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our moral deliberations. Let us look at what has been said on
behalf of extending ethics beyond sentient beings.
REvERENCE FOR LIFE
The ethical position developed in this book is an extension of
the ethic of the dominant Western tradition. This extended
ethic draws the boundary of moral consideration around all
sentient creatures, but leaves other living things outside that
boundary. The drowning of the ancient forests, the possible
loss of an entire species, the destruction of several complex
ecosystems, the blockage of the wild river itself, and the loss
of those rocky gorges are factors to be taken into account only
276
The Environment
in so far as they adversely affect sentient creatures. Is a more
radical break with the traditional position possible? Can some
or all of these aspects of the flooding of the valley be shown
to have intrinsic value, so that they must be taken into account
independently of their effects on human beings or non-human
animals?
To extend an ethic in a plausible way beyond sentient beings
is a difficult task. An ethic based on the interests of sentient
creatures is on familiar ground. Sentient creatures have wants
and desires. The question: 'What is it like to be a possum
drowning?' at least makes sense, even if it is impossible for
us to give a more precise answer than 'It must be horrible'.
In reaching moral decisions affecting sentient creatures, we
can attempt to add up the effects of different actions on all
the sentient creatures affected by the alternative actions open
to us. This provides us with at least some rough guide to what
might be the right thing to do. But there is nothing that corresponds
to what it is like to be a tree dying because its roots
have been flooded. Once we abandon the interests of sentient
creatures as our source of value, where do we find value?
What is good or bad for nonsentient creatures, and why does
it matter?
It might be thought that as long as we limit ourselves to living
things, the answer is not too difficult to find. We know what
is good or bad for the plants in our garden: water, sunlight, and
compost are good; extremes of heat or cold are bad. The same
applies to plants in any forest or wilderness, so why not regard
their flourishing as good in itself, independently of its usefulness
to sentient creatures?
One problem here is that without conscious interests to guide
us, we have no way of assessing the relative weights to be given
to the flourishing of different forms of life. Is a two-thousandyear-
old Huon pine more worthy of preservation than a tussock
of grass? Most people will say that it is, but such a judgment
seems to have more to do with our feelings of awe for the age,
277
Practical Ethics
size, and beauty of the tree, or with the length of time it would
take to replace it, than with our perception of some intrinsic
value in the flourishing of an old tree that is not possessed by
a young grass tussock.
If we cease talking in terms of sentience, the boundary
between living and inanimate natural objects becomes more
difficult to defend. Would it really be worse to cut down an
old tree than to destroy a beautiful stalactite that has taken
even longer to grow? On what grounds could such a judgment
be made? Probably the best known defence of an ethic that
extends to all living things is that of Albert Schweitzer. The
phrase he used, 'reverence for life', is often quoted; the arguments
he offered in support of such a position are less wellknown.
Here is one of the few passages in which he defended
his ethic:
True philosophy must commence with the most immediate and
comprehensive facts of consciousness. And this may be formulated
as follows: 'I am life which wills to live, and 1 exist in the
midst of life which wills to live: ... Just as in my own will-tolive
there is a yearning for more life, and for that mysterious
exaltation of the will which is called pleasure, and terror in face
of annihilation and that injury to the will-to-live which is called
pain; so the same obtains in all the will-to-live around me,
equally whether it can express itself to my comprehension or
whether it remains unvoiced.
Ethics thus consists in this, that I experience the necessity of
practising the same reverence for life toward all will-to-live, as
toward my own. Therein I have already the needed fundamental
principle of morality. It is good to maintain and cherish life; it
is evil to destroy and to check life. A man is really ethical only
when he obeys the constraint laid on him to help all life which
he is able to succour, and when he goes out of his way to avoid
injuring anything living. He does not ask how far this or that
life deserves sympathy as valuable in itself. nor how far it is
capable of feeling. To him life as such is sacred. He shatters no
ice crystal that sparkles in the sun, tears no leaf from its tree,
breaks off no flower, and is careful not to crush any insect as he
278
The Environment
walks. If he works by lamplight on a summer evening he prefers
to keep the window shut and to breathe stifling air, rather than
to see insect after insect fall on his table with singed and sinking
wings.
A similar view has been defended recently by the contemporary
American philosopher Paul Taylor. In his book Respect for
Nature, Taylor argues that every living thing is 'pursuing its
own good in its own unique way.' Once we see this, we can
see all living things 'as we see ourselves' and therefore 'we
are ready to place the same value on their existence as we
do on our own'.

our moral deliberations. Let us look at what has been said on

behalf of extending ethics beyond sentient beings.

REvERENCE FOR LIFE

The ethical position developed in this book is an extension of

the ethic of the dominant Western tradition. This extended

ethic draws the boundary of moral consideration around all

sentient creatures, but leaves other living things outside that

boundary. The drowning of the ancient forests, the possible

loss of an entire species, the destruction of several complex

ecosystems, the blockage of the wild river itself, and the loss

of those rocky gorges are factors to be taken into account only

276

The Environment

in so far as they adversely affect sentient creatures. Is a more

radical break with the traditional position possible? Can some

or all of these aspects of the flooding of the valley be shown

to have intrinsic value, so that they must be taken into account

independently of their effects on human beings or non-human

animals?

To extend an ethic in a plausible way beyond sentient beings

is a difficult task. An ethic based on the interests of sentient

creatures is on familiar ground. Sentient creatures have wants

and desires. The question: 'What is it like to be a possum

drowning?' at least makes sense, even if it is impossible for

us to give a more precise answer than 'It must be horrible'.

In reaching moral decisions affecting sentient creatures, we

can attempt to add up the effects of different actions on all

the sentient creatures affected by the alternative actions open

to us. This provides us with at least some rough guide to what

might be the right thing to do. But there is nothing that corresponds

to what it is like to be a tree dying because its roots

have been flooded. Once we abandon the interests of sentient

creatures as our source of value, where do we find value?

What is good or bad for nonsentient creatures, and why does

it matter?

It might be thought that as long as we limit ourselves to living

things, the answer is not too difficult to find. We know what

is good or bad for the plants in our garden: water, sunlight, and

compost are good; extremes of heat or cold are bad. The same

applies to plants in any forest or wilderness, so why not regard

their flourishing as good in itself, independently of its usefulness

to sentient creatures?

One problem here is that without conscious interests to guide

us, we have no way of assessing the relative weights to be given

to the flourishing of different forms of life. Is a two-thousandyear-

old Huon pine more worthy of preservation than a tussock

of grass? Most people will say that it is, but such a judgment

seems to have more to do with our feelings of awe for the age,

277

Practical Ethics

size, and beauty of the tree, or with the length of time it would

take to replace it, than with our perception of some intrinsic

value in the flourishing of an old tree that is not possessed by

a young grass tussock.

If we cease talking in terms of sentience, the boundary

between living and inanimate natural objects becomes more

difficult to defend. Would it really be worse to cut down an

old tree than to destroy a beautiful stalactite that has taken

even longer to grow? On what grounds could such a judgment

be made? Probably the best known defence of an ethic that

extends to all living things is that of Albert Schweitzer. The

phrase he used, 'reverence for life', is often quoted; the arguments

he offered in support of such a position are less wellknown.

Here is one of the few passages in which he defended

his ethic:

True philosophy must commence with the most immediate and

comprehensive facts of consciousness. And this may be formulated

as follows: 'I am life which wills to live, and 1 exist in the

midst of life which wills to live: ... Just as in my own will-tolive

there is a yearning for more life, and for that mysterious

exaltation of the will which is called pleasure, and terror in face

of annihilation and that injury to the will-to-live which is called

pain; so the same obtains in all the will-to-live around me,

equally whether it can express itself to my comprehension or

whether it remains unvoiced.

Ethics thus consists in this, that I experience the necessity of

practising the same reverence for life toward all will-to-live, as

toward my own. Therein I have already the needed fundamental

principle of morality. It is good to maintain and cherish life; it

is evil to destroy and to check life. A man is really ethical only

when he obeys the constraint laid on him to help all life which

he is able to succour, and when he goes out of his way to avoid

injuring anything living. He does not ask how far this or that

life deserves sympathy as valuable in itself. nor how far it is

capable of feeling. To him life as such is sacred. He shatters no

ice crystal that sparkles in the sun, tears no leaf from its tree,

breaks off no flower, and is careful not to crush any insect as he

278

The Environment

walks. If he works by lamplight on a summer evening he prefers

to keep the window shut and to breathe stifling air, rather than

to see insect after insect fall on his table with singed and sinking

wings.

A similar view has been defended recently by the contemporary

American philosopher Paul Taylor. In his book Respect for

Nature, Taylor argues that every living thing is 'pursuing its

own good in its own unique way.' Once we see this, we can

see all living things 'as we see ourselves' and therefore 'we

are ready to place the same value on their existence as we

do on our own'.