Psychology of fear and how it motivates our behavior. Hint: We humans are part of the mammalian chain
This echo essay published in The New Yorker by Elizabeth Kolbert, includes a review of the book "Outraged: Why We Fight About Morality and Politics and How to Find Common Ground", by Kurt Gray.
Rethinking and learning about the human evolution and "moral foundation theory" (MFT). "Millions of years of being hunted have made us preoccupied with danger. But wihout saber-tooth cats to fear, we fret instead about elections, arguments in group texts and decisions made at PTA meetings," writes Kurt Gray.Essay published in The New Yorker by Elizabeth Kolbert:
Does One Emotion Rule All Our Ethical Judgments❓
When prehistoric predators abounded, the ability to perceive harm helped our ancestors survive. Some researchers wonder whether it fuels our greatest fights today.
Raymond Arthur Dart (4 February 1893 – 22 November 1988) was an Australian anatomist and anthropologist, best known for his involvement in the 1924, discovery of the first fossil found of Australopithecus africanus, an extinct hominin closely related to humans, at Taung in the North of South Africa. |
On November 28, 1924, Raymond A. Dart, a professor at the University of Witwatersrand, in Johannesburg, was getting ready to attend a friend’s wedding when a pair of South African Railways workers staggered up his driveway with two large crates. The crates contained fossils that had been found at a limestone quarry some two hundred miles to the southwest, in the town of Taung. Although the wedding was being held in his own home—and his wife begged him to leave the boxes alone—Dart tore off the stiff collar he was wearing and rushed to find some tools. When he levered off the lid of the second crate, he later recalled, “a thrill of excitement” shot through him. At the top of the pile was a rock that appeared to be a cast of a skull’s interior. Dart, who taught anatomy, guessed that the skull had belonged to a primate, but it seemed too big for a baboon or a chimpanzee. Further rummaging yielded a second chunk of rock that seemed to fit right in front of the first, like a face.
Dart was pulled away from his investigations by the groom, but as soon as the wedding was over he returned to the specimens. Using one of his wife’s knitting needles, he chipped away at the second rock until he had exposed the creature’s chin, jaws, and eye sockets. The teeth, which appeared to have belonged to a child, were decidedly human-looking. More significantly, the opening for the spinal cord was positioned in such a way that it seemed the creature must have walked upright.
In a paper published in Nature just a few months after the wedding, Dart announced that he had discovered an “extinct race of apes.” He called the creature Australopithecus africanus and proposed that Africa must have been the place where our “troglodytic forefathers” evolved. (Definition: "relating to or characteristic of a cave-dweller, or someone who is reclusive, unsophisticated")
In the nineteen-twenties, the prevailing theory—strongly influenced by racial prejudice—was that humans had evolved in either Europe or Asia. The pro-Europe crowd pointed to a set of remarkably humanlike fossils that had been unearthed in 1912 in Piltdown, a town south of London. Dart’s announcement rubbed the scientific establishment the wrong way. One of his British colleagues labelled it “preposterous.”
In the next few decades, as more Australopithecus fossils were uncovered in Africa—and as the “Piltdown Man” was revealed to be an elaborate fraud—Dart was vindicated. In the meantime, he had moved on. The limestone deposit that had yielded the Taung Child, as the original Australopithecus became known, also contained the remains of all sorts of other creatures, including baboons, turtles, and hyraxes. In another limestone deposit, in Makapansgat, northeast of Pretoria, Australopithecus fossils had been found among a great jumble of animal remains. From these and other bits of evidence, Dart concluded that Australopithecus had been a ferocious hunter who had wielded animal bones as clubs.
“Man’s predecessors differed from living apes in being confirmed killers,” he wrote. They were “carnivorous creatures that seized living quarries by violence, battered them to death, tore apart their broken bodies, dismembered them limb from limb, slaking their ravenous thirst with the hot blood of victims.”
Dart’s account of the “predatory transition from ape to man” was profoundly influential. This time around, though, his theory was wrong. The Taung Child, scientists now believe, lived around three million years ago. It was killed by a bird of prey, as were the animals it was found with. The bones in Makapansgat were left behind by large carnivores, like hyenas and leopards, who were also happy to consume an Australopithecus or two if given the opportunity.
Instead of being dauntless predators, our ancestors, it seems, were more likely prey. They spent much of their time—and their increasing brain power—trying not to become dinner.
What does all this have to do with life today, when big cats are headed toward extinction and meat comes on Styrofoam trays? According to Kurt Gray, the director of the Deepest Beliefs Lab, at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, the answer is everything. In “Outraged: Why We Fight About Morality and Politics and How to Find Common Ground” (Pantheon), Gray argues that the most pressing problems of contemporary society can be traced to the Taung Child. “It is easy to think that we have transcended our animal nature because we wear performance fabrics and prompt artificial intelligence to help with our ‘knowledge work,’ ” he writes. In fact, “all our thoughts and feelings arise from a mind that evolved eons ago.”
Gray describes himself as a moral psychologist. In contrast to moral philosophers, who search for abstract principles of right and wrong, moral psychologists are interested in the empirical matter of people’s perceptions. Gray writes, “We put aside questions of how we should make moral judgments to examine how people do make more moral judgments.”
For the past couple of decades, moral psychology has been dominated by what’s known as moral-foundations theory, or M.F.T. According to M.F.T., people reach ethical decisions on the basis of mental structures, or “modules,” that evolution has wired into our brains. These modules—there are at least five of them—involve feelings like empathy for the vulnerable, resentment of cheaters, respect for authority, regard for sanctity, and anger at betrayal. The reason people often arrive at different judgments is that their modules have developed differently, either for individual or for cultural reasons. Liberals have come to rely almost exclusively on their fairness and empathy modules, allowing the others to atrophy. Conservatives, by contrast, tend to keep all their modules up and running.
If you find this theory implausible, you’re not alone. It has been criticized on a wide range of grounds, including that it is unsupported by neuroscience. Gray, for his part, wants to sweep aside moral-foundations theory, plural, and replace it with moral-foundation theory, singular. Our ethical judgments, he suggests, are governed not by a complex of modules but by one overriding emotion. Untold generations of cowering have written fear into our genes, rendering us hypersensitive to threats of harm.
“If you want to know what someone sees as wrong, your best bet is to figure out what they see as harmful,” Gray writes at one point. At another point: “All people share a harm-based moral mind.” At still another: “Harm is the master key of morality.”
If people all have the same ethical equipment, why are ethical questions so divisive? Gray’s answer is that different people fear differently. “Moral disagreements can still arise even if we all share a harm-based moral mind, because liberals and conservatives disagree about who is especially vulnerable to victimization,” he writes.
Consider abortion. There are (at least) two parties who could suffer from terminating—or not terminating—a pregnancy. According to Gray, progressives focus on “the harm suffered by women lacking access to medical care,” and therefore come out in favor of abortion rights. Conservatives focus on “the harm suffered by fetuses,” and therefore support abortion restrictions. Arguments over immigration are based on similar differences in what Gray calls “assumptions of vulnerability”: “Progressives focus on the suffering of innocent children fleeing war, while conservatives highlight victims murdered by drug smugglers.” And so on down the list of hot-button issues: “Liberals emphasize how trans women are vulnerable victims, while conservatives emphasize how they could be threatening to other women.” As long as there’s a perception of harm, there’s a potential for outrage, because fear and moral indignation are inextricably linked. Indeed, Gray argues, the safer we’ve become from physical danger, the more hazards we see lurking out there.
“Millions of years of being hunted have made us preoccupied with danger,” he writes. “But without saber-toothed cats to fear, we fret about elections, arguments in group texts, and decisions at PTA meetings.”
Two key figures in “Outraged” are a pair of college-aged siblings known only by their first names, Mark and Julie. One summer, while vacationing together in France, the two decide that it would be fun to have sex with each other. Julie is already on the pill; Mark, to be extra careful, puts on a condom. The sex is indeed enjoyable, but the siblings agree that once is enough. They resolve to keep the experience a secret, and this brings them even closer together.
Julie and Mark are characters dreamed up by Jonathan Haidt, a social psychologist who was one of the original architects of moral-foundations theory. Haidt concocted their dalliance as a test. Would people who read about their incestuous encounter label it morally wrong, even when it was made clear that neither sibling suffered as a result of it? And, if they did condemn the coupling, how would they explain this?
At the time that Haidt invented the siblings, he was teaching at the University of Virginia. He recruited students there to respond to Mark and Julie’s story, along with a macabre tale featuring a vegetarian named Jennifer. One day, Jennifer, who is working in a pathology lab, is asked to incinerate a fresh cadaver. Dismayed to see so much perfectly good flesh going to waste, she cuts a chunk from the body before burning it; then, once she gets home, she cooks the chunk and eats it. Four-fifths of the students surveyed found Mark and Julie’s conduct immoral, while in Jennifer’s case the proportion rose to six-sevenths. As for how they had arrived at their judgments, the students could rarely offer a coherent account.
“I don’t think it’s accepted,” one student said in response to the Mark-and-Julie episode. “That’s pretty much it.” From this, and similarly strong but inarticulate reactions, Haidt concluded that the students had arrived at their judgments impulsively. “Moral reasoning was mostly just a post hoc search,” he wrote.
Haidt’s cheerfully incestuous siblings pose a serious challenge to Gray. If people consistently deem certain actions to be wrong, even when those actions cause no injury, then it would seem that harm can’t be the “master key.”
Gray responds to this challenge with experiments of his own. One involves participants who were instructed to shoot each other with toy guns. In another, participants were quizzed about scenarios of the Mark-and-Julie variety. (Among the scenarios was the case of a man who made love to a grocery-store chicken.) Gray claims that his results confirm the primacy of harm. Haidt may have told the students that no one was hurt by Mark and Julie’s tryst, but, Gray concludes, this assurance didn’t convince them. The same impulse that made them condemn the siblings’ hookup made them certain that harm had been done. Perhaps shame would haunt the pair in the future, or their families would eventually find out and be devastated, or society at large would fall apart because everyone would start sleeping with their siblings.
“People’s intuitive minds simply cannot believe that harmless wrongs are harmless,” Gray writes. “The more harmful something intuitively seems, the more immoral it seems.”
“Outraged” was written at a time of extreme political polarization, and it is coming out just days before the polarizer-in-chief, Donald J. Trump, is set to be inaugurated. The book’s tantalizing promise, as its subtitle announces, is that it will help us “find common ground.” Gray tries to make good on this with a section on the do’s and don’ts of “bridging moral divides.”
He starts with the don’ts. A big one is: Don’t imagine that facts are convincing. Gray cites a study from 2021, in which researchers argued with strangers about gun control. Half the time, the researchers tried to bolster their case with facts. The rest of the time, they offered stories, one of which involved a relative who had been wounded by a stray bullet. (The relative, though made up, was presented as real.) The encounters were taped, so that the conversations could later be analyzed. Strangers who were offered anecdotes were, it turned out, much more willing to engage with the researchers than those offered data were. The group that got stories also treated their interlocutors with more respect.
“Sharing personal experiences instead of facts improved cross partisan perceptions by about 0.7 to 0.9 on a 7-point scale,” Gray writes, trotting out statistics to argue against trotting out statistics. “This may not seem like a giant effect, but it’s actually quite substantial.” Gray’s takeaway from this is that the best way to reach across a moral divide is with a narrative, preferably one that features suffering: “Respect is easiest to build with harm-based storytelling.”
Gray presents this finding as a cause for optimism. The reverse case could easily be made. In outraged America, stories of victimhood are legion. Trump in particular loves to share “harm-based” tales—the less true, the better. A typical example is the fiction the President-elect recounted, in September, about the immigrant community in Springfield, Ohio: “They’re eating the dogs, the people that came in. They’re eating the cats. . . . They’re eating the pets of the people that live there.”
If more harm-based storytelling isn’t the answer, what is? To the extent that the research presented in “Outraged” is persuasive, it suggests that there may not be one. The essential—and most compelling—claim of moral psychology is that people make ethical judgments on the basis of intuition rather than reason. We have, it could be argued, been surprisingly good at muddling through modern times with the impulses we inherited from our “troglodytic forefathers.” But there have been close calls, and some of these occurred before the advent of nuclear weapons, climate change, artificial intelligence, and Truth Social. The great question of our era—and it is a question—is whether the mismatch is finally catching up to us. ♦
Published in the print edition of the January 20, 2025, issue, with the headline “Fear and Loathing.”
Labels: Elizabeth Kolbert, Kurt Gray, Raymond A. Dart, Taung, The New Yorker