Bodies and Beehives: the Sociobiology of Virtue
By Ryan Billington
So — the confession. I’m an upper classman science major — a predisposition I feel might forewarn you to the perspective that originates the forthcoming article. It seems the longer I stay on this Walla Wallaian campus, the more I notice the subtle departmental nuances residing in students prescribed to a particular curriculum: the oddities of those engineering personalities, the quirks of the music majors, the idiosyncrasies of the English department or the art majors, or the quirks of those focused on the pursuit of better business abilities. And we biology and chemistry majors are no different. My upper division classes coagulate the oddities of the science-minded, producing discussions in Rigbyspeak of heterotrophic systems, isotypes, oxidative phosphorylation, and hyperconjugation … gobbledygook which might make a few of you feel ill upon mere mention. But the gobbledygook fades to a whisper as we disperse from our upper division lectures and return to normal life, in which our scientific gibberish slips out only on occasion, leaving communications majors with that hint of a feeling, “What is up with those Rigbytarians?”
I’m taking a class called sociobiology. It’s a hush-hush upper division biology endeavor that examines the social behaviors of humans from an evolutionary perspective. Evolution, by the way, just refers to change. We talk about how things change, develop, come to be the norm in human social interactions. And for things to become the norm, they must be passed on — an idea that we describe as evolutionary fitness: the ability of an individual to get his or her DNA material onto the next generation. So … don’t tell, but we might discuss “reproduction activities” fairly often. And the cover of my sociobiology book might make you blush. Random fact: a few sociobiologists might appear as pornographers to the uneducated. No further comment.
But in my sociobiology class, we examine human behavior, specifically, how it benefits individuals and their evolutionary fitness. Lately, we’ve been considering vice and virtue. Here’s a perspective on the two from author Matt Ridley — see if you agree. He says, “Selfishness is almost the definition of vice … murder, theft, rape, and fraud are considered crimes of great importance because they are selfish or spiteful acts that are committed for the benefit of the actor [at] the detriment of the victim.” Matt believes that virtue lies on the opposite side of the fence, that “virtue is, almost by definition, [doing] the greater good of the group … [that] cooperation, altruism, generosity, sympathy, kindness, selflessness — are all unambiguously concerned with the welfare of others,” (Ridley, pg. 38).
Here’s a sociobiological problem: it seems life does not favor the truly selfless or virtuous. Yet, virtue is an idea that spans ethnicities and oceans. We could perhaps even say it seems inherent in humanity. How can virtue stick around when it seems that those who “turn the other cheek” will most likely end up ravaged in our dog-eat-dog world? My life experience causes me to believe that the world will always contain people who will take advantage of kindness, generosity, and trust. So how does virtue survive? How can it when it seems that any virtue-embodying DNA would quickly be used, scammed, abandoned, enslaved, and starved into extinction?
To answer this question, jump with me to beehives. In his book, “The Origins of Virtue: Human Instincts and the Evolution of Cooperation,” Matt Ridley brings up a point I find interesting. When we think of the beehive, we perceive it as a truly incredible society that works so fluidly, so perfectly due to the self-sacrifice of each member. Each bee is altruistic, sacrificing self for the greater good of the colony. Thus, bees succeed through their virtue. This is our perspective (according to Matt).
Or, consider the second example Matt poses: the inner-workings of our own bodies. Your body is composed of organ systems—the nervous system with your brain and spine, or the cardiac system with your heart and arteries and veins—which are composed of organs, composed of tissues, composed of cells all of which work together for the betterment of the whole. Each for the life of all. Each as a piece of a biological mosaic that goes around, giving the other pieces high fives as they work together for that next heartbeat, that next stride, that next … you get the idea. Now, let us consider cancer by the same perspective. A cancer cell refuses to die when the body asks for its sacrifice, refuses to stop multiplying despite the body’s request. We perceive cancer as being selfish, of doing what’s best for itself to the detriment of the body. And cancer generates mayhem … due to its vice of selfishness. Therefore, we perceive that virtue and selflessness create the best — as with our bodies and bees — while vice and selfishness cause death.
Problem is, this perception is flawed. A beehive is not an altruistic place. And cancer is no more selfish than any other cell — it is merely less successful. In the beehive, selflessness is achieved by the manipulation of selfishness. To ensure that the innately selfish workers act toward a selfless end, the queen sterilizes the worker bees, rendering them infertile. The infertile bee’s only hope of survival, of passing its genes on to the next generation, lies in the success of the group of bees — in the success of the hive. The genius of the beehive is not altruism. It is directed selfishness. The same is true of our bodies: “The whole system is beautifully designed so that the self-interested ambitions of each cell can only be satisfied by the cell doing its duty for the body,” (Ridley, pg. 46). Our bodies offer the reward of reproduction to each cell, but only if the cell chooses selfless actions for the sake of the body. It is merely in the selfish cell’s best interest to act selflessly as to achieve its selfish desires of proliferating.
Thus, the illusion of virtue is achieved: selfishness appears selfless. Bodies and beehives are not testimonies to virtue, but to virtue-plated vice. The cancer cells we despise simply go about selfishness the wrong way — a less successful way — in the end.
To the point: perhaps we are deceiving ourselves. We claim to love serving others, but perhaps, in the end, it is only ourselves that we love serving. Are we living lives of pseudo-virtue? Virtue born from vice? Could it be that we, as smart Adventists, recognize it is easier to play along with the rules, to play along with the lifestyle in our subculture? To receive for our masks the great rewards of self-righteousness and good social standing …
Perhaps. Perhaps … when we give to charity, we give out of a need to feel that we are good, generous people in order to create the emotions of pseudo-care and pseudo-concern for individuals whose needs we will — most likely — never again acknowledge in our everyday lives. Do we really care if they’re Ugandans or from Honduras? Or do we merely seek a cause “worthy” enough to deceive our pseudo-generosity? And for those of us who search out such projects, do we deserve applause? Or are we merely looking for something big enough to make us feel Christian? While, perhaps, enjoying that substantial addition to our resumes …
Let me be blunt. My hesitancy about our Christian society and my fears for my own spiritual walk in our Adventist subculture culminate in these observations. When we interact with others, we love those we like the most and belittle those we like the least, creating pseudo-community. We love when it’s easy and convenient, but most of all, when we can benefit ourselves. We pseudo-love the powerful, the beautiful, and those we admire on the chance that they will return the favor and boost our pseudo self-esteem. And we pseudo-love Jesus … because … perhaps we don’t really know Him; because perhaps He is not really convenient; because perhaps … perhaps I only understand life through the lens of my pseudo-love for me.
A professor from this campus who I deeply respect — a sociobiologist, in fact — sparked the following thought. It seems “good” and “bad” are titles we humans assign to everything we encounter in life from a restaurant’s food quality, to a vacation, to a person’s character. But might I suggest that notions of “good” and “bad” are often superficial — merely dependent on action. We believe that it’s “good” to stop and help someone on the side of the road, that it’s “bad” to act spitefully, and generally, that we should be “good” people by being nice to those around us. And I find it tempting to bring these labels of “good” and “bad” into deeper issues of faith, salvation, and Jesus. That it’s “good” to have time with God each day, that it’s “good” to go to church, or read my Bible. And I’m tempted to believe the sum of these “good” things makes my life virtuous.
But perhaps true virtue — true righteousness — depends solely on the motive, on the heart, on the reasons behind the action. That truly virtuous acts are almost afterthoughts; not pre-determined goals. Perhaps a Christian lifestyle is only virtuous — only meaningful and truly “good” — when it overflows from the heart … the fruit of a sincere, beautiful and broken love for Jesus. And perhaps it is only by our hearts that we might sense if our virtuous Christianity is the fruit of God’s virtue, or merely an incredible self-deception.
A thought I’ll leave you with:
“The cooperation and progress inherent in human society are the result not of benevolence, but of the pursuit of self-interest. Selfish ambition leads to industry [that feeds thousands]; resentment discourages aggression [while increasing productive competition]; vanity can be the cause of acts of kindness [that save millions of lives].”
All quotes taken from Matt Ridley’s “The Origins of Virtue: Human Instincts and the Evolution of Cooperation.”
