Home Book Notes BOOK REVIEW: 'People base decisions on moral intuitions, not reason' -- No, you don't say!

BOOK REVIEW: 'People base decisions on moral intuitions, not reason' -- No, you don't say!

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Evolutionary psychologist Jonathan Haidt of the University of Virginia argues in a new book that people are generally deluded in thinking that the moral judgments that underlie their political positions are the product of rational thought.  --  Reviewing The Righteous Mind in the New York Times Book Review, William Saletan summed up Haidt's argument in these words:  "Reason . . . evolved to help us spin, not to help us learn.  So if you want to change people’s minds . . . don’t appeal to their reason.  Appeal to reason’s boss:  the underlying moral intuitions whose conclusions reason defends."[1]  --  According to Haidt, more important than reason when it comes to morality are "six fundamental ideas that commonly undergird moral systems:  care, fairness, liberty, loyalty, authority, and sanctity," and also "related themes that carry moral weight:  divinity, community, hierarchy, tradition, sin, and degradation."  --  Haidt’s "startling message to the left" is that "When it comes to morality, conservatives are more broad-minded than liberals.  They serve a more varied diet."  --  David Runciman, an academic who teaches political theory at Cambridge University and also the great nephew of Steven Runciman (1903-2000), the historian of the Crusades, reviewed Haidt's book in the Guardian on Mar. 14 and said:  "Haidt is not wrong in principle but he makes it sound too easy. . .  [T]he story he tells is a scientific one.  It's not going to cut it as politics."[2]  --  COMMENT:  Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose...  --  Haidt relies on evolutionary psychology, but his most important points were made a century ago in Vilfredo Pareto's Trattato di sociologia generale (1916) (Eng. trans. The Mind and Society [1935]).  --  Sociologist Lewis Coser (1913-2003), a former president of the American Sociological Association, paraphrased Pareto's ideas thus:  "Pareto concluded that . . . nonscientific belief systems and theories were only rarely determinants of action but instead were most frequently the expression of deep-seated sentiments.  Pareto argued that although men most often fail to engage in logical action, they have a strong tendency to 'logicalize' their behavior, that is, to make it appear as the logical result of a set of ideas.  In fact, what accounts for most action is not the set of beliefs that is used to rationalize or 'logicalize' it, but rather a pre-existing state of mind, a basic human sentiment."  --  The retarded state of our discourse on these questions and the forgetfulness that characterizes it are phenomena that corroborate these writers' basic outlook....



By William Saletan

** A psychologist argues that people base decisions on moral intuitions, not reason. **

New York Times Book Review

March 25, 2012
Pages 12-13

[Review of Jonathan Haidt, The Righteous Mind: Why Good People Are Divided by Politics and Religion (Pantheon, March 2012).  Illustrated.  419 pp.  $28.95 [Amazon $17.02].

You’re smart.  You’re liberal.  You’re well informed.  You think conservatives are narrow-minded.  You can’t understand why working-class Americans vote Republican.  You figure they’re being duped.  You’re wrong.

This isn’t an accusation from the right.  It’s a friendly warning from Jonathan Haidt, a social psychologist at the University of Virginia, who until 2009 considered himself a partisan liberal.  In The ­Righteous Mind, Haidt seeks to enrich liberalism, and political discourse generally, with a deeper awareness of human nature.  Like other psychologists who have ventured into political coaching, such as George Lakoff and Drew Westen, Haidt argues that people are fundamentally intuitive, not rational. If you want to persuade others, you have to appeal to their sentiments.  But Haidt is looking for more than victory.  He’s looking for wisdom.  That’s what makes The Righteous Mind well worth reading.  Politics isn’t just about ­manipulating people who disagree with you.  It’s about learning from them.

Haidt seems to delight in mischief.  Drawing on ethnography, evolutionary theory, and experimental psychology, he sets out to trash the modern faith in reason.  In Haidt’s retelling, all the fools, foils, and villains of intellectual history are recast as heroes.  David Hume, the Scottish philosopher who notoriously said reason was fit only to be “the slave of the passions,” was largely correct.  E. O. Wilson, the ecologist who was branded a fascist for stressing the biological origins of human behavior, has been vindicated by the study of moral emotions.  Even Glaucon, the cynic in Plato’s Republic who told Socrates that people would behave ethically only if they thought they were being watched, was “the guy who got it right.”

To the question many people ask about politics -- Why doesn’t the other side listen to reason? -- Haidt replies:  We were never designed to listen to reason.  When you ask people moral questions, time their responses, and scan their brains, their answers and brain activation patterns indicate that they reach conclusions quickly and produce reasons later only to justify what they’ve decided.  The funniest and most painful illustrations are Haidt’s transcripts of interviews about bizarre scenarios.  Is it wrong to have sex with a dead chicken?  How about with your sister?  Is it O.K. to defecate in a urinal?  If your dog dies, why not eat it?  Under interrogation, most subjects in psychology experiments agree these things are wrong.  But none can explain why.

The problem isn’t that people don’t reason.  They do reason.  But their arguments aim to support their conclusions, not yours.  Reason doesn’t work like a judge or teacher, impartially weighing evidence, or guiding us to wisdom.  It works more like a lawyer or press secretary, justifying our acts and judgments to others.  Haidt shows, for example, how subjects relentlessly marshal arguments for the incest taboo, no matter how thoroughly an interrogator demolishes these arguments.

To explain this persistence, Haidt invokes an evolutionary hypothesis:  We compete for social status, and the key advantage in this struggle is the ability to influence others.  Reason, in this view, evolved to help us spin, not to help us learn.  So if you want to change people’s minds, Haidt concludes, don’t appeal to their reason.  Appeal to reason’s boss:  the underlying moral intuitions whose conclusions reason defends.

Haidt’s account of reason is a bit too simple -- his whole book, after all, is a deployment of reason to advance learning -- and his advice sounds cynical.  But set aside those objections for now, and go with him.  If you follow Haidt through the tunnel of cynicism, you’ll find that what he’s really after is enlightenment.  He wants to open your mind to the moral intuitions of other people.

In the West, we think morality is all about harm, rights, fairness, and consent.  Does the guy own the chicken?  Is the dog already dead?  Is the sister of legal age?  But step outside your neighborhood or your country, and you’ll discover that your perspective is highly anomalous.  Haidt has read ethnographies, traveled the world, and surveyed tens of thousands of people online.  He and his colleagues have compiled a catalog of six fundamental ideas that commonly undergird moral systems:  care, fairness, liberty, loyalty, authority and sanctity.  Alongside these principles, he has found related themes that carry moral weight:  divinity, community, hierarchy, tradition, sin and degradation.

The worldviews Haidt discusses may differ from yours.  They don’t start with the individual.  They start with the group or the cosmic order.  They exalt families, armies, and communities.  They assume that people should be treated differently according to social role or status -- elders should be honored, subordinates should be protected.  They suppress forms of self-expression that might weaken the social fabric.  They assume interdependence, not autonomy.  They prize order, not equality.

These moral systems aren’t ignorant or backward.  Haidt argues that they’re common in history and across the globe because they fit human nature.  He compares them to cuisines.  We acquire morality the same way we acquire food preferences: we start with what we’re given.  If it tastes good, we stick with it.  If it doesn’t, we reject it.  People accept God, authority and karma because these ideas suit their moral taste buds.  Haidt points to research showing that people punish cheaters, accept many hierarchies, and don’t support equal distribution of benefits when contributions are unequal.

You don’t have to go abroad to see these ideas.  You can find them in the Republican Party.  Social conservatives see welfare and feminism as threats to responsibility and family stability.  The Tea Party hates redistribution because it interferes with letting people reap what they earn.  Faith, patriotism, valor, chastity, law, and order -- these Republican themes touch all six moral foundations, whereas Democrats, in Haidt’s analysis, focus almost entirely on care and fighting oppression.  This is Haidt’s startling message to the left:  When it comes to morality, conservatives are more broad-minded than liberals.  They serve a more varied diet.

This is where Haidt diverges from other psychologists who have analyzed the left’s electoral failures.  The usual argument of these psycho-­pundits is that conservative politicians manipulate voters’ neural roots -- playing on our craving for authority, for example -- to trick people into voting against their interests.  But Haidt treats electoral success as a kind of evolutionary fitness test.  He figures that if voters like Republican messages, there’s something in Republican messages worth liking.  He chides psychologists who try to “explain away” conservatism, treating it as a pathology.  Conservatism thrives because it fits how people think, and that’s what validates it.  Workers who vote Republican aren’t fools.  In Haidt’s words, they’re “voting for their moral interests.”

One of these interests is moral capital -- norms, prac­tices, and institutions, like religion and family values, that facilitate cooperation by constraining individualism.  Toward this end, Haidt applauds the left for regulating corporate greed.  But he worries that in other ways, liberals dissolve moral capital too recklessly.  Welfare programs that substitute public aid for spousal and parental support undermine the ecology of the family.  Education policies that let students sue teachers erode classroom authority.  Multicultural education weakens the cultural glue of assimilation.  Haidt agrees that old ways must sometimes be re-examined and changed.  He just wants liberals to proceed with caution and protect the social pillars sustained by tradition.

Another aspect of human nature that conservatives understand better than liberals, according to Haidt, is parochial altruism, the inclination to care more about members of your group -- particularly those who have made sacrifices for it -- than about outsiders.  Saving Darfur, submitting to the United Nations, and paying taxes to educate children in another state may be noble, but they aren’t natural.  What’s natural is giving to your church, helping your PTA, and rallying together as Americans against a foreign threat.

How far should liberals go toward incorporating these principles?  Haidt says the shift has to be more than symbolic, but he doesn’t lay out a specific policy agenda.  Instead, he highlights broad areas of culture and politics -- family and assimilation, for example -- on which liberals should consider compromise.  He urges conservatives to entertain liberal ideas in the same way.  The purpose of such compromises isn’t just to win elections.  It’s to make society and government fit human nature.

The hardest part, Haidt finds, is getting liberals to open their minds.  Anecdotally, he reports that when he talks about authority, loyalty, and sanctity, many people in the audience spurn these ideas as the seeds of racism, sexism, and homophobia.  And in a survey of 2,000 Americans, Haidt found that self-described liberals, especially those who called themselves “very liberal,” were worse at predicting the moral judgments of moderates and conservatives than moderates and conservatives were at predicting the moral judgments of liberals.  Liberals don’t understand conservative values.  And they can’t recognize this failing, because they’re so convinced of their rationality, open-mindedness and enlightenment.

Haidt isn’t just scolding liberals, however.  He sees the left and right as yin and yang, each contributing insights to which the other should listen.  In his view, for instance, liberals can teach conservatives to recognize and constrain predation by entrenched interests.  Haidt believes in the power of reason, but the reasoning has to be interactive.  It has to be other people’s reason engaging yours.  We’re lousy at challenging our own beliefs, but we’re good at challenging each other’s.  Haidt compares us to neurons in a giant brain, capable of “producing good reasoning as an emergent property of the social system.”

Our task, then, is to organize society so that reason and intuition interact in healthy ways.  Haidt’s research suggests several broad guidelines.  First, we need to help citizens develop sympathetic relationships so that they seek to understand one another instead of using reason to parry opposing views.  Second, we need to create time for contemplation.  Research shows that two minutes of reflection on a good argument can change a person’s mind.  Third, we need to break up our ideological segregation.  From 1976 to 2008, the proportion of Americans living in highly partisan counties increased from 27 percent to 48 percent.  The Internet exacerbates this problem by helping each user find evidence that supports his views.

How can we achieve these goals?  Haidt offers a Web site, civilpolitics.org, on which he and his colleagues have listed steps that might help.  One is holding open primaries so that people outside each party’s base can vote to nominate moderate candidates.  Another is instant runoffs, so that candidates will benefit from broadening their appeal.  A third idea is to alter redistricting so that parties are less able to gerrymander partisan congressional districts.  Haidt also wants members of Congress to go back to the old practice of moving their families to Washington, so that they socialize with one another and build a friendly basis on which to cooperate.

Many of Haidt’s proposals are vague, insufficient, or hard to implement.  And that’s O.K.  He just wants to start a conversation about integrating a better understanding of human nature -- our sentiments, sociality, and morality -- into the ways we debate and govern ourselves.  At this, he succeeds.  It’s a landmark contribution to humanity’s understanding of itself.

But to whom is Haidt directing his advice?  If intuitions are unreflective, and if reason is self-serving, then what part of us does he expect to regulate and orchestrate these faculties?  This is the unspoken tension in Haidt’s book.  As a scientist, he takes a passive, empirical view of human nature.  He describes us as we have been, expecting no more.  Based on evolution, he argues, universal love is implausible:  “Parochial love . . . amplified by similarity” and a “sense of shared fate . . . may be the most we can accomplish.”  But as an author and advocate, Haidt speaks to us rationally and universally, as though we’re capable of something greater.  He seems unable to help himself, as though it’s in his nature to call on our capacity for reason and our sense of common humanity -- and in our nature to understand it.

You don’t have to believe in God to see this higher capacity as part of our nature.  You just have to believe in evolution.  Evolution itself has evolved:  as humans became increasingly social, the struggle for survival, mating, and progeny depended less on physical abilities and more on social abilities.  In this way, a faculty produced by evolution -- sociality -- became the new engine of evolution.  Why can’t reason do the same thing?  Why can’t it emerge from its evolutionary origins as a spin doctor to become the new medium in which humans compete, cooperate, and advance the fitness of their communities?  Isn’t that what we see all around us?  Look at the global spread of media, debate, and democracy.

Haidt is part of this process.  He thinks he’s just articulating evolution.  But in effect, he’s also trying to fix it.  Traits we evolved in a dispersed world, like tribalism and righteousness, have become dangerously maladaptive in an era of rapid globalization.  A pure scientist would let us purge these traits from the gene pool by fighting and killing one another.  But Haidt wants to spare us this fate.  He seeks a world in which “fewer people believe that righteous ends justify violent means.”  To achieve this goal, he asks us to understand and overcome our instincts.  He appeals to a power capable of circumspection, reflection, and reform.

If we can harness that power -- wisdom -- our substantive project will be to reconcile our national and international differences.  Is income inequality immoral?  Should government favor religion?  Can we tolerate cultures of female subjugation?  And how far should we trust our instincts?  Should people who find homosexuality repugnant overcome that reaction?

Haidt’s faith in moral taste receptors may not survive this scrutiny.  Our taste for sanctity or authority, like our taste for sugar, could turn out to be a dangerous relic.  But Haidt is right that we must learn what we have been, even if our nature is to transcend it.

--William Saletan, Slate’s national correspondent, is the author of Bearing Right: How Conservatives Won the Abortion War.


By David Runciman

** The limits of an evolutionary inquiry into morality **

Guardian (London)
March 14, 2012


[Review of Jonathan Haidt, The Righteous Mind: Why Good People Are Divided by Politics and Religion (Allen Lane, March 2012).  Illustrated.  419 pp.  £20.00 [*Guardian bookshop £14.00].

Here's a thought experiment.  Are you deeply offended by works of art such as Andres Serrano's "Piss Christ," which depicts Jesus as seen through a jar of urine, or Chris Ofili's "The Holy Virgin Mary," which shows Mary smeared with elephant dung?  So offended that you think they ought to be banned and the galleries that display them prosecuted?  No?  O.K., then try replacing the religious figures in these pictures with the sacred icons of progressive politics, people such as Martin Luther King and Nelson Mandela.  How would you feel if you walked into an art gallery and saw an image of King submerged in urine or Mandela smeared with excrement?

Many people are likely to feel torn.  Liberals know the reasoned arguments for freedom of expression and the importance of being consistent on matters of principle.  On the other hand, it would be surprising if they did not also feel disgusted and affronted.  How dare anyone pass off such gratuitously offensive images as works of art?  Shouldn't they be stopped?  Jonathan Haidt, who gives a version of this thought experiment in his provocative new book, wants us to know that reason and instinctive outrage are always going to co-exist in cases like this.  What's more, in most instances, it's the outrage that will be setting the agenda.

The arresting image Haidt gives for our sense of morality is that it's like a rational rider on top of an intuitive elephant.  The rider can sometimes nudge the elephant one way or the other, but no one should be in any doubt that the elephant is making the important moves.  In fact, the main job of the rider is to come up with post-hoc justifications for where the elephant winds up.  We rationalize what our gut tells us.  This is true no matter how intelligent we are.  Haidt shows that people with high IQs are no better than anyone else at understanding the other side in a moral dispute.  What they are better at is coming up with what he calls "side-arguments" for their own instinctive position.  Intelligent people make good lawyers.  They do not make more sensitive moralists.

Where do these moral instincts come from?  Haidt is an evolutionary psychologist, so the account he gives is essentially Darwinian.  Morality is not something we learn from our parents or at school, and it's certainly not something we work out for ourselves.  We inherit it.  It comes to us from our ancestors, i.e. from the people whose instinctive behavior gave them a better chance to survive and reproduce.  These were the people who belonged to groups in which individuals looked out for each other, rewarded co-operation, and punished shirkers and outsiders.  That's why our moral instincts are what Haidt calls "groupish."  We approve of what is good for the group -- our group.

There is, as Haidt admits, violent disagreement about this thesis among evolutionists.  What they can't agree on is whether the evolution of moral behavior happened at the level of the group or the individual.  At lot hangs on the answer, including whether altruism is at root selfish (it gives individuals and their genes the best chance of surviving) or not (it involves genuine individual sacrifices for others).  But not a lot hangs on it for Haidt's argument, since his concern is simply to establish that this is the way we have turned out, not how we got here.  He could add that the animosity between the two sides in this academic dispute -- some of the protagonists really seem to have contempt for each other -- shows how even the most intelligent riders can be under the control of their elephants.

Haidt wants us to understand that our moral instincts are inherently judgmental:  being moral makes us moralistic.  Much of the book is devoted to the experimental evidence that shows how often moral judgment is a case of us vs. them rather than right vs. wrong.  In Haidt's terms, morality "binds and blinds."  It binds us to the group and blinds us to the point of view of outsiders.  This has profound implications for how we might think about some of our most deeply held beliefs.  For instance, it means that what we believe is less important than with whom we share those beliefs.  Haidt thinks this is particularly true of religion and it is why he thinks the arguments of the current crop of militant atheists (Dawkins, Hitchens, et al.) are misguided.  They spend their time fretting about the irrationality of religious belief and ignore the fact that religion is about shared values and a sense of solidarity.  Religion, Haidt says, is a "team sport."  In one of the many striking images in this book, he suggests that "trying to understand the persistence and passion of religion by studying beliefs about God is like trying to understand the persistence and passion of football by studying the movement of the ball."

He also thinks this understanding of morality has important things to tell us about politics.  This is where his argument is less persuasive.  One of Haidt's claims is that the moral appeal of the left in contemporary politics is too narrowly confined to issues of justice and equality, whereas the right can speak the language of loyalty and authority.  He thinks left-leaning politicians should expand their groupish repertoire.  What he doesn't say is how they can do this without seeming to be pandering to the other side.  The recent, cack-handed [i.e. clumsy (from dialect cack 'excrement', from the fact that clumsy people usually make a mess; via Middle Low German or Middle Dutch from Latin cacāre 'to defecate')] attempt by "blue Labor" thinkers to come up with a version of progressive politics that speaks to our instinctive loyalties and our suspicion of freeloaders shows how hard it is to get it right.  Haidt is not wrong in principle but he makes it sound too easy.

The problem is that having spent most of the book showing how hard it is to get us to think rationally about morality, Haidt then tries to get us to see reason about politics.  This is an American book and it's the current state of American politics that Haidt wants to remedy.  He despairs of its extreme partisanship and the toxic levels of mistrust on both sides.  But his analysis can neither explain nor cure this phenomenon.  He can't explain it because it is relatively recent -- the partisanship has got much worse in the last couple of decades -- so it is not something that can be accounted for by evolution.  People are predisposed to be divided by morality, but if we have suddenly become more divided that can't be explained by our predispositions.  Something else must have happened:  changes to the role of money, or technology, or communication, or party organization, or voting habits.  In other words, the explanation is political not evolutionary.

The way Haidt wants to cure it is to have people understand that the divisions have gone too far.  He flags up some traditional leftish arguments that might make sense to people on the right, and some rightish arguments that could appeal to the left.  But he sets them out in essentially evolutionary terms:  for instance, he wants people on the right to recognize the need for tighter government control of corporations because corporations are "super-organisms."  How's that going to go down in a focus group?  His hints at practical reform are equally unconvincing.  He says that it would be better if politicians came to Washington with their families so that they would be forced to socialize with the other side.  But why does he think that the families would choose to socialize with the other side rather than with people like themselves?  Everything he says in the book suggests that people cleave to their own when their moral judgments are on the line.

This book has quite a lot in common with another recent work of popular political psychology, Drew Westen's hugely influential The Political Brain.  Westen argued that people on the left in politics spent too much time trying to reason with the voters, oblivious both to how little impact this had and to how righteous it made them sound.  Westen insisted that their arguments had to be framed as emotionally engaging stories if people were going to hear what they wanted to say.  Haidt has a richer and more interesting explanation for the same phenomenon:  his is in many ways the more interesting book.  But the story he tells is a scientific one.  It's not going to cut it as politics.

--David Runciman's Political Hypocrisy is published by Princeton.


Last Updated on Sunday, 25 March 2012 18:13  

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