Sam Harris’ The Moral Landscape shows us how science and reason are the most effective tools to maximize our aggregate happiness and well-being. This argument should be fairly straight forward to an atheist. However, Harris never truly addresses the more basic moral question: To what degree should we value humanity’s aggregate happiness? Especially when it in inversely correlated with our personal happiness and well being.
This is the more basic moral question Harris ignores: “To what degree should I sacrifice my own happiness to create more happiness for others?” This is the question people grapple with when they decide whether or not to give aid to those in need, reduce their carbon footprint or avoid factory-farmed meat. What does one owe the world? Should we forgo the luxury trim on our new car when there are hungry people on the other side of the world? Should we allow the less fortunate into our country if they are ultimately a drain on our resources?
These questions lie at the heart of moral inquiry. They are, at their core, a debate between selfishness and selflessness. Harris ignores them so he can focus on the easier question: How to maximize well being. This is, indeed, a question well fit for science to answer. But unless we are sold on the idea of self sacrifice, it won’t matter.
Religions have, for generations, suggested that self-sacrifice is in our best interest because it can gain the favor of the creator of the universe, if not on Earth, then in the afterlife. Harris needs to make the case that these religions are not necessary motivators. He needs to show why self-sacrifice is, in the long term, in one’s own self interest, even when there is no arbiter in the sky doling out reward and punishment or magic Karma that will recompense your kindness.
So, for clarity’s sake, let’s break down our moral argument into two questions:
The Basic Moral Question: To what degree (if at all) should we sacrifice our own current happiness and well being for others (i.e., the happiness of friends, strangers, and future generations)
Only once we determine this balance between selfishness and selflessness can we ask the more advanced moral question:
The Advanced Moral Question: What is the best way to maximize humanity’s happiness?
Harris leapfrogs the basic moral question (the why of morality) and answers the advanced one (the how of morality).
The Basic Moral Question
In order to show that science and reason can answer the basic moral question without appealing to any supernatural laws or beings, we must convince people that it’s ultimately in their own self-interest to be concerned with the happiness of others. This argument is quite easy when it comes to the manner in which we treat those in close proximity to us, but becomes more difficult the the more removed we are from consciousness beings by geography and time. So let us break the question down into three steps, starting with the most obvious and building from there:
Part 1: Should we be concerned with the happiness of our friends?
Part 2: Should we be concerned with the happiness of strangers?
Part 3: Should we be concerned with the happiness of all of humanity (including future generations)
Part 1: Should we be concerned with the happiness of our friends?
Let us start by accepting the theologian’s accusation: Without God or some kind of supernatural authority, there is no moral truth, nor any moral obligations, thus any attempt to govern others’ behavior is merely a debate between what you want and what I want.
We will accept this as true: Humans act in their own self interest. Furthermore, we must admit that it is often the case that our immediate wants and desires are diametrically opposed to that of our neighbors. For instance, I might want to steal my neighbor’s wallet, and my neighbor might want to steal mine. Absent of universal laws handed down from above this may quickly devolve into a nasty fight.
And it often does exactly that, especially if one party is larger or stronger than the other and can easily overpower them. Of course, if I were to physically overpower my neighbor, it may motivate them to acquire a weapon of some sort to gain the upper hand. To combat this, I can procure a more powerful weapon. I could even hire thugs with machine guns to protect my house and storm his house at night, to which he may respond by poisoning my water. It wouldn’t be long until we were engaged in an endless stream of hiring mercenaries, installing security systems, and constantly looking over our shoulders.
Fortunately, most people have the foresight to realize this and develop a contract of sorts, one that says, “I’m not going to steal your wallet if you won’t steal mine.” It’s a win-win agreement, and given enough judicious foresight, it’s clear that it’s in both parties’ self-interest to join in such contract. It’s also an important illustration to show how eschewing our own immediate selfish desires can ultimately increase our own happiness. This is why it’s important to evaluate the long-term consequences of our actions. To put it simply, it is in our long-term self-interest to take the interest of our friends and neighbors into account.
Countless philosophers have made this basic argument, but it is illustrated perhaps most convincingly by science, specifically the science of game theory employed in computer simulation (See Rapoport, Axelrod, Trivers). Its truth is relatively beyond dispute: Those humans that engage in reciprocally altruistic relationships with the neighbors fare better than those that don’t. People who make friends have greater well being than those who make enemies. It’s a truth so basic that it’s literally written into our genes; we evolved with a natural inclination to be friendly. We need not do any quick calculation of reciprocal altruism to lend a helping hand; it comes quite naturally.
Part 2: Should we be concerned with the happiness of strangers?
It may be obvious that it’s in our best interest to play fair with our neighbors, but it is less obvious that we should play fair with strangers: Those whom we will never see again and have no immediate means of reciprocating our kindness.
For instance, suppose I am alone in an alley and find a wallet with $100 inside. Why should I return it to its owner when I could easily pocket the money and no one would be the wiser? In this case, there is seemingly no downside to cheating the stranger because they cannot possibly retaliate. And while they might reward my good deed if I were to return the wallet, it is unlikely any monetary reward will be equal to or greater than the $100 I have found. If there were no god watching over me with punishment and reward at the ready, why wouldn’t I pocket the $100?
One might argue that the reputation I earn by returning the money will be worth more than $100 in the long run. This is likely true, but this answer still doesn’t satisfy, for this requires us to advertise our good deeds. Doesn’t the truly moral individual donate anonymously? We all face countless opportunities to do good or ill throughout the day, during which no one will be there to blame us for our malfeasance or credit us for our moral fortitude. Consider the decision to refrain from throwing a plastic cup out of our window when driving alone on a rural road, or returning a cart to the cart corral at 2 a.m. when no one can see you do it.
Why do I choose the moral option in each of these situations if there is no god to reward or punish my actions? The answer is quite simple: Because I want to live in a world where people return wallets, do not litter, and keep parking lots tidy. I may lose my wallet someday, and if I expect it to be returned, I must do my part in building a society of wallet returners (that means returning any wallet I find).
Whatever personal gain I may get from keeping the money will be offset by the small crack my act creates in the “trust and honesty” code of our society, or a “social contract”. The owner of the wallet will likely feel cheated and will himself be less likely to return any wallet he may find. This sets off a chain reaction of selfishness and eventually makes life worse for us all. It’s not long until anyone who loses their wallet can just kiss it goodbye. The same is true for our propensity to litter. We are more likely to toss a candy wrapper in the gutter when the streets are already teeming with trash, or leave a cart out in the parking lot when they are already strewn about.
Returning the wallet has the opposite effect: It sets off a chain reaction of selflessness and cooperation. The owner of the wallet, happy to get the wallet back, feels he can trust strangers on the street. Society has offered him the hand of cooperation, so as a loyal tit-for-tatter, he is more likely to extend a helping hand to another stranger, who is then more likely to do the same. Society becomes better for us all, and one needn’t fear dropping his wallet, because he knows it will be returned. So in the long run, we really are repaid for our selfless act. We are no longer in a reciprocal altruistic relationship with one other person, but instead we are in one with all of society. It’s a phenomenon that borders on magic.
Indeed, Eastern religions define it as such. They call it karma, the belief that good deeds may not be repaid by the beneficiaries of those good deeds but will, in fact, be repaid at some point in the future. Western religions prefer to personify this idea into an all-seeing god that doles out reciprocation for our actions (both punishment and reward). Both of these ideas frame the issue of kindness to strangers in terms of reciprocal altruism between friends (a language and motivator we evolved to understand). And while there may be insufficient evidence in your life that your good deeds are being rewarded, religions often promise you reward after death: the Eastern religions in the form of reincarnation; the Abrahamic religions in the form of an afterlife. But we need not embrace these myths (and the accompanying dogma) once we have a deep understanding of how moral behavior benefits us.
Part 3: Should we be concerned with the happiness of all of humanity (and future generations)?
We’ve established that friends can directly reciprocate our kindness, and strangers can indirectly reciprocate our kindness by maintaining a society in which we all adhere to agreed-upon behaviors. But surely we can imagine demographics that will likely never be in a position to reciprocate our kindness, like the homeless, or those starving in other nations, or those in future generations. How does the secular philosopher argue for behavior that benefits the whole of humanity?
We can start by showing how establishing “higher principles” that apply to all demographics is ultimately in our own self-interest. Here we can lean heavily on the work of moral philosophers like John Rawls, Emmanuel Kant, and John Stuart Mill. These philosophers point out that, although it might make our lives better in the short run to embrace selfishness (i.e., ignore the plight of the homeless, or even to round them up and ship them to a deserted island), this would establish a principle that may well come back to bite us, for we never know when we will find ourselves in a disadvantaged demographic. An accident might render us unable to work. An oppressive government might outlaw our sexual orientation. Unruly mobs might attack the wealthy. If we work to establish “higher principles” concerning the treatment of all humans (what Kant called “moral imperatives”), we will likely eventually find ourselves the beneficiary of said principles at some point in our lives.
But even this does not give us selfish reason to be concerned for future generations. Our kindness to future generations will never be reciprocated, even indirectly. It is true that kin selection (the original driving force of altruistic behavior in evolution) will motivate some concern for future generations; we’d like to leave a safe, prosperous world for our children, But not all adults have children. And some acts of self sacrifice do not pay for hundreds of years (being a good steward of the environment for instance). There is no guarantee our children will have children and even if they do, is a concern about one’s increasingly diluted genes in subsequent generations a feature of human psychology or a bug? Whatever the case, when we consider that humans have spent billions of dollars to create enough weaponry to destroy the world many times over but seem unwilling to commit the resources to save it, it becomes clear that evolution alone did not instill us with enough concern about future generations.
But why then, do so many exhibit a concern about the future of the world? I can think of 4 reasons.
1) The aforementioned desire to leave a safe, prosperous world for our children is present (whether or not its a feature or a bug)
2) Virtue signaling: Showing genuine concern about future generations advertises good character in the present.
3) Generosity “feels good”. This is the only explanation Harris provided, and while it is inadequate alone, it certainly does play at role in our behavior. Evolution made sure of this to encourage friendships among those that can reciprocate our kindness. Evolution also made sure that this warm glow dissipates as we move away from our inner circle of friends and towards those less likely to reciprocate our kindness — but the discerning between friends and strangers is not an exact science – after all, strangers can become friends (especially when treated with kindness). So even if we cognitively realize that future generations will never reciprocate our kindness, the emotional mechanisms in our brain can still give us something of a warm glow when we help them.
4) Humans are not skilled at imagining our non-existence (consider the myths of reincarnation and the afterlife). This is to be expected, existence is all we’ve ever known. Our reputations are so important to us during our lives that it’s easy to see how we might consider them important even after death. Particularly is one is under the impression that their consciousness will persist.
These, of course, are reasons to explain why some people are concerned about future generations, but they are not exactly arguments to convince another to be concerned. This is the task Harris purported to tackle, but ignored.