H2O in the jug,
even though water is H2O;
and someone can believe that Mr Hyde is the murderer without believing that Dr
Jekyll is, even though Jekyll is
Hyde; and so on. In contrast, if water boils at 100 degrees, then so too must H2O,
and if Hyde is 32 years old, then so too must Jekyll be. So the property of
belief, but not the properties of boiling point or age, can apply differently
to one and the same thing, depending on how that thing is represented in the
description of it.
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂNow DavidsonÂ’s argument is that these
fine-grained distinctions amongst beliefs can only be drawn on the basis of
evidence that is linguistic. Only if a creature can do something like assert that Hyde is the murderer while denying that Jekyll is, can we have
reason for distinguishing the one belief from the other. And similarly, only if
the creature can do something like respond to a request to fetch some water by
bringing the jug, while failing to respond in the same way when asked to fetch
some H2O, can the belief that water is in the jug be distinguished
from the belief that H2O is in the jug. In which case, those animals
that lack an articulate language, as presumably almost all do, cannot be said
to possess fine-grained beliefs. There is nothing that a dog can do, for example,
that can make a difference between the statements ‘Attila believes that his
master is home’, ‘Attila believes that Mr Smith is home’, and ‘Attila
believes that the president of the bank is homeÂ’, provided that AttilaÂ’s
master is in fact Mr Smith, who is president of the bank. It can make no
difference which description we use, no matter what Attila may do.
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂOne response to this argument would be to
allow that animals cannot have fine-grained beliefs (or, at least, that those
without language cannot), but to insist that they may, nevertheless, have
coarse-grained ones. To take this line, would be to defend a notion of
belief-content for animals according to which one and the same belief may be
characterised indifferently as ‘the belief that my master is home’, ‘the
belief that Mr Smith is home’, or as ‘the belief that the president of the
bank is homeÂ’. But this would be the wrong move to make against Davidson,
since it would, in effect, concede to him that animal beliefs lack intentionality.
Yet to concede the intentionality of belief is to concede belief, since it is
essential to the very notion of belief that beliefs should represent things in
one way rather than another.
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂThe correct response is not to claim that animal
beliefs are indeterminate between fine-grained descriptions, but rather to
insist that the sorts of descriptions canvassed above are falsely attributed to animals. Very likely Attila does not have any
beliefs that can be characterised correctly using such terms as ‘master’,
‘Mr Smith’, or ‘the president of the bank’, since dogs lack the requisite
concepts. On the contrary, taking animal beliefs seriously must involve trying
to describe the way in which they
represent things. It seems plausible, for example, that Attila will represent
his master in terms of some schema of appearance - some complex set of
properties of sight, smell, and voice. Equally, in place of our concept
‘home’ Attila may employ something like the concept ‘protectable territory’.
Then it will be straightforwardly false to describe Attila as believing that
his master is home. Rather, what Attila believes will be something like ‘The
one who appears like this is on
protectable territoryÂ’. Needless to say, the ways in which animals represent
things will not be easily discoverable. But this is no argument for saying that
such modes of representation do not exist.
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂCan this sort of approach to animal beliefs
preserve for them all the features of intentionality? Surely yes. Animals, like
us, can have beliefs in non-existent objects. Thus the dog who barks wildly in
the night when a lamp is blown over by the wind might do so because of the
belief that something is intruding on protectable territory. And it ought to be
easy enough to find cases where a dog has contradictory beliefs about what is,
in fact, one and the same thing, by virtue of representing that thing in two
different ways. For example, suppose that Delia always appears to Attila in one
of two different guises - now being recognized by smell (with her appearance
disguised) and bringing food, now being recognized by appearance (with her
smell disguised) and bringing rough treatment. Then Attila might easily
manifest the beliefs that this person
is a source of food while that person
is not, although it is, of course, the same person in each case. There seems no
essential difference between this, and the example that forms a paradigm of
human intentionality, where someone believes that Hyde is the murderer while believing
that Jekyll is not.
Categorisation and concepts
Attempts to argue that
creatures lacking an articulate language cannot have beliefs, in advance of
detailed consideration of the evidence, have been seen to fail. We therefore
need to look at what animals can actually do, and how their abilities are best
explained. And in fact, the evidence is overwhelming that almost all animals
have cognitive abilities that go beyond mere connections of stimulus and
response, of the sort beloved by behaviourists. Even goldfish can retain in
short-term memory (for a period of about one minute) the location of previously
discovered food.[10]
However, although these abilities may be, in some sense, genuinely cognitive,
this does not mean that they must involve beliefs and desires - which is what
we need if animals are to stand any chance of counting as rational agents. This
point will come out most clearly in the contrast between the ability to
categorise things into two or more classes, and possession of a genuine concept,
as I shall now try to explain.
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂPigeons, for example, are capable of learning
remarkably sophisticated perceptual discriminations. They can learn to
categorise slides depending on whether those slides contain a triangle or not,
or depending on whether they contain a human being (in whatever pose) or not,
and so on.[11]
They can soon come to peck at the slide to gain a reward only if it contains a
triangle, or a human being. But do the pigeons thereby possess the concept of a
triangle, or of a human appearance? Being able to sort things into categories,
in a series of yes/no choices, is surely different from having a concept. For a
machine can categorise potatoes by weight or size without, of course,
possessing any concepts of weight or size. But what more is needed? Well
plainly, if something is to possess a concept it must be capable of having
beliefs or desires in which that concept figures. Now, this might not seem to
take us very far, beyond explaining why it is that the potato-sorting machine
possesses no concepts. For after all, what we started off wanting to know was
whether pigeons may be said to possess beliefs. But in fact the answer is
useful, in two respects.
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂFirst, it is essential to the very notions of
belief and desire, that beliefs and desires are states that interact with one
another to produce behaviour. In fact, genuine attributions of belief and
desire go along with a certain standard for explaining behaviour, that I call
the practical-reasoning-model. On this account, to explain an item of behaviour
is to exhibit it as the consequence of a piece of practical reasoning, of the
form ‘If I do X then I shall get Y, and I want to get Y, so I shall do X’.
(It need not be assumed that the reasoning process in question is a conscious
one, in animals any more than in ourselves. What is crucial for the application
of the practical-reasoning-model is only that there should be states of belief
and desire that interact together to produce an intention in the way that the
structure of practical reasoning outlines.) It follows, then, that pigeons
possess the concept of a triangle only if they exhibit patterns of behaviour
that are best explained using the practical-reasoning-model, by attributing to
them beliefs and desires within the content of some of which, at least, the
concept of a triangle figures.
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂSecond, it is essential to beliefs and desires
that they should be structured out of elements that can be recombined with
others. The concepts that fit together to make up the content of any given
belief or desire must be capable of fitting together with other concepts to
form yet other contents. Any creature capable of believing that grass is green,
for example, must be capable of believing that grass is something else (edible,
perhaps), and of believing that something else is green (emeralds, say).
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂFor these reasons, it is doubtful whether a
child who can sort bricks into red and green, but can do nothing else involving
those colours, as yet possesses the concepts of red and green. When the child
begins to form beliefs such as that green apples are sour, red ones sweet; that
red things are often hot; that green lights mean go, red ones mean stop; and so
on, then it will possess the concepts
of red and green. In the same way, we should not attribute the concept of a
triangle, or of a human appearance, to a pigeon, unless we are prepared to take
seriously explanations of its behaviour on the practical-reasoning-model. (For
example, ‘Pecking at triangles is a way of getting food. I want food. Here is
a triangle. So I shall peck at it.Â’) And we should only take these sorts of
explanations seriously, where the pigeonÂ’s behaviour displays sufficient
flexibility for us to be able to attribute to it a variety of different
contents involving the concept of a triangle.
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂWhile these points may make it doubtful
whether pigeons have beliefs (or, at least, beliefs about triangles), they do
nothing to undermine the attribution of beliefs to most, if not all, species of
mammal. For we surely do take seriously the use of the
practical-reasoning-model to explain their behaviour. For example, we might
explain the behaviour of a dog by attributing to it the sequence, ‘I want to
get the ball. The ball is on the table. If I jump on to the chair I can reach
the table. So I shall jump on to the chair.Â’ Moreover, a dogÂ’s behaviour
certainly exhibits a wide variety of ways in which it can interact with a ball
- fetching, chewing, chasing, and catching - suggesting that the concept of a
ball does form a component in a number of different canine beliefs and desires.
Animal planners
I propose to grant that all
mammals have beliefs and desires. They form beliefs about their immediate
environment on the basis of their perceptions, and are able to act in the light
of those beliefs to satisfy their immediate desires. Still, this is by no means
enough for these animals to count as rational agents. For recall that rational
agents, in the context of contractualism, are required to agree with one
another on the rules to govern all of their future interactions. They must
therefore be capable of representing in thought a variety of long-term futures,
and of making rational choices between those futures. So to count as a rational
agent, an animal must not only be capable of acting to satisfy its immediate
desires, but also of constructing and following a long-term plan. For our
purposes, rational agents are planners.
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂIn order to count as a rational agent, of
course, you do not have to act rationally on every occasion. To say that normal
adult humans are rational agents is not to imply that they never make mistakes,
or construct thoroughly muddled plans. It implies only that they are capable of
representing different possible futures, of working out which one they want,
and of constructing some sort of plan to achieve the future that they desire.
It is enough that they are capable of engaging in these activities at all, not
that they perform them successfully, let alone superlatively. While rational
agents are planners, they do not have to be very good planners.
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂIt might be said, then, that plenty of animals
should be counted as rational agents. Think of squirrels who store nuts in the
autumn, birds who migrate south for the winter or build elaborate nests for the
protection of their young, and of dogs who bury bones for later retrieval and
consumption. Surely these are all cases of long-term planning? But in fact, to
say that an animal engages in behaviour adapted to meet a predictable future
eventuality is not to say that the animal has itself predicted that future, or
arrived at its behaviour as a result of a plan. (Remember the Sphex wasp.) For
it is left open that the behaviour in question may be merely an acquired habit,
or that it may be innately determined. For example, it might be written into
the genes of certain species of birds that they are to fly at a particular
orientation relative to the stars when the sun reaches a certain position in
the sky. This would not be planning, but reacting. (Indeed, the nut-burying
behaviour of the European red squirrel, at least, is an innately determined
action pattern, that the squirrel will continue to perform in captivity, on a
solid floor with no earth to dig.[12])
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂThere are at least two general reasons for
thinking that none of the sorts of animal activities mentioned above manifest
genuine planning. The first is that the skills involved in planning are
transferable. These include the abilities to represent and predict future
states of affairs, and to work out ways of bringing about or preventing those
states of affairs. So if any animals were planners, it would be remarkable that
they do not do more of it. If a dog were really capable of predicting that
unless its food is hidden it may be stolen by others, and of working out that
burying the food would keep it out of sight and smell until needed, then it is
strange that it should not make use of these abilities in other areas of its
life. Why, for example, do dogs never lay out food as bait for an unwary cat?
Another way to put the point is this. It is distinctive of human beings, and a
mark of our rational agency, that we can adapt to almost any circumstance or
habitat. No other single animal species even begins to approximate to this
adaptability. To the extent that this is so, it suggests that no other species
of animal approximates to the status of a rational agent.
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂThe second reason for doubting whether the
activities of squirrels, birds, and dogs manifest genuine planning, is that it
would then be remarkable that members of the same species should not come up
with alternative plans. It seems essential to the activity of planning, as we
understand it, that there will always be a number of possible ways of trying to
achieve a given objective, even if not all of those ways would be equally
successful. It would then be strange, if squirrels were engaging in genuine
planning when they gather nuts, that some individuals should not hit upon the
alternative plan of observing where other squirrels have hidden their nuts, and
later stealing them. And if birds were really planning for the future of their
offspring in building a nest, it would be strange that members of the same
species should not hit upon alternative modes of construction, or that some
individuals should not avoid the labour of building altogether by laying their
eggs in the nests of others, as does the cuckoo. (The cuckoo, presumably, does
this innately.)
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂLong-term planning implies more than mere
possession of beliefs about the remote future, of course, or the ability to
predict future states of affairs. It must also involve possession of long-term
desires, which serve to set the ultimate goals for any prolonged projects
undertaken. Since many of the putative examples of animal planning are
concerned with individual survival, this may be the point at which we should
consider the question deferred from Chapter 4 - namely, whether any animals may
be said to have desires for their own future existence.
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂPossessing a desire implies possession of its
constituent concepts. So a desire for oneÂ’s own future existence must involve
concepts of oneself, of the future, and of existence. Moreover, possession of
any given concept must involve, in addition, possession of its contrasting
concepts. To possess the concept of existence you must also possess the concept
of non-existence. So if any animal were really capable of conceptualising, and
desiring, its own future existence, it would also have to be capable of
conceptualising non-existence. But
there is no evidence that any animals are capable of this. True enough, if a
dog returns to the spot where it had buried its bone to find the bone gone, it
may express surprise. But there is nothing in this to manifest the thought that
the bone has ceased to exist, rather than that it has been moved. Indeed, since
a dog in such circumstances will generally hunt around the surrounding area
before finally losing interest, it would seem to be the latter idea that is
entertained, rather than the former. Of course, a human being in such a
situation may behave similarly, at least initially. If I return to my desk to
find my diary has disappeared from its usual position, I may begin by searching
in the drawers and on the floor. But, in contrast to the dog, I can also
manifest the belief that the diary has ceased to exist - for example, by
accusing my secretary of having dropped it in the shredding machine by mistake.
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂThere is a sense in which all animals will
struggle for survival, of course, in that they will respond to perceived
threats with aggression or fear. But this does not mean that they have desires
for their own future existence, as opposed to non-existence. It only shows, at
most, that they have desires to avoid damage or danger, which are conceptually
simpler. All animals can make some distinction between things that are safe and
things that are not, or between things that may damage them and things that
will not. Some animals may, in addition, show sufficient variety in their
behaviour for us to attribute to them possession of the corresponding concepts.
But none of this shows that animals can have desires for their own future
existence. Indeed, I assume that such desires should be denied of them.
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂIn conclusion, many species of animal engage
in short-term planning, if we take seriously the attribution of beliefs and
desires to them. Consider the cat stalking a bird, or the dog jumping up on a
chair to get a ball from the table. But this is not enough for the animals in
question to be counted as a rational agents, in the sense that matters for
contractualism. This also requires long-term planning. But so far as I can see,
no suggested animal behaviours are at all convincing as examples of long-term
planning. Moreover, this is, in any case, by no means the only obstacle to
counting any animals as rational agents. To be so counted, animals would also
have to be capable of planning for the results of implementing social rules, as
we shall see in the next section.
Animal deceivers
In order to have the kind of
intelligence necessary to be a rational contractor, it is not enough to have
beliefs and desires, and to be able to construct long-term plans in the light
of those beliefs and desires. You must also have an idea of what it is to act
under a general rule, and of what it might be like if all were to act under the
same rule. This will require that you have a conception of the beliefs and
desires of others, and that you are able to work out what might be expected of
those others in particular cases if the rule in question were implemented. So
rational agency requires, not just beliefs and desires, but beliefs about
beliefs and desires - second-order beliefs, in fact. Is there any evidence that
animals are capable of entertaining second-order beliefs?
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂThe clearest way in which an animal can
manifest second-order beliefs is by deceit. For to act deceitfully is to act in
such a way as to intentionally induce a false belief in another. But if such
action can be intentional, it must presuppose a conception of the beliefs of
the other. So, do any animals engage in intentional deceit? There is anecdotal
evidence that they do. For example, DonnaÂ’s dog Dean likes to walk, and likes
to sleep in DonnaÂ’s armchair. One day when Donna is sitting comfortably in her
chair, the dog lying awkwardly on the floor, Dean gets up and fetches his lead.
But when Donna gets out of the chair to take the dog for a walk, Dean jumps up
into the chair she has vacated. Did the dog not act with the intention of
inducing in Donna the false belief that he wanted to go for a walk?
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂThe trouble with this sort of anecdotal
evidence is that it is always amenable to more neutral description, precisely
because it is merely anecdotal. For example, we may re-describe the case above
by saying that Dean wanted to walk and also wanted to lie in DonnaÂ’s armchair.
He set about trying to satisfy the first desire, but when, as an unintended
consequence, the opportunity to satisfy the second arose, he set about doing
that instead. All putative examples of deceptive behaviour in animals are, in
principle, vulnerable to this sort of re-description.
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂIn reply it might be said that there is very
good reason why the evidence of deception in animals should be merely
anecdotal. It is that deception, by its very nature, can only succeed if it is
infrequent. Since there is always a real risk that a deception may be
discovered and exposed, those who attempt to deceive others too often will soon
find themselves without the opportunity to deceive at all, because no one will
trust them. But this reply is only partially adequate. It can explain why the
evidence of deception by any given individual animal should be merely
anecdotal, but not why it should be so for the species as a whole. To make out
a real case for intentional deception in animals, we should need frequent
examples of apparent deception practiced by different individual members of the
same species. Such evidence (which would, as it were, be systematically anecdotal) is entirely lacking in connection with
almost, but not quite, all species of animal. The exceptions are the great
apes, particularly chimpanzees.
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂStudies of chimpanzee behaviour, both in
captivity and the wild, are rife with examples such as the following. One ape,
who is female, knows where a store of food is buried. But she also knows from
past experience that if she goes directly to that store, then one particular
larger male will follow her, and take it from her. So she sets off in the
opposite direction, and begins to dig. When the male pushes her aside and takes
over the digging for himself, she rushes back to the actual location to
retrieve and consume the food. True enough, these tales are anecdotal, and
cannot be reliably repeated. But taken together they constitute an impressive
body of evidence.[13]
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂI propose to allow that chimpanzees, at least,
have second-order beliefs about the beliefs and desires of others. But this is
only a necessary condition of rational agency. It is by no means sufficient. In
order to count as a rational agent, in the sense that matters for
contractualism, an animal would also have to be capable of long-term planning,
as we saw in the previous section. It would need, moreover, a conception of
social rules, and of what it might be for all to act under the same social rules.
Evidence of these aspects of rational agency would seem to be conspicuously
absent, even in chimpanzees.
Animal language
Bold claims have been made
in recent years that chimpanzees, at least, count as rational agents in virtue
of their capacity to use, and to understand, language.[14]
Many animals use systems of signs of one sort or another, of course. Bees do a
figure-of-eight dance to show the direction of nectar, dogs bark in warning and
growl in threat, and birds sing to attract mates or to defend territory. But
plainly this sort of thing is too far removed from human language to be of any
interest in the current debate. For the behaviours in question are, very likely,
innately determined action sequences, as well as lacking the structural
complexity of human natural language. The claim made, however, is that
chimpanzees can be taught to use signs in ways much more closely resembling our
own.
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂThe issue is important, because it does seem
clear that full competence in the use of a human natural language (or something
closely resembling it) would be a sufficient condition for a creature to count
as a rational agent. Anything capable of using a system of signs with the
expressive power of a human natural language must be able to use those signs
with the intention of inducing beliefs in other users, and must therefore have
second-order beliefs about those othersÂ’ beliefs. Since such a creature must
also be able to represent alternative futures, and the states of affairs on
which those futures are contingent, it will be capable of long-term planning.
Moreover, to have the expressive power of a human language, a system of signs
must contain ways of representing various possible systems of rules, and the
consequences of universal compliance with those rules. So a full language-user
would be, without qualification, a rational agent, in the sense of the phrase
that concerns us. In the light of the points made in earlier sections, indeed,
it would seem that there can be no real prospect of showing any animals to be
rational agents except by showing
that they are capable of using an appropriately developed language. For there
is little evidence of other sorts that even chimpanzees are capable of
long-term planning, let alone that they are capable of conceptualising
alternative systems of social rules. If we are to show that they are rational
agents, our only remaining prospect is to show that chimpanzees are, at least potentially,
language-users.
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂMany important criticisms have been made of
the systems of signs taught to chimpanzees, even supposing that we set aside
worries about the clever Hans phenomenon. Amongst these are that the
sign-languages they have mastered show no significant syntax. In some cases
there is no question, even, of the signs expressing articulate propositions,
since only one sign is used at a time. But even in those cases where something
like sentences are employed, it is in fact mere groupings of signs that are
significant. Also, and relatedly, it has been objected that the systems taught
to chimps are not genuinely productive, in the way that human natural languages
are. We are capable, by virtue of our grasp of grammatical structure, of continually
using old words in new ways, never before encountered, whereas the chimps are
not. (You will, almost certainly, never before have come across the sentence
‘A green dragon sleeps beneath my word-processor’, for example. But now that
you have confronted it, you will have no difficulty in grasping its meaning.)
Finally, and perhaps most importantly, it has been pointed out that there is no
evidence of the chimpanzees ever using their signs in thought, for solving
problems or reasoning about what to do. They treat them merely as practical
tools for enabling them to fulfil their immediate desires.[15]
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂMore important than any of the above
criticisms for our purposes, however, is the point that all the various systems
of signs so far taught to chimpanzees have been concerned only with immediately
perceptible aspects of the chimpsÂ’ environment. Crucially, no chimpanzee has
mastered the phenomenon of tense, or any way of representing particular future
times. Nor have they mastered the concepts necessary for representing
causality, conditionality (‘if...then...’), or general rules. But these
concepts would be absolutely necessary if the chimpsÂ’ mastery of language were
to establish that chimpanzees should be counted as rational agents. For as we
have seen, the capacities for long-term planning, and for considering the
consequences of adopting certain general rules, are crucial to rational agency.
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂIt is hardly surprising that attempts to teach
languages to animals have met with such limited success. For as Noam Chomsky
and others have forcefully argued, the human capacity for language is very
likely an innately determined aspect of our cognition. In ChomskyÂ’s view, we
ourselves are only able to learn languages because much information about the
grammars of natural languages, as well as many linguistic concepts, are already
contained in the inherited structure of our language faculty. Other animals, in
lacking such a faculty, will find learning a full natural language impossible.[16]
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂAs we saw earlier, the capacity to speak a
full natural language would be a sufficient condition for a creature to count
as a rational agent. It might additionally be wondered whether such a capacity
is also a necessary condition of
rational agency. This is not for the reason considered - and rejected - in a
previous section, namely that possession of natural language is a necessary
condition for having beliefs. It is rather because a rational agent, for our
purposes, must be a possible rational contractor. Yet to enter into an explicit
contract surely requires prior communication on the terms of the contract, and
it seems clear that a languageless creature could not communicate anything so
abstract as a proposed system of rules. This argument is, however, too swift.
For consider the following example.[17]
Suppose that we arrive on Mars to discover creatures that seem at least as
intelligent as ourselves. They have a highly developed technology, and engage
in activities that seem plainly to require long-term planning and knowledge of
the beliefs and desires of others. But they lack any articulate system of
communication. Perhaps the Martian creatures are extremely long-lived, and by
nature solitary, in an environment that is by no means harsh. So they only need
to meet one another to mate, and perhaps to exchange items of technology that
each has developed independently.
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂIn these circumstances it might be perfectly
clear to us that the Martian creatures are rational agents. Could we, as contractualists,
refuse to acknowledge that they have the same basic rights as ourselves, merely
on the grounds that by being unable to communicate, they are incapable of
entering into an explicit contract? I think not. As Scanlon remarks, the basic
criterion, under contractualism, for whether or not a creature has moral
standing is whether the idea of justification of a policy of action to that creature makes sense.[18]
We do not actually have to be able to justify our system of rules to a
creature, or some action under the rules, in order for it to have the same
basic rights as ourselves. It is enough that the creature should have all the
mental qualities and capacities necessary to appreciate such a justification,
if it could somehow be transmitted. In fact, we ought to regard the Martian
creaturesÂ’ inability to communicate with others as a mere contingency, that
could conceivably be overcome without altering anything fundamental in their
mode of cognition.
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂThe above point generalises to cover any other
qualities that might be necessary for a creature to be capable of entering into
an explicit contract with us. Any creature that is incapable of making and
keeping promises, for example, would not, in any meaningful sense, be able to
enter into a contract. But this need not prevent it from having the status of a
rational agent, if it were otherwise capable of long-term planning, and of
working out the consequences of implementing alternative sets of social rules.
For recall that the contract after which contractualism is named is
hypothetical, not actual. We are not proposing to grant moral standing to
creatures only after they have entered into a definite agreement with us.
Rather, our moral rules will extend to those creatures provided that we might intelligibly
attempt to justify our actions to them, in terms that none could reasonably
reject who shared the aim of reaching free and unforced general agreement. The
basis of contractualism lies in just this conception of reasonableness, not in
any tit-for-tat contract.
Human uniqueness
No doubt rational agency, as
such, admits of degrees. For the gradual development of a human infant, through
childhood towards adulthood, is a process in which a fully-fledged rational
agent slowly emerges, as we noted in Chapter 5. Yet I have been arguing, in
effect, that no animals count as rational agents to any degree, since they lack
even rudimentary versions of those qualities that are distinctive of rational
agency. These are, namely, the capacities for long-term planning, for
representing alternative sets of social rules, and for working out the likely
consequences of implementing those rules. It therefore invites some comment
that human beings should be unique in this respect. For we accepted in Chapter
3, after all, that human beings are continuous with the rest of the natural
world, having evolved, like any other species of animal, through a process of
natural selection. What follows are some highly speculative suggestions.
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂIt may be our distinctive possession of an
innately structured language faculty that underlies our uniqueness as rational
agents. In the beginning, we may suppose, human beings came equipped with a
working model of one anotherÂ’s psychology, somewhat as, perhaps, chimpanzees
do today. Our ancestorsÂ’ common-sense psychology might possibly have been more
sophisticated than that possessed by chimpanzees, but would not have been
different from it in kind. Given such a model, human beings would have been
able to predict one anotherÂ’s behaviour, to a limited extent, and to engage in
rudimentary forms of co-operative activity. The next - and crucial -
development may have been the evolution of an innately structured language
faculty. This would immediately have conferred decisive advantages in survival.
It would have made it possible for human beings to co-ordinate their behaviour,
and to frame and execute joint plans of action, to their mutual advantage. It
would also have made it possible for early humans to begin exchanging
information, and to pass on the accumulated wisdom of a society from generation
to generation. But most importantly, for our purposes, it is possible that the
evolution of such a language faculty facilitated a wider range for human
thought. For, as Chomsky argues, there are essentially the same reasons for
thinking that a wide range of human concepts are innate, as there are for
thinking that knowledge of universal grammar is innate.[19]
With the coming of language, and its associated grammatical forms, human beings
could then frame thoughts about particular future times, about the long-term
consequences of patterns of human behaviour, and agree rules with one another
for the conduct of their affairs.
ÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂWhatever may be true of the hypothetical
Martians considered earlier, it may thus be our unique status as natural
language users that underlies our uniqueness, amongst creatures on Earth, as
rational agents. In which case it will also be our possession of natural
language that accounts for the fact that human beings are alone in their moral
standing, and in having direct rights, if the contractualist approach to
morality is correct. Note, moreover, that this story has been told in terms
that, so far from denying our continuousness with the rest of the natural
order, presupposes it. There is substantial evidence that we do possess innate
knowledge of common-sense psychology, and an innate language faculty, and it is
easy to see why these faculties might have emerged through natural selection.[20]
But if natural language is implicated in our capacity to represent future
times, causes and conditionals, and general rules, then it will be our unique
(but naturally explicable) possession of natural language that underlies our
uniqueness as rational agents.
Summary
Many animals may be said to have beliefs and desires. Some animals (particularly apes) may be said to have second-order beliefs and desires. But no animals possess the other qualities necessary for rational agency. Specifically, no animals appear capable of long-term planning, or of representing to themselves different possible futures. And no animals appear capable of conceptualising (let alone acting under) general socially agreed rules. I therefore conclude that the simplifying assumption made in Chapter 5 is correct. No animals count as rational agents, in the sense necessary to secure them direct rights under contractualism.
On to Animals Issue chapter 7.
[1] Penguin, 1972.
[2] See Walker, Animal Thought, pp. 372-4.
[3] For detailed defence of this idea, see my Human Knowledge and Human Nature, ch. 8.
[4] See Henry Wellman, The Child's Theory of the Mind (MIT Press, 1990).
[5] See R.Byrne and A.Whiten eds., Machiavellian Intelligence (Oxford University Press, 1988).
[6] See Susan Carey, Conceptual Change in Childhood (MIT Press, 1985).
[7] Many of these are detailed in R.G. Frey, Interests and Rights (Oxford University Press, 1980), chs.7-9.
[8] See ‘Thought and Talk' in his Inquiries into Truth and Interpretation (Oxford University Press, 1984), and ‘Rational Animals' in E. LePore and B. McLaughlin eds., Actions and Events (Blackwell, 1985).
[9] See my Human Knowledge and Human Nature, ch. 8.
[10] See Walker, Animal Thought, ch. 6.
[11] See Walker, Animal Thought, ch. 6.
[12] See Fred Dretske, Explaining Behaviour (MIT Press, 1988), p. 4.
[13] See the papers collected in Byrne and Whiten eds., Machiavellian Intelligence.
[14] See Singer, Practical Ethics, pp. 93-5.
[15] For detailed development of these points, see Walker, Animal Thought, ch. 9.
[16] See Noam Chomsky, Language and Problems of Knowledge (MIT Press, 1988). See also my Human Knowledge and Human Nature, chs. 6-8.
[17] Adapted from Robert Stalnaker, Inquiry (MIT Press, 1984).
[18] See ‘Contractualism and Utilitarianism', p. 113.
[19] See Language and Problems of Knowledge, ch. 1.
[20] See my Human Knowledge and Human Nature, chs. 6 & 8.