Why do species matter? Many have instrumental value. Some, for instance, are indicator species (e.g. freshwater mussels), some are keystone species (e.g. sea otters (Enhydra lutris)), and some are flagship species (e.g. Asian elephant (Elephas maximus)), while others are umbrella species (e.g. spotted owl (Strix occidentalis)). However, there are also species that seem to be without much, if any, economic use, biological function, or which are ecologically redundant (e.g. the snail darter (Percina tanasi)). Nevertheless, many people think it would still be bad for them to go extinct. To justify this, one might thereby suggest that species have intrinsic value. However, species lack the sort of features that many moral theories take to be a precondition for something to have such value. Arguably, species are not sentient, rational, or even living. Thus, it remains unclear why, exactly, species would have intrinsic value.
In light of these concerns, some writers have suggested that the value of species, including particularly endangered species, ought to be analyzed in terms of aesthetic value. The idea is suggested by the Endangered Species Act when it refers to the “esthetic” value of species (Sec 2(a)(3)). It also finds expression in the work of contemporary philosophers. Presenting a particularly detailed view along these lines is Lilly-Marlene Russow, in her now-classic essay “Why Do Species Matter?” However, despite the title, she argues that species do not matter, at least in themselves. Rather, the apparent value of species ought to be understood, she thinks, as a matter of the individual organisms having high aesthetic value. We agree that individual organisms can have high aesthetic value, but we disagree with Russow’s negative conclusion that species, themselves, lack such value. So, in what follows, we offer objections to Russow’s view and sketch a positive account of how species can have aesthetic value.
Russow begins her positive view by noticing that:
The comparison … is often made between species and natural wonders, spectacular landscapes, or even works of art, [which] suggests that species might have some aesthetic value. This seems to accord well with our naive intuitions, provided that aesthetic value is interpreted rather loosely; most of us believe that the world would be a poorer place for the loss of bald eagles in the same way that it would be poorer for the loss of the Grand Canyon or a great work of art. (142)
However, rather than hold that species have aesthetic value, she revises the “naive intuitions” regarding species’ value:
What I propose is that the intuition behind the argument from aesthetic value is correct, but misdirected. The reasons that were given for the value to a species are, in fact, reasons for saying that an individual has value. We do not admire the grace and beauty of the species Panthera tigris; rather, we admire the grace and beauty of the individual Bengal tigers that we may encounter. (143)
According to Russow, what has aesthetic value are individual organisms and not species themselves. The apparent beauty of Panthera tigris is really just the beauty of particular tigers—their mesmerizing striped coat, their rhythmic movements as they move through their environment, and so on. Additionally, Russow thinks that the aesthetic value of organisms explains the feelings we have about endangered species (143-144): if we aesthetically value members of an endangered species, we will rarely encounter them, and there will be fewer opportunities to see and hear them than members of abundant species.
But this is where we begin to differ from her. First, we do not think that the aesthetic value of an individual adequately explains the special value of endangered or rare species. Suppose we have the same chance of seeing an organism of endangered species as seeing an organism of elusive but abundant species, such as a wolverine (Gulo gulo). By hypothesis, the chance of seeing them is the same, but it strikes us that the endangered species still has a special kind, or degree, of value that the wolverine lacks. More fundamentally, and second, we disagree with Russow’s view that species are not themselves aesthetically valuable. Here is our thought: Just like how musical compositions bear aesthetic value, and not just the individual notes constitutive of them, groups of organisms can too. Think, for instance, of a pack of hunting gray wolves or starlings flying in a murmuration. The grace and coordination of such groups is aesthetically significant. More generally, groups of organisms can be complex, rare, diverse, or rhythmic—qualities that adhere not just to individual members themselves, but rather to the organisms and the relations between such organisms, and thus to the group as a whole.
Of course, even if some groups of organisms have aesthetic value, one might doubt that species do. After all, species are often quite large metapopulations, being composed of interacting populations. Depending on how one defines species, they will include all living members of the species, as well as perhaps all members who have existed. Thus, it is unlikely that one could ever experience a species as a whole. However, the same is part-whole perception for many other entities, too. Most humans have the pleasure of observing the moon, but it is impossible to observe all of the moon’s surface at once. It would be shocking for someone, on account of this fact, to deny that the moon is beautiful, that people aesthetically appreciate the moon (even though they only see part of it at any given time), and that there are strong aesthetic reasons to preserve the moon were it threatened. Similarly, even though each and every organism of a species cannot be perceived all at once, we think the whole species can bear aesthetic value, and that it is possible to aesthetically appreciate its aesthetic value.
How, though, does one appreciate a species? The answer is, by observing some of its constituent members—the individual organisms—albeit in a special way. One must appreciate and observe the constituents of the species qua constituents, rather than as individuals on their own. One must, for instance, appreciate the behaviors of individuals—parents caring for their offspring, the courting displays of animals seeking a mate, feeding behaviors, and so on—with a focus on the place these activities have within the species. This is what Russow missed: she is right that the intrinsic aesthetic qualities of an organism—say, the striped color of a tiger—can bear aesthetic value, but the tiger can be appreciated aesthetically for the role it plays in the broader web of relations that constitute the species.
It is here where endangerment can matter aesthetically: first, the fewer members of the species there are, the larger the role that each member plays in the whole. Thus, being able to see one of the few remaining members of the species would naturally excite: one gets the thrill of seeing a greater part of the species. Second and relatedly, the more endangered a species is, the more important the role is that each existing organism plays. In being able to observe the activities of such an organism, one is able to aesthetically appreciate relationships that constitute the species’ existence. Indeed, it is much like knowingly appreciating the last harmonious notes of a musical performance. Thus, not only do species matter aesthetically, but an endangered species takes on special aesthetic significance, engendering a particularly moving aesthetic experience when one is able to experience members of it.
Importantly, these ideas also seem to go beyond species. For, just as it is possible to aesthetically appreciate species in virtue of their aesthetic properties, so too can even larger wholes be aesthetically appreciated. We have in mind ecological communities and ecosystems, in particular. They have many of the same aesthetically relevant properties mentioned above, such as complexity, diversity, and richness, as well as more particular aesthetically-relevant structural relations between their parts. Thus, in a very rich sense, we think that the foregoing sketches how one can aesthetically appreciate the forest from the trees.
Jay Odenbaugh
Jay Odenbaugh is the James K. Miller Professor of Humanities and Professor of Philosophy at Lewis & Clark College. His work is in the philosophy of biology, environmental philosophy, and the philosophy of emotions.
Levi Tenen
Levi Tenen is Assistant Professor of Philosophy at Kettering University. He explores foundational and applied questions about value, paying particular attention to values that arise in environmental contexts.
