»Nature« or »human nature« must be among the most enigmatic concepts ever used. Often, when the »natural« is invoked, we are left in the dark as to whether it is meant as an explanation, a recommendation, a claim for determinism, or simply a desperate appeal, as if the »natural« were some sort of metaphysical glue that could hold our claims or values together.
Sometimes people arguing both for and against a thing will in each case call it »natural.« There are, however, certain reasonably standardized uses such that one can anticipate with some accuracy what will be called »natural.« On the whole, for example, natural law language is almost invariably used against women although occasionally an Ashley Montagu appears upon the scene to talk about the »natural« superiority of women. It is a familiar ploy to insist that ones own values, commonly thought to be unnatural, are really the natural ones (polygamy is natural, homosexuality is natural). This, we contend, yields nothing except calling more and more things »natural«, and hence finding such appeals to be a vague if not vacuous support for our views. We could achieve a refreshing advance in clarity by trading in our uses of »natural« for equivalent phrases so that our value choices and explanatory claims would at least be made explicit.
For centuries people have appealed to the »natural« to back up their moral and social recommendations. the ordinary uses of the term which everyone hears from time to time demonstrate that such efforts are still very much with us. We are told, for example, that suicide, artificial means of birth control, and sexual deviation are wrong because they are unnatural. Now and then the argument takes a positive form; because monogamy is natural, it is the only proper form of marriage. This particular belief, that only one to one is natural in intimate relationships, lends plausibility to a legal excuse appealed to in cases of passion shooting: that jealousy (at least on the part of men) is natural. Arguments against women's rights to equality often cite the »proper sphere« and the »nature of women, which supposedly renders them inherently inferior, thus making any just empirical test unnecessary.
Our major intent is to examine the language of »proper sphere«, role, or function, showing its relationship to the language of natural law and pointing out the conspicuous absence of any notion of liberty in the discussions of those who use this type of argument against women. As a preface to these specific efforts, however, it is important to stress how difficult it is for anyone in any social or moral context to say what they mean by »natural« and why i recommends itself as good. Two distinct steps are involve here: defining what is meant by »natural« and arguing that what is natural is good. The difficulty created by lumping these two problems together as if they were on can be clearly seen in the case of authors who agree o what the natural is, but disagree on whether the natural is good or bad. Nietzsche argues that since nature or life is essentially exploitation and conquest, this somehow endorses the concept of the »superman« and discredits Christianity, which denies human »instincts.« Schopenhauer, on the other hand, with the same empirical evidence at this disposal concludes exactly the opposite; such considerations as »life preys on life« and »man oscillates between desire and boredom« do not encourage ambition, but show the pointlessness of life.
It is often assumed that the word »natural« has an automatic »plus« value tag which does not have to argued for on independent grounds. In other words, it i taken for granted that if one persuades us that »X« is natural«, he has also persuaded us that »>X< is good.« The Vatican's position on birth control reflects this: Humanae Vitae assumes that it is sufficient to point out that articial means of birth control interrupt the natural order of things. The most significant question of all, »Why is >natural order< a good thing?« is never asked. Apparently, what the »natural order« means in this case is that which will happen if untouched by human invention. This definition, however, yields absurd consequences if we try to use it as a prescription. If »natural order« is a good thing, and we must assume it is because we are told not to interrupt it, why isn't shaving a moral issue? Clearly, it is natural for hair to grow on a man's face, and shaving introduces an artificial means to disrupt the natural order of things.
Even if we have guessed wrong on what »natural means in this case, it is clear that regardless of the case, we cannot discuss whether the natural is good until we are able to state what we mean by the term. Thus far, we have seen that although »untouched by human invention is one meaning of »natural«, it does not seem to be the key to why we think the natural is good. Two other possible meanings of the term »natural« are particularly interesting, not only because of their relevance to arguments for women's inequality, but because both definitions are currently in use and yet clearly incompatible. Human nature is construed to be either what man has in common with the rest of the animal world or what distinguishes man from the rest of the animal world.
One of the most amusing efforts to make the former use work against women is the following comment by Mary Hemingway: »Equality, what does it mean? What's the use for it? I've said it before and I'll repeat: Women are second-class citizens and not only biologically. A female first duty is to bear children and rear them. With the exception of a few fresh Water fish, most animals follow this basic rule.«[1] Unfortunately the most obvious consequence of Hemingway's argument is that a few fresh water fish are immoral! What she meant to say, however, was that human duties somehow can be determined by observing animal behavior. Prima facie it seems odd to claim that the meaningfulness of moral terminology could be derived from a realm to which moral vocabulary does not apply. We must insist that people who talk this way be able to make sense of it. What does it mean, for example to say that nature intends for us to do certain things. «« know what it means to say that »I intend to pack m. suitcase«, but what sense can it make to say that nature intends for us to do one thing rather than another? The above use of »natural« reduces to saying »this is what most animals do.« To the extent that this is the meaning of the term, it will be hard to get a notion of value out of it. The fact that something happens a lot does not argue for or against it.
Interchanging words like »normal« and »natural illustrates prejudice for the statistically prevalent as opposed to the unusual, the exception. The unusual qua unusual, however, cannot be ruled out as bad; it can be alternatively described as »deviant« or »original«, depending on whether or not we like it. Nothing prevents describing the so-called sexual deviant as a sexual original except most people's inability to tolerate any unusual behavior in this area; hence, they use statistical concepts with bad connotations (unnatural, abnormal) to discuss it, instead of with good connotations (original, exceptional)
The second meaning of »natural«, that which distinguishes man from the rest of the (animal) world, reaches back to Plato. For Plato, to state the nature of any given class of things was to state the features of that class which distinguished it from all other classes of things. Man's nature or essence is that which is essentially his. Although Plato did not claim that men and women have different natures, but rather referred to human beings as the class with the capacity to reason, his use of »natural« lends itself to the defining of classes of things according to function or role that is frequently used to restrict women. In order to understand how similar our way of talking and explaining things is to the Platonic view, it is first necessary to grasp how the latter has been historically conceived. An increased awareness of the natural law basis of the language of function should help us to be more critical of the language we take for granted, and to see what kinds of philosophical commitment we perhaps unwittingly make.
The Greek method of explanation for questions of the sort, »What is the nature of >X<«, was ideological; explanations were given in terms of function, role, end, or purpose, as opposed to mechanistic explanations. The difference between these explanations can easily be illustrated by comparing their answers to a simple question such as »What is a lawnmower?« A teleologist will explain: a lawnmower is something that is used to cut grass; a mechanist will explain about pulleys, plugs, and metal »teeth.« Manufactured items lend themselves to the former type of explanation because hopefully we have in above use of »natural« reduces to saying »this is what most animals do.« To the extent that this is the meaning of the term, it will be hard to get a notion of value out of it. The fact that something happens a lot does not argue for or against it.
Interchanging words like »normal« and »natural« illustrates prejudice for the statistically prevalent as opposed to the unusual, the exception. The unusual qua unusual, however, cannot be ruled out as bad; it can be alternatively described as »deviant« or »original«, depending on whether or not we like it. Nothing prevents describing the so-called sexual deviant as a sexual original except most people's inability to tolerate any unusual behavior in this area; hence, they use statistical concepts with bad connotations (unnatural, abnormal) to discuss it, instead of those with good connotations (original, exceptional).
The second meaning of »natural«, that which distinguishes man from the rest of the (animal) world, reaches back to Plato. For Plato, to state the nature of any given class of things was to state the features of that class which distinguished it from all other classes of things. Man's nature or essence is that which is essentially his. Although Plato did not claim that men and women have different natures, but rather referred to human beings as the class with the capacity to reason, his use of »natural« lends itself to the defining of classes of things according to function or role that is frequently used to restrict women. In order to understand how similar our way of talking and explaining things is to the Platonic view, it is first necessary to grasp how the latter has been historically conceived. An increased awareness of the natural law basis of the language of function should help us to be more critical of the language we take for granted, and to see what kinds of philosophical commitment we perhaps unwittingly make.
The Greek method of explanation for questions of the sort, »What is the nature of >X<?« was ideological; explanations were given in terms of function, role, end, or purpose, as opposed to mechanistic explanations. The difference between these explanations can easily be illustrated by comparing their answers to a simple question such as »What is a lawnmower?« A teleologist will explain: a lawnmower is something that is used to cut grass; a mechanist will explain about pulleys, plugs, and metal »teeth.« Manufactured items lend themselves to the former type of explanation because hopefully we have in mind what the function of something is going to be before we start making any of it. Such explanation, however, is not so easily forthcoming for questions like, »What is the nature of man?"«However, Plato was interested in this type of question; he wanted to explain the »natural« world. In this realm of non-manufactured items, functions and roles are discovered, not created.
Although Plato thought he could answer the question concerning the nature of man, for the moment what concerns us is not the content of his answer, but the additional philosophical mileage we can expect from success in providing this type of answer. To be able to say what a thing is in terms of its function or purpose is simultaneously to set up standards for its evaluation. Once we can state the function of any »X«, we can say what a good »X« is, or more precisely, we can say that »X« is good to the extent that it fulfills its function. We still have this use of »good« in English; we say, for example, that a good lawnmower is one that cuts grass well, that is, one that fulfills its function.
Plato's effort to apply this teleological framework to man consists of his functional analysis of the soul as reason, spirit, and desire. These are analogous to functioning units in the state, namely, philosopher-kings, soldiers, and artisans. Even as the function of the philosopher-king is to rule the state, implicit in the notion of reason as a function is the ability to rule, govern, or control the rest of the soul or personality. When anything does its work well, we call it virtuous or excellent. In this case, when reason as well as every other functioning unit is working well and working together, we have a harmony or an order of soul to which Plato gives the name of the overarching virtue, justice. Reason, then, is the ordering principle; a good man is one who has an ordered soul, whose personality is controlled by reason.
It is usually granted that in citing the function or role of something, we are setting certain standards which it must measure up to in order to be called good. If we are suspicious of teleology, the quarrel is not with the fact that a use of »good« is generated by defining things in terms of function; the quarrel concerns what sort of »good« we are talking about. Are the standards referred to in maintaining that a good »X« is one that functions well moral standards or simply standards of efficiency? They are at least the latter; the worry is they are perhaps only that. When we say a good lawnmower is one that cuts grass well, we clearly mean good in the sense of efficient or effective. If, to take another example, we define poison in terms of its function, good poison is that which does an effective, that is, quick and fatal, job. The good referred to is clearly not moral good. However, this does not suggest that it never could be; we are not saying that a teleological use of good, because it is an instrumental use, can never be a moral one.
There may be cases where the word »good« serves both functions. For example, when Lon Fuller, a Professor of Jurisprudence at Harvard Law School, defines good law as laws that are clear, public, consistent, he is claiming that such standards are necessary for moral, that is fair, laws as well as effective ones. Laws that are unclear, secret, and inconsistent are not only ineffective, but unjust. Although some jurisprudential scholars have argued against Fuller by maintaining that an instrumental use of good cannot be a moral use, there seems to be no a priori reason why a word cannot function simultaneously in more than one way. Granting this, the criticism of teleology is not as dramatic as some would have it. We cannot scrap Plato's morality merely because we claim to have discovered that the teleological use of good is not a moral use but simply means that things are efficient. However, we must always be on guard to discover from context which use is intended since we can no longer assume that fulfilling a function or role is necessarily good in any moral sense.
For example, even if it is accepted that a good woman is one who fulfills her role, it may well be that »good« means nothing more than contributing to efficiency. Morton Hunt, in the May, 1970, issue of Playboy, argues against husband and wife sharing equally in all tasks (career and home) on the grounds that »when there is no specialization of function, there is inefficient performance. .. «[2] Although specialization is supposedly one essential aspect of all successful human groups (the other being a system of leadership), it is quite conceivable that a group of two (as opposed to a large corporation) might not prize efficiency as its highest value.
Much depends upon what is meant by »success.« Liberty or freedom of role choice may not be very »successful« if success is measured in terms of efficiency. Freedom has never been known for its efficiency; it is always getting in the way of the smooth operations of orderly systems. The conflict between freedom and efficiency can be illustrated by marriage, but is hardly confined to it. It may be inefficient for any one person (married, single, or living in a commune) to teach in a university, write articles, buy groceries, do karate, and demonstrate for political rights, but if a choice must be made between the freedom to do all these things and efficiency, the choice should at least be portrayed as a legitimate one.
Hunt argues not only that specific roles contribute to efficiency, but that they are (as opposed to unisex) attractive. »It feels good, and is productive of well-being, for man and woman to look different, smell different, act somewhat different.«[3] He quotes Dr. Benjamin Spock to the effect that the sexes are »more valuable and more pleasing« to one another if they have »specialized traits and . . . roles to play for each other's benefit—gifts of function, so to speak, that they can give to each other.«[4] We cannot argue against the claim that specialization of function or role yields efficiency. We can, however, question the importance of efficiency; we can also ask, as we shall see later, efficient for whom? We cannot deny that many men and women find complementarity of role attractive. Some people even find inferiority attractive. Note once again the remarks of Mary Hemingway: »Equality! I didn't want to be Ernest's equal. I wanted him to be the master, to be the stronger and cleverer than I, to remember constantly how big he was and how small I was.«[5] However, arguing that specific roles are efficient and attractive does not in and of itself determine who is to do what. Telling us in advance what woman's gift of function is going to be makes Hunt's argument not only interesting, but typical of anti-women's liberation arguments that are couched in the language of role.
The essential content of woman's role is probably best characterized by the concept of »support« — a concept that usually does not get, but certainly deserves, much analysis. What do people mean by the »supportive role"? Why do they think it belongs to women? Hunt, after characterizing the roles of husband and wife as analogous to those of President and Speaker of the House respectively, concedes that »although the man is the head, he owes much to Ms wife's managerial support.«[6] To prove the value of support, he appeals to a remark once made by Senator Maurine Neuberger that her greatest single need as a senator was for a good »wife.« Neuberger's comment certainly proves that the supportive role aids efficiency; it is undeniably easier to be a senator if one has someone to shake hands, smile with you on campaign posters, repeat your ideas to groups you haven't time for, and answer your dinner invitations. That playing the supportive role aids efficiency cannot be questioned; however, the question remains efficient for whom? It must be remembered that efficiency only requires that someone play the supportive role, belong to the maintenance class, devote their lives psychologically and physically to making sure that other people get done whatever they want done. As long as women as a class play supportive roles, they contribute to the efficiency of a power structure that keeps freedom of role choice for itself.
For Hunt, women's role is to some extent »naturally based« since he feels that women are neurologically more sensitive to infants than men and, on that account, should be concerned with child care for »a while« after birth. Even if one accepts this (and he does not offer much evidence except an interesting study showing this to be the case for virgin female rats), the leap from here to a »supportive« role, including all the ramifications implicit in Neuberger's comment, is not obvious. How does it follow from this »sensitivity« that the role of men should be characterized as »President« and »head«?
Carried to the logical extreme, slaves played a very important supportive role for their masters; from the master's point of view, society was the more efficient and hence more desirable for it. At the other extreme, playing the supportive role can mean as little as the truism that everyone likes to be fussed over. What Hunt has in mind is something between the two, something evidently closer to the former, however, since he points to the current system as admittedly unfair, but more workable and satisfying than any other alternatives. Part of what he means by »supportive« can be gleaned from the fact that for the most part he is thinking in terms of cases involving children (although not all of his illustrations bear this out— for example, Neuberger). His perspective, then, centers around the social alternatives of the married woman. They are: the state may take care of the children, hired help may take care of the children, or we can introduce some notion of equality between men and women with regard to whatever tasks confront them, but this, as we have seen, will be inefficient.
Being an essentially pragmatic society, we often buy without question the latter half of the teleological framework: that good things are those that function well; we fail to scrutinize what we mean by »good.« Like Plato, we have a propensity to define the natures of things in terms of function, purpose, or role. In defining women as child-bearers, we have corrupted the Platonic enterprise insofar as reproduction is not a function peculiar to human beings; however, we have in our own way fulfilled the Platonic requirement by citing a natural function that is distinctive of the »class« we have in mind.
We have overlooked, however, that possession of a function, even a natural one, does not entail its constant use. In speaking of the distinctive end of man, Plato referred to the possession, not the exercise, of reason. The fact that men or women may have made little use of their distinctive capacity in no way defeats Plato's definition of the natural. Nor does having a function, even a natural one, entail that those having it ought to use it. As we have seen, to use »X« when »X« is defined as functional is to have a good »X« in some sense of the word. We can explain what poison is by citing its function, but it does not necessarily follow that it ought (in any moral sense) to function. Having children is also a natural function; whether it is good to make use of this function is a separate issue. Given our current population problems, we might well decide that childbearing is not good in either the moral or efficient use of that word.
One might, at this point, legitimately object that the well-being of human beings is more complicated than that of lawnmowers (and poisons). If a lawnmower does not function well or is never used to cut grass, the lawnmower is not worse off for it. However, one might say, indeed Freudian conservatives have said, that the human being's biological potential is so integrated that when it is not realized, some kind of »maladjustment« or »unhappiness« results. Of course, some maintain that no such frustration ensues; obviously, to the extent that this is correct, there is no problem, and, for example, people can decide whether or not to have children on the basis of values already discussed (efficiency, morality) since their »happiness« or »adjustment« is not at stake.
However, if we accept the Freudian conservatives view, we must apply it consistently. Freudians have also taught us that suppression of sexual and aggressive impulses was necessary for the development of civilization. Even though suppression may result in frustration, we are told that in some cases this is the price that must be paid to purchase other goals. It is certainly not a new observation that one pays in some way for everything that one gets. Certainly, modern man in general has paid in increased anxiety, frustration, and, most probably, neurosis for his advanced technological society. Freudians must allow the same perspective on the question of childbearing as on the questions of sexuality and aggressiveness. In the latter case, we realize that some sort of suppression, probably resulting in some unhappiness, is required for civilization and/ or technology. Some women's deliberate suppression of their biological potential should be regarded as an enhancement of the civilized and rational aspects of experience. If there is some biological or psychological frustration involved in the suppression of biological potential, only the individual woman should decide how she wishes to balance her desire for biological »completion'' and her desire to experience the world as an independent human being. To recognize the possibility of such unhappiness is not to condone social arrangements which intensify the either/or character of this choice, but to elucidate once again the importance of liberty, and to complicate values (liberty, morality, efficiency) by which we decide which units capable of functioning ought to function.
In the conclusion of his article, Hunt once more calls upon natural law, assuring us that we need not fear the eradication of all sex-role differences because »nothing as joyless and contrary to our instincts is likely to become the pattern of the majority.«[7] The language of »instinct«, a somewhat modern way to refer to those things that we want to call »natural«, is usually attached to some variation of philosophical determinism. »Instincts« are not considered to be matters of value choice, but a small class of desires that are somehow given. Some uses of »natural« lose their force without this built-in determinism; for example, excusing an action on the grounds that one was jealous, and »jealousy is only natural«, will work only if the people listening accept the reasoning, »I couldn't help myself.« If we do not buy the determinism, we do not buy the excuse.
If we really believe these instincts to exist, we can guarantee much more than that their obliteration will not become »the pattern of the majority.« As John Stuart Mill argued a hundred years ago in The Subjection of Women, if the »proper sphere« of women is naturally determined, there will be no need for social and legal coercion to insure that women stay in that sphere. We need not fear that women will do what they cannot do. If natural inclination means determined inclination, recommendations are automatically out of place. Strictly speaking, if something is determined, it must happen; there is no point in recommending that people desire what they must desire anyway. If jealousy, heterosexuality, motherhood, and supportive sex roles are not value choices, but instincts, in the sense that we all (not quite all, as some of the above are for women, some for men, some for both) have them and cannot help it, it is unnecessary to urge people to aspire to them. Insofar as we recommend any of them, we recognize them to be at least to some extent, or for some people, items of choice. Probably none of us would accept a complete determinism; carried to its logical extreme, it is self-defeating. If no one can in any sense help being what they are, then the person telling us this truth cannot help telling us this, nor can he resist his impulse to believe in determinism.
The extent to which a theory of instincts involves belief in some form of determinism is an intricate philosophical problem. To deal with it adequately would require a full-scale analysis of the sense of talking about »unconscious motivation.« Although we cannot accomplish that here, we can raise some important questions about the ordinary meanings of »instinct« that are used against women.
Freud, in his New Introductory Lectures on Psycho-Analysis, defined the unconscious, ». . . we call a psychical process unconscious whose existence we are obliged to assume — for some such reason as that we infer it from its effects — but of which we know nothing.«[8] In other words, the unconscious is not a thing, not some kind of container filled with desires that »drive« us to do this or that, but rather an explanatory device, not itself empirically evident, but needed to explain certain behavior which is. »Needed«, that is, in the sense that there are certain »effects« that defy explanation, that simply cannot be accounted for unless we posit an unconscious. For example, if people say they desire one thing, but act as if they desired the contrary, and we know they are not lying, we may be tempted to say that they are somehow unaware of what their »real« motivation is.
If Susan says she wants a career more than anything in the world, but she does nothing all day except stay home and put on make-up, we are puzzled and desire an explanation. If she is not lying or frivolous, we still lack an explanation; anything, including childhood and gene structure, is fair game as far as possible explanations go. But if Leslie has spent eight years preparing for a career and assures a prospective employer that she is serious about it, she does not deserve as an - answer: »I would like to believe you, my dear, but all women really desire to devote their lives to men and children . . .« Such a remark is unwarranted because there are no »effects« in this case that need to be explained. (Of course, external evidences of competence, such as Ph.D.'s and M.D.'s do help when one wants to be taken seriously. The undergraduate argument, »she only went to college to find a husband«, does not seem so plausible when applied to Ph. D's. There simply has to be an easier way to get a husband!)
Lying, frivolity, insufficient awareness of one's personality and values (whether we explain these in terms of an unconscious or not) are all human problems; all serve as »explanations« of certain human behavior. If employers cannot afford any of these qualities in their employees, there are surely strategic moves open to them (for example, contracts) to cut their risk. Such measures should be applied to men and women alike without any philosophical pronouncements on »what all women really want« that are empirically false, psychologically naive, intolerant of human differences and human liberty, and might even be un-Freudian.
Another contemporary effort to suggest a concept of the »natural« is Lionel Tiger's Men in Groups, which receives its impetus from an attempted combination of social science and biology. His thesis, insofar as it can be ascertained, is that a male biological propensity to bond with other males may account for male domination of the political-religious-business scene. This »genetically programmed behavioral propensity« became so programmed by continual participation in hunting, which requires cooperation, aggression, and organizational ability, all characteristics of a bond.
A cursory look at the reviews of Tiger's book indicate that the thesis is received as antifeminist; however, it is not clear from the text whether such an assessment is correct or not. In his review, Melvin Maddocks points to what he calls Tiger's »ultimate shocker«, namely that »ancient occupational differences between males and females have produced 'brain-process differences' which no amount of militant feminism can change.«[9] However, even if we grant Tiger's thesis and agree that male political advantage accrues from a biological propensity, it does not follow either that women cannot engage in politics, or that they should not; it simply indicates that their struggle for power will be more difficult.
Strategically speaking, men are clearly in »better shape«; they have the advantages of power, confidence, aggressiveness, all of which result from bonding. One could say that through bonding (and also secret societies) men »accidentally« hit on the strategy of dominance essential to maintaining political control. Perhaps staying home to sweep the cave was a profound strategic error on the part of women, but it was one which, according to Tiger himself, can be corrected.
Tiger insists that his personal political bias is »toward a rapid and meaningful expansion of women's participation in and effect on politics.«[10] But, he continues, »my sociological work suggests the difficulty of achieving this because more than just routine education and emancipation may be involved.«[11] He further suggests that a radical restructuring of political society may be necessary before »what may be a deep predisposition can be overcome in the name of equity.«[12] It is doubtful, however, that anyone who has ever entertained the thought of equality between the sexes would believe that anything short of a major restructuring could realize this end.
It is understandable, however, that reviewers or anyone else might interpret Tiger as antifeminist, for he also says things like »during this study I have become increasingly aware that it is very possible that certain actions I think desirable are better done by all-male groups than by heterosexual ones.«[13] Unfortunately, this statement is not followed by any specification of either the actions or what is meant by »better.« Nor does the statement's context provide any clue; it appears in the introductory remarks of a chapter on secret societies. Such a statement could be made into the »efficiency argument.« If such an argument were constructed, we might agree that in politics, efficiency, or the capacity to perform a task »better« than someone else, is more important than allowing people freedom to do whatever they want, even if they are inefficient.
Obviously, we do not know if high percentages of women in high-status positions would improve matters. Surely, however, Tiger cannot be saying that the male's propensity for bonding makes him better at political management. If the contemporary political scene is the result of our allowing unchecked biological propensities to assert themselves, perhaps what is needed is a more cerebral approach, more distant from the »biological flow« of things. Perhaps women are needed to rescue men from being caught up in their anatomical destiny.
Although Tiger's recommendations are ambiguous, the absence of a hard determinism at least allows us to argue whether »natural« values are good values.
Our primary concern has been with whether references to the »natural« ever entail or support recommendations. Tiger's thesis, however, if adequately considered, would also have to be appraised for its explanatory power. Presumably, at least part of the value of explanation for Tiger is ability to predict. After all, how can social science be real science unless it formulates general or »natural« laws from which we can predict and subsequently control behavior? A number of Tiger's claims include the word »prediction« as an essential feature of that claim. For example, »The logic of my argument then is males are prone to bond, male bonds are prone to aggress, therefore, aggression is a predictable feature of human groups of males.«***477.8.*** Other logical problems aside, the success of this prediction does not depend on explaining the cause of the proneness to bond, which could be either biological or cultural, but simply upon our establishing the fact of bonding. The questions, »Why do men bond?« »Why do men assume power?« are not being discussed as empirical questions, nor do the answers we are given yield predictions. (Perhaps this accounts for Tiger's perpetual tentativeness in stating his conclusion.) It may be that men do assume power because of their history as hunters. One cannot discount the possibility; on the other hand, one cannot empirically verify it.
The non-empirical character of Tiger's thesis is most clearly seen in his approval of Golding. He sees Golding's Lord of the Flies as illustrative of the species-specific pattern of »coalition, aggression, violence, and the savor of blood.« Although Golding suggests the above is inevitable, Tiger maintains that from the point of view of social reality this is obviously not the case. Golding, however, is exempt from criticism because his intention is not »the definition of sociological reality but the extrapolation from this reality of an absolute possibility of human life.«[15] Apparently, an »absolute possibility« means that certain kinds of behavior (in this case, violence, aggression, and the like) are always possible. In other words, violence, for example, is not necessarily a part of social reality, but it somehow always exists »behind the scenes«, a permanent natural theme which may manifest itself in many social variations.
We must ask how many natural themes or absolute possibilities there are. Is Tiger citing another one when he says, »The nature of man could be that he is constitutional not predatory.... Just as the boys can become savages, so can they become parliamentarians?«[16] If the urge to be a parliamentarian has a natural basis, and the urge away from social order is also natural, the »natural« has lost its explanatory power (either to predict or to say anything at all); it has become a vacuous »explanation.« To say that men have a tendency with regard to social orders to construct them and to wreck them is to approach a level of generality too vague to be informative.
We have tried to show some of the muddles that language of the »natural« gets us into. Except in cases where the natural is defined in terms of purpose or function, it carries no automatic value tag. After finding out what a person means by »natural«, we then have to decide on independent grounds whether what is meant is in any sense good. For example, why is it good to do what animals do, or to avoid invented devices which interrupt what ordinarily happens? Why is what ordinarily happens considered to be a good thing? What is so good about order? Teleological uses of »natural« automatically set up an evaluative context; knowing the function of »X« makes it possible for us to evaluate »X« on grounds of functioning well. But as we have seen, teleological uses have to be evaluated: a good bomb is one that goes off, but is a good bomb good?
There is no reason to assume that the problem of evaluation would change because some functional units are manmade and others are not. Many people, for example, argue that nature is good because God made it. This, of course, precipitates the old problem of evil. How can earthquakes and birth defects be good? The answer does not abandon the language of purpose, but rather tells us in Platonic fashion that all of »creation« functions for some good end; however, man is incapable of knowing this end or purpose. Indeed, part of what it means to have faith is to believe that all natural, that is, created, purposes (in humans or otherwise) are good purposes, and work together toward some larger purpose. Since man cannot know this larger end, there is no way that he can evaluate it. This, however, does not eliminate the problem of evaluation. It does not eliminate the question. »In what sense are things that function well good?« It simply tells us that there is no cognitive answer, or more precisely, that only the faithful, after they have been faithful in believing the acceptability of God's answer, will receive an answer. The position comes to this: because we believe in God, we should believe that nature is good in some good sense.
Theological positions, however, in no way exempt us from either defining what we mean by »natural« or appraising it. Indeed, even if the ultimate evaluation is said to be a matter of faith, the task that Thomas Aquinas referred to as natural or rational theology (in this case, the »calling off«, so to speak, of the ends of things that are imprinted on the natures of things) is something that human beings must be prepared to perform without divine assistance. This task brings us right back to the beginning of our inquiry, namely, what in the world do people mean when they say that »>X'<is natural«?