Let’s examine the conceptual, ethical, and philosophical issues raised in your comment, exploring some lesser-discussed nuances that are critical to understanding the intersections between conservation, zoonotic diseases, wild animal suffering, and the broader implications for effective altruism (EA) frameworks.
The Ethical Tensions in Conservation and Wild Animal Suffering
At the core of your critique lies an unresolved tension between two approaches that might seem compatible on the surface—conservation and animal welfare—but actually embody divergent ethical and philosophical orientations. Conservation, traditionally, is motivated by a biocentric or ecocentric ethic. Its primary concern is the integrity, stability, and resilience of ecosystems and the intrinsic value of biodiversity. From this perspective, ecosystem manipulation—even if it aims to alleviate suffering—is problematic because it violates the underlying principles of respecting natural processes and ecological wholeness. This is a teleological view, in which ecosystems are seen to have an inherent “goodness” or purpose that ought to be preserved. Philosophers like Aldo Leopold, Holmes Rolston III, and Arne Naess have emphasized the intrinsic value of ecological systems, advocating for non-interference as a form of respect for the natural world’s autonomy and self-regulating capacities. On the other hand, the animal welfare approach, particularly as endorsed by wild animal suffering programs, is largely rooted in a utilitarian or consequentialist framework that prioritizes the reduction of suffering above all else. This ethical stance places the individual sentient being at the center of moral concern, regardless of its place in a larger ecological network. Hence, ecosystem manipulation, such as predator control or even more extreme interventions like habitat alteration to reduce suffering, could be justified if the net suffering of sentient beings is decreased. What is particularly fascinating here is how this debate reframes classical philosophical dilemmas, such as the “naturalistic fallacy.” If nature is intrinsically good, as some conservationists argue, then human interventions that disrupt ecological processes—even if they alleviate suffering—are ethically wrong. But if the consequences (e.g., a reduction in suffering) are what matter most, the sanctity of natural processes becomes less significant.
Biodiversity, and Zoonotic Spillovers
Your comment regarding biodiversity and zoonotic disease touches on a conceptual gap in much of the discourse around ecosystem health. You’re right to assert that zoonotic diseases often emerge from human practices such as factory farming, and wet markets—activities that don’t necessarily reduce biodiversity per se, but alter the ecological configurations that heighten disease spillover risks. While biodiversity does not immunize ecosystems against zoonotic outbreaks (i.e., you can have both high biodiversity and zoonotic diseases), the relationship is more nuanced than it appears at first glance. Here’s where the dilution effect theory plays an interesting role. The idea is that in ecosystems with high biodiversity, species that are less competent at harboring or transmitting pathogens (often called “dilution hosts”) can buffer human populations from zoonotic diseases. Conversely, in ecosystems where biodiversity is diminished, the remaining species may disproportionately include “amplifying hosts”—species that efficiently carry and transmit pathogens. The loss of biodiversity can lead to a breakdown in these natural regulatory systems, potentially increasing pathogen transmission to humans.
The Challenge of Quantifying Diffuse Benefits
Effective altruism, with its utilitarian underpinnings, tends to prioritize interventions that yield quantifiable benefits—especially those that can be tied to human welfare, such as saving lives or alleviating poverty. This focus often leads to the neglect of long-term, diffuse ecological benefits that are harder to measure but are crucial for planetary health and resilience. Consider, for example, the ecosystem services provided by intact forests: flood regulation, carbon sequestration, water purification, and pollination. These services have diffuse, often non-market benefits that accrue over decades or centuries, and their loss would be catastrophic. However, from a near-term, anthropocentric perspective, funding interventions that directly prevent human suffering (e.g., malaria bed nets) seems to offer a more tangible return on investment. This mismatch between measurable, immediate human welfare and diffuse, long-term ecosystem health is a fundamental critique ecological economics offers against mainstream economic thinking. Conventional economics struggles to internalize the value of ecosystem services, leading to a systematic underinvestment in conservation. Projects like the Gorongosa Restoration Project you mentioned are exemplary because they showcase the co-benefits of conservation—improving human livelihoods while restoring ecosystems. But even such examples are difficult to scale or quantify with the precision demanded by EA methodologies, leading to a kind of ethical impasse between what feels right (conservation) and what seems right from a cost-effectiveness standpoint.
This brings us to a deeper philosophical issue: what kind of future are we valuing? If we are committed to a long-term view of human and non-human flourishing, we may need to embrace uncertainty and complexity rather than trying to reduce the world to predictable, quantifiable outcomes. The unpredictability and interconnectedness of ecosystems challenge the very premise that we can calculate the future benefits of conservation in a straightforward manner. This echoes the critiques of “epistemic humility” found in risk ethics, where the recognition of our limits in predicting complex systems forces a reconsideration of what it means to act ethically.
Let’s examine the conceptual, ethical, and philosophical issues raised in your comment, exploring some lesser-discussed nuances that are critical to understanding the intersections between conservation, zoonotic diseases, wild animal suffering, and the broader implications for effective altruism (EA) frameworks.
The Ethical Tensions in Conservation and Wild Animal Suffering
At the core of your critique lies an unresolved tension between two approaches that might seem compatible on the surface—conservation and animal welfare—but actually embody divergent ethical and philosophical orientations. Conservation, traditionally, is motivated by a biocentric or ecocentric ethic. Its primary concern is the integrity, stability, and resilience of ecosystems and the intrinsic value of biodiversity. From this perspective, ecosystem manipulation—even if it aims to alleviate suffering—is problematic because it violates the underlying principles of respecting natural processes and ecological wholeness. This is a teleological view, in which ecosystems are seen to have an inherent “goodness” or purpose that ought to be preserved. Philosophers like Aldo Leopold, Holmes Rolston III, and Arne Naess have emphasized the intrinsic value of ecological systems, advocating for non-interference as a form of respect for the natural world’s autonomy and self-regulating capacities. On the other hand, the animal welfare approach, particularly as endorsed by wild animal suffering programs, is largely rooted in a utilitarian or consequentialist framework that prioritizes the reduction of suffering above all else. This ethical stance places the individual sentient being at the center of moral concern, regardless of its place in a larger ecological network. Hence, ecosystem manipulation, such as predator control or even more extreme interventions like habitat alteration to reduce suffering, could be justified if the net suffering of sentient beings is decreased. What is particularly fascinating here is how this debate reframes classical philosophical dilemmas, such as the “naturalistic fallacy.” If nature is intrinsically good, as some conservationists argue, then human interventions that disrupt ecological processes—even if they alleviate suffering—are ethically wrong. But if the consequences (e.g., a reduction in suffering) are what matter most, the sanctity of natural processes becomes less significant.
Biodiversity, and Zoonotic Spillovers
Your comment regarding biodiversity and zoonotic disease touches on a conceptual gap in much of the discourse around ecosystem health. You’re right to assert that zoonotic diseases often emerge from human practices such as factory farming, and wet markets—activities that don’t necessarily reduce biodiversity per se, but alter the ecological configurations that heighten disease spillover risks. While biodiversity does not immunize ecosystems against zoonotic outbreaks (i.e., you can have both high biodiversity and zoonotic diseases), the relationship is more nuanced than it appears at first glance. Here’s where the dilution effect theory plays an interesting role. The idea is that in ecosystems with high biodiversity, species that are less competent at harboring or transmitting pathogens (often called “dilution hosts”) can buffer human populations from zoonotic diseases. Conversely, in ecosystems where biodiversity is diminished, the remaining species may disproportionately include “amplifying hosts”—species that efficiently carry and transmit pathogens. The loss of biodiversity can lead to a breakdown in these natural regulatory systems, potentially increasing pathogen transmission to humans.
The Challenge of Quantifying Diffuse Benefits
Effective altruism, with its utilitarian underpinnings, tends to prioritize interventions that yield quantifiable benefits—especially those that can be tied to human welfare, such as saving lives or alleviating poverty. This focus often leads to the neglect of long-term, diffuse ecological benefits that are harder to measure but are crucial for planetary health and resilience. Consider, for example, the ecosystem services provided by intact forests: flood regulation, carbon sequestration, water purification, and pollination. These services have diffuse, often non-market benefits that accrue over decades or centuries, and their loss would be catastrophic. However, from a near-term, anthropocentric perspective, funding interventions that directly prevent human suffering (e.g., malaria bed nets) seems to offer a more tangible return on investment. This mismatch between measurable, immediate human welfare and diffuse, long-term ecosystem health is a fundamental critique ecological economics offers against mainstream economic thinking. Conventional economics struggles to internalize the value of ecosystem services, leading to a systematic underinvestment in conservation. Projects like the Gorongosa Restoration Project you mentioned are exemplary because they showcase the co-benefits of conservation—improving human livelihoods while restoring ecosystems. But even such examples are difficult to scale or quantify with the precision demanded by EA methodologies, leading to a kind of ethical impasse between what feels right (conservation) and what seems right from a cost-effectiveness standpoint.
This brings us to a deeper philosophical issue: what kind of future are we valuing? If we are committed to a long-term view of human and non-human flourishing, we may need to embrace uncertainty and complexity rather than trying to reduce the world to predictable, quantifiable outcomes. The unpredictability and interconnectedness of ecosystems challenge the very premise that we can calculate the future benefits of conservation in a straightforward manner. This echoes the critiques of “epistemic humility” found in risk ethics, where the recognition of our limits in predicting complex systems forces a reconsideration of what it means to act ethically.