Eliot Michaelson and Andrew Reisner Penultimate draft Fish Introduction Ernest Hemingway in The Old Man and the Sea describes the prolonged struggle of an ageing fisherman as he reels in a giant marlin. Eventually, he succeeds, and straps the fish to the side of his small boat. There it attracts the attention of sharks, who slowly eat away at it on the return journey. The old man futilely tries to drive the sharks away, but in the end is left, exhausted and depressed, with only a skeleton. The story has elements of a classical tragedy, presenting the fisherman's struggles as a heroic, if doomed, battle against forces-the fish, the sea, the sharks, and his own age- that will inevitably outmatch him. Although most readers of this chapter will not have relied on fishing as a necessary source of either income or food, many will have spent early mornings and passed pleasant evenings at a bucolic lake or on a boat at sea, eagerly awaiting the day's first tug on a fishing line. Others will have seen a marlin itself serving as a kitschy backdrop at a kitschy beachfront bar. And nearly all readers will have at least once eaten fish. Amongst those who exclude meat gradually from their diets for ethical reasons, fish flesh and fish byproducts are often the last to go. Fish, and fishing, hold a more benign place in our collective conscience than do meat and hunting. Land animals and birds are stalked, often with a cacophony of barking dogs, and shot, often not cleanly enough to ensure a quick or painless death. Dragged out of the forest or spilling blood into a field coat's game pockets, the death of terrestrial and avian animals naturally arouses the sympathies of many. The story of The Old Man and the Sea, retold as a bowhunting expedition with a Bambi-like doe as its quarry might excite rather less sympathy for the hunter and rather more for the deer. In this chapter we explore the question of whether there are good grounds for treating fish as a general category of animals differently from terrestrial and avian animals with respect to the degree of moral concern that should be allotted to them, whether our relative indifference to the fate of the marlin has some moral grounding. We begin our study by briefly reviewing some of the main current thinking on the moral 1 permissibility of eating non-human animals, although we do not attempt to break new ground. Next, we examine what is potentially ethically different about eating fish from eating land and avian animals with a discussion of what is known about fish psychology and intelligence. We set out three distinctive and ethically salient features of the harvesting and consumption of fish. The first is that they are to a greater degree than any other major animal-based food source, wild caught. The second is that their wild capture provides both a social and economic foundation for many communities in both the developed and developing world. And the third is that it is particularly difficult as an individual to effect changes in how many fish are caught and killed through one's own consumption choices. We argue that the first and second features raise some distinctive ethical challenges, but that neither of these considerations militate against claims that the harvesting and consumption of fish is prima facie morally impermissible. We conclude with a discussion of how the third problem is only a more challenging case of a general set of problems that arise from the signaling inefficiency of our purchasing and consumption decisions. Some General Comments on the Permissibility of Eating Animals Whether it is morally permissible to eat fish depends partially on whether-and then under what circumstances-it is morally permissible to eat non-human animals in general. Our chapter does not aim to contribute anything new to the general discussion about eating animals, but it will be helpful to say something briefly about the matter to set the stage for the specific discussion of fish. Many people have the intuition that there is something of special ethical significance about being human. This intuition might be understood in one of two ways. The first is that the mere fact that we are human has special moral significance. The second is that features possessed, perhaps uniquely, by humans give us special moral significance. The first way of understanding the intuition is an instance of speciesism, which is the view that membership in a particular species is inherently ethically significant. In recent years, serious doubts have been cast on speciesism as a basis for conferring separate moral status on human and nonhuman animals. There are many ways of arguing against speciesism.1 We shall just offer one of them here. Consider two individuals falling into distinct biological groups. Let us say that one belongs to a human 1See	Cavalieri	(2001)	for	a	more	detailed	discussion	of	this	view. 2 population, the genes of which dispose individuals to produce low quantities of melanin in their skin, and the other of whom belongs to a human population, the genes of which dispose individuals to produce high quantities of melanin in their skin. We can imagine that these individuals live lives that are, as nearly as possible, identical with respect to character, career choice, and dispositions concerning how to treat themselves and others. We may also assume that they hold similar positions in their communities, have similar relationships to their (same sized and aged) families, and so on. It is difficult to see what could possibly justify treating either of these two individuals differently either as moral actors or as bearers of other moral statuses in identical circumstances. By stipulation they have the same character, would act and react the same way, and play comparable roles in the lives of others. The only difference between them is their membership in separate human populations with different genetic dispositions for the production of melanin in the skin. Claiming there is an ethical difference between them on that basis is absurd. We might pejoratively call someone who discriminated on that view a 'melaninist'. Mutatis mutandis, we could retell this story about individuals who only differed with respect to biological species.2 Why it would be any less absurd to discriminate on the basis of species than it is on the basis of the melanin levels of different individual's skin? This brings us to the second way of understanding of the intuition that there is something of special ethical significance about humans, i.e. that we possess certain features that confer on us special ethical significance. Defenders and opponents of the view that non-human animals deserve (more) serious ethical consideration most plausibly are taken to disagree about which features matter for making an individual animal, human or non-human, an object of moral concern. They may also disagree about empirical judgements concerning which animals possess which features. Other chapters in this volume address3 the question of which features matter with respect to the moral status of non-human animals. We take the range of possible features to include at least: possessing intelligence, self-awareness, an inner emotional life, social connections, emotional attachment to others, the capacity to feel pain, and the ability to plan for the future. We mean to take 2This	is	a	common	theme	in	science	<iction	<ilms,	one	developed	sympathetically	towards	the	replicants	in Blade	Runner. 3Note	to	the	editors:	insert	relevant	cross	references	here.	(Comstock, Fischer, McPherson) 3 no stand on which of these features might matter, but we note in passing that the more rarified a feature one isolates as morally relevant, the more work one leaves to be done in explaining why it is impermissible to treat human beings who individually lack that feature as one advocates treating non-human animals lacking that same feature.4 With respect to the empirical questions, in the next section, we offer a brief summary of what is currently known, or at least believed, about the relevant aspects of fish psychology. If there are reasons for according a different moral status to fish than there are to some other animals, then it cannot be on the basis of taxa. Rather it has to be due to some difference in what various fish are like as individual creatures. What Science Believes about Fish Psychology and Intelligence5 Kurt	Cobain	once	assured	a	generation	that	it	was	okay	to	eat	<ish,	since	they	don't	have	any	feelings.6	As	it turns	out,	discerning	whether	or	not	<ish	have	feelings	has	proved	rather	challenging,	for	three	main reasons:	<irst,	the	environments	in	which	<ish	live	are	not	ones	we	can	easily	control	or	even	interact	with, making	experimental	design	more	dif<icult	than	it	is	on	land. Second,	<ishes'	behavior	is	very	different from	our	own,	making	it	signi<icantly	more	dif<icult	to	code	that	behavior	and	draw	well-informed conclusions	about	what	sorts	of	mechanisms	stand	behind	it. Third,	and	compounding	this	second	issue, <ish's	neurophysiology	is	rather	different	from	both	our	own	and	that	of	most	other	land	animals,	making it	dif<icult	to	infer	from	even	a	combination	of	behavioral	and	neurological	evidence	to	any	<irm conclusions	about	<ish	psychology.	Thankfully,	<ish	scientists	remain	undeterred	by	such	challenges	and have	in	fact	managed	to	make	some	real	progress	on	the	questions	of	whether	<ish	can	think	and	feel,	and what	they	might	be	able	to	think	and	feel	about. Perhaps	the	most	striking	recent	result	is	evidence	that	giant	manta	rays	are	capable	of	passing	the	socalled	'Mirror	Self-Recognition'	test,	something	that	is	generally	held	up	as	the	gold-standard	for 4See	McMahan	(1996)	for	a	discussion	of	these	dif<iculties	and	one	possible	solution. 5We would like to thank Alexander Szorkovszsky for his invaluable help in navigating the literature on fish psychology and intelligence. Any errors in interpretation or literature selection are, however, entirely our own. 6Nirvana,	``Something	in	the	Way.'' 4 demonstrating	self-awareness.7	In	essence,	when	exposed	to	mirrors	manta	rays	exhibit	a	range	of behaviors	ill-explained	by	either	the	simple	presence	of	a	foreign	object	or	the	presence	of	an	image	they are	mistaking	for	another	conspeci<ic. These	behaviors,	which	ethologists	tend	to	call	'contingency checking'	and	'self-directed',	are	akin	to	those	exhibited	by	dolphins	in	similar	settings. It	is	worth	noting	that	giant	manta	rays	have	the	largest	and	most	foliated	brains	of	any	known	<ish species.	So	even	if	this	evidence	is	pointing	in	the	right	direction,	we	are	not	in	a	position	extrapolate	that many	other	<ish	species	are	likely	to	demonstrate	signi<icant	degree	of	self-awareness.	On	the	other	hand, these	results	do	offer	reason	to	reject	the	thought	that	there	is	anything	inherent	in	the	neurophysiology of	<ish	that	prevents	them	from	exhibiting	a	signi<icant	degree	of	intelligence	and	even	self-awareness. Whether	<ish	feel	pain	has	received	perhaps	the	most	sustained	scienti<ic	attention	of	any	question regarding	the	mental	capacities	of	<ish.8	What	is	beyond	doubt	is	that	<ish	possess	'nociceptors',	or	nerve <ibers	responsive	to	noxious	stimuli.9	The	problem	is	that	not	all	stimuli	of	nociceptors	ought	to	be characterized	as	pain. Certain	types	of	nerve	blockers,	for	instance,	are	administered	speci<ically	in	order to	prevent	nociceptor	<irings	from	reaching	the	brain	during	surgery. This	will	not	prevent	nociceptor <iring	at	the	local	level,	but	it	plausibly	does	prevent	there	being	any	pain	associated	with	the	relevant bodily	damage,	at	least	during	the	course	of	the	surgery	itself. Some	have	suggested	that	<ish	are	essentially	always	in	a	state	equivalent	to	a	human	being	under	the in<luence	of	nerve	blockers.10	At	least	three	different,	complementary	arguments	are	offered	to	this	end: <irst,	it	is	argued	that	<ish	lack	consciousness	and	that,	since	it	is	not	felt,	unconscious	pain	is	not	pain	at all.11	The	thought	seems	to	be	that	this	sort	of	neural	architecture	is	not	suf<iciently	complex	or	developed 7Cf.	Ari	&	D'Agostino	(2016).	For	more	general	discussion	of	the	Mirror	Self-Recognition	test,	see	Gallup (1970),	Platek	and	Levin	(2004),	and	Prior	et	al.	(2008). 8For	recent,	partisan	reviews	of	the	state	of	the	literature,	see	Rose	et	al.	(2014),	Sneddon	(2011),	and Braithwaithe	(2010). See	also	Allen	(2013). 9The	ratios	of	the	different	sorts	of	receptors	are	rather	different	than	what	is	commonly	found	in	land mammals,	however.	Speci<ically,	A-<ibers	are	relatively	common	in	teleost	<ish,	whereas	the	C-<ibers common	to	land	mammals	are	found	in	much	smaller	numbers	(cf.	Roques	et	al.	2010). 10Cf.	Rose	(2002,	2007),	Rose	et	al.	(2014),	Key	(2016). 11We	would	note	in	passing	that	this	intermediate	premise	is	controversial	within	philosophy. See,	for 5 enough	to	underwrite	pain	perception. Second,	it	is	noted	that	the	neural	anatomy	of	<ish	differs substantially	from	that	of	human	beings,	which	are	taken	to	be	paradigm	pain-feelers. Of	particular	note is	the	fact	that	the	<ish	pallium	is	non-laminated	and	only	diffusely	connected.12	Third,	a	number	of	speci<ic objections	are	levelled	at	the	methodology	of	the	numerous	extant	studies	purporting	to	show	that	<ish demonstrate	complex	behavioral	reactions	to	bodily	harm,	reactions	which	are	best	explained	by appealing	to	a	feeling	of	pain	rather	than	a	low-level	nervous	response	to	pure	nociception. We	are	hardly	the	best	quali<ied	persons	to	cast	judgment	on	the	validity	of	the	data	collection	methods and	statistical	analyses	to	be	found	in	studies	on	<ish	pain,	nor	on	the	particulars	of	how	best	to	code	<ish behavior,	etc. To	be	clear,	some	of	the	particular	methodological	issues	to	which	<ish	pain-skeptics	have pointed	to	do	indeed	strike	us	as	important.13	Nonetheless,	it	seems	to	us	that	there	is	a	signi<icant	body	of evidence	suggesting	that	<ish	are	capable	of	exhibiting	fairly	complex	behavioral	responses	to	bodily harm,	responses	which	are	plausibly	best	explained	by	the	posit	that	a	central	processing	system	is responding	to	information	it	is	gathering	about	the	state	of	its	body. Whether	a	central	processing	system	so	responding	should	be	considered	a	conscious	system	responding to	pain	is	a	dif<icult	question,	and	one	that	we	can	hardly	hope	to	settle	here. We	don't	put	much	stock	in the	neurophysiological	evidence	mustered	by	<ish	pain-skeptics,	because	it	primarily	relies	on	differences between	human	and	<ish	neurology	to	make	its	point;	we	take	it	as	a	fairly	settled	matter	that consciousness,	whatever	it	is,	is	multiply	realizable.14	Thus,	simply	pointing	out	that	<ishes'	neuro-anatomy is	different	from	our	own	should	not	in	itself	make	us	doubt	that	they	can	feel	pain;	after	all,	manta	rays are	strikingly	different	from	us	anatomically,	and	yet	they	seem	capable	of	passing	the	Mirror	Selfinstance,	Palmer	(1975)	This	argument	is	ineffective	in	the	present	context,	however:	if	consciousness	is required	to	feel	pain,	and	if	we	have	good	evidence	that	<ish	feel	pain,	then	we	have	good	reason	to conclude	that	<ish	are	conscious. Granted,	we	would	have	reason	to	reject	one	of	the	premises	if	the conclusion	were	known	to	be	false-but	this	is	simply	assumed	rather	than	argued	for	by	proponents	of this	sort	of	argument. 12Cf.	Giassi	et	al.	(2012). 13On	the	other	hand,	the	demand	that	a	clear	line	be	drawn	between	re<lexive	and	non-re<lexive behavior-and	that	an	operational	de<inition	be	provided	such	that	this	line	can	be	tested	for-strikes	us as	unwarranted	(cf.	Rose	et	al.	2014). We	are	highly	skeptical	that	any	such	line	or	de<inition	can	ever	be provided. 14Cf.	Block	&	Fodor	(1972). 6 Recognition	test. What	other	sorts	of	arguments	might	there	be	either	for	or	against	<ish	consciousness? Arguments	in favor	of	<ish	consciousness	have	tended	to	appeal	to	certain	<ish	species'	capacities	to	learn	complex behaviors,	to	respond	to	their	surroundings	in	complex	ways,	and	to	integrate	information	from	various areas	of	the	brain	to	initiate	avoidance	behaviors.15	Arguments	against	tend	to	note	that	complex behaviors	can	be	exhibited	by	sleepwalkers,	among	others,	and	that	<ish	seem	to	exhibit	some	of	these same	behaviors	even	when	their	frontal	cortexes	are	removed.16 Again,	we	cannot	hope	to	settle	here	the	issue	of	what	sorts	of	things,	beyond	verbal,	<irst-person	reports of	which	non-human	animals	are	for	the	most	part	incapable,	constitute	our	best	evidence	for	attributions of	consciousness. We	would	note,	however,	that	<ish	demonstrate	a	remarkable	range	of	complex behaviors	commonly	associated	with	a	high	degree	of	intelligence:	not	just	timed-responses	to	feeding routines	or	the	ability	to	quickly	spatially	map	a	location	for	subsequent	recall,	but	also	kin-recognition, the	recognition	of	individual	conspeci<ics	and	non-conspeci<ics	and	differentiated	behavior	towards	each, tool-use,	social	reconciliation	behavior,	social	learning,	and	even	numeracy.17	Certain	<ish	species	even demonstrate	complex	planning	behaviors:	cleaner	wrasse,	who	make	a	living	by	removing	parasites	and dead	skin	from	'client'	<ish	can	prioritize	<ish	in	a	queue	based	on	whether	these	<ish	are	'regulars'	who are	unlikely	to	go	elsewhere	or	'transients'	who	may	lose	patience	and	look	for	a	competitor	if	left	to wait.18 While	none	of	this	behavior	is	by	any	means	a	dispositive	of	consciousness,	cumulatively	it	strikes	us	as lending	strong	support	for	the	claim	that,	while	certainly	not	realized	in	all	species,	the	hardware	of	<ish neuro-anatomy	is	capable	of	exhibiting	a	high	degree	of	the	sorts	of	intelligent	behavior	standardly associated	with	consciousness. Thus,	it	lends	some	credence	to	the	hypothesis	that	at	least	certain	<ish are,	indeed,	conscious	beings. Contemporary	science	offers	us	ample	reason	to	think	that	<ish	are	capable	of	exhibiting	a	high	degree	of intelligence.	Whether	the	same	general	body	of	evidence	supports	the	claim	that	these	<ish	are	also 15Cf.	Huntingford	et	al.	(2006),	Braithwaithe	and	Boulcott	(2007),	and	Braithwaithe	(2010).] 16Cf.	Rose	et	al.	(2014)	and,	on	the	latter	point,	Overmier	&	Papini	(1986). 17Cf.	Brown	(2015) 18Cf.	Bshary	&	Wurth	(2001). 7 conscious	or	that	they	can	feel	pain	is	a	more	controversial	matter. But	there	is	at	least	some	reason	to believe	that	the	answer	in	both	cases	is	"yes". The	evidence	at	present	is	far	from	perfect,	and	vast neurophysiological	differences	do	indeed	obtain	between	humans	and	<ish. That	might	lead	us	to	resist thinking	of	<ish	as	capable	of	conscious	thought	on	the	basis	of	these	neurophysiological	differences. But this	resistance	looks	unjusti<ied. The	behavioral	evidence	strongly	suggests	that	at	least	some	<ish	are remarkably	intelligent	creatures. If	such	intelligence	is	associated	with	consciousness	along	one phylogenetic	branch,	we	can	see	no	principled	reason	to	treat	such	displays	of	intelligence	differently	with regard	to	another. The	evidence	we	have	strongly	supports	the	hypothesis	that	many	species	of	<ish	are	intelligent,	highly social	creatures. That,	in	turn,	lends	limited	support	to	the	hypothesis	that	many	species	of	<ish	are	both conscious	and	capable	of	feeling	pain. So	while	the	matter	is	by	no	means	settled,	it	looks	like	there	is some	scienti<ic	support	for	the	claim	that,	whatever	moral	difference	makers	there	are	between	<ish	and human	beings,	they	cannot	simply	be	assumed	to	be:	exhibiting	a	signi<icant	degree	of	intelligence, sociality,	consciousness,	or	the	ability	to	plan. Nor	can	it	be	assumed	to	be	exhibiting	the	capacity	to	feel pain. For	with	respect	to	each	of	these	traits,	there	is	evidence	that	at	least	some	<ish	do	indeed	exhibit the	relevant,	potentially	morally-signi<icant	capacity. Wild Capture The mere fact that an individual belongs to a species of fish, as opposed for example to a species of mammal, can only be intrinsically ethically significant if we accept speciesism, or more properly classism. However, there may be extrinsic features that make it all-things-considered permissible to eat fish, when it would not be all-things-considered permissible to eat mammals with relevantly similar psychological or social lives.19 One obvious difference between many commonly consumed kinds of fish and similarly commonly consumed kinds of land and avian mammals is in the method of harvest. In developed countries, all but a small fraction of land and avian animal meat is harvested through farming, rather than through hunting and trapping. A significant, though declining, portion of the fish eaten in developed countries is wildly harvested. Perhaps this difference is ethically significant. 19'Relevantly	similar'	means	something	like	'with	features	of	the	same	ethical	signi<icance	for	moral patienthood' 8 To develop this possibility, it will be helpful to offer two versions of the harvesting non-parity principle: The harvesting intrinsic non-parity principle (HINP): For any two possible methods of harvesting an individual non-human animal for food, there can be an ethically relevant difference even if the effects of the harvest itself on the animal are the same. The harvesting extrinsic non-parity principle (HENP): For any two possible methods of harvesting an individual non-human animal for food, there can only be an ethically relevant difference if the effects of the harvest on the animal are different. To make an argument for assigning differential moral status to eating fish on the basis of HINP, we would need to identify something about the farming of animals that is intrinsically more morally objectionable than would be their wild capture, assuming that the animals' welfare was not affected differently. One approach to defending HINP might be to draw a parallel with ordinary death and killing. Consider two possible histories for the same population of humans. In each history, all individuals live the same length of life and have the same quality of life with respect to wellbeing. In the first possible history, a particular individual in the population's life ends when it does in a sudden, painless, and natural death. In the other history, that same individual's life ends suddenly and painlessly, and at the same time, but due to murder. At least some people20 have the intuition that the second history is worse than the first history. There is a special harm, or perhaps welfare-affecting wrong, associated with killing. Explaining this intuition may be difficult, so let us accept it unexplained for the sake of argument. Might there be something similar at work in the putative moral difference between death and suffering caused to an animal in virtue of its being farmed and death and suffering caused to an animal in virtue of its being hunted or trapped? If there is a difference, it is of course not due to one case being an instance of killing and the other an instance of mere death. Both are instances of killing. Instead, the difference would have to come from the bringing of an animal into existence with the intent to harvest it for food and then killing it versus killing an animal that was not brought into existence for that purpose. Something about the intent (or lack thereof) behind an animal's creation in combination with its actually being killed for food would 20See	Broome	(2004)	and	and	McMahan	(2003). 9 need to be morally significant. We wish to set aside most of the interesting moral questions that arise here. The importance of intentions and the difference in the character of the type of action between farming and hunting or trapping deserve attention, but the right way to treat these differences depends to some degree on which normative ethical theory turns out to be correct. We are not in a position to address that issue in this chapter. However, there is one important issue that we do wish to take up. That is to what extent the fact that predator/prey relationships exist in nature makes acting as a predator, rather than a farmer, different with respect to ethical status. There is a line of thought that circulates among some of the folk that sees fishing as a way of being close to nature.21 This is in part due to the physical proximity of the fisherman to nature, for example on a boat in the ocean or sitting at the shores of a lake. The other is that it brings one closer in some sense to a pre-modern, or at least pre-agricultural, way of life. While there are important traditions of thought that view going back to the land, or to the sea, as being more in touch with nature-sometimes understood as living an earlier human lifestyle-it is unclear how this could be an ethical good for its own sake. There are many pre-modern and preagricultural practices that seem clearly wrong to pursue in circumstances in which they can be avoided, and which do not seem to gain any added moral significance from having been widespread in the past. For example, in the great majority of hunter-gatherer societies22 there was a quite significant social and political power asymmetry between men and women. This neither vindicates the history of oppression of women in later times, nor is it a reason to favor reversing the stillincomplete political and social gains of women today. In addition, whatever the status of non-human animals as moral patients (that is, as bearers of moral status), much of the animal kingdom is occupied by creatures who are neither moral agents nor otherwise in a position to make choices about what to eat on ethical grounds due to limited dietary flexibility. This puts omnivorous, agential humans in a very different moral position to that of nonhuman animals with respect to our choices about what we eat and how we harvest it. Whatever 21See Charles List's chapter in this volume. 22This seems to have been true even in notably egalitarian cultures, like the pre-western contact culture in Vanuatu. See Wrangham (2010). 10 might be said in favor of treating farming on the one hand and hunting or trapping on the other differently from a moral point of view, it is not on account of the latter's being more natural than the former.23 This brings us to HENP and the question of whether there are contingent features of hunting and trapping that might have an effect on the moral permissibility of eating wild-caught fish. The answer to this question brings us back to §1 of this paper: how does hunting or trapping fish affect their wellbeing differently from farming them? Unfortunately, it is difficult to offer accurate generalizations regarding fish welfare in farmed systems. That is because the conditions of these systems vary drastically. In some, fish are highly stressed and subject to other welfare concerns, like disease and parasites.24 But other controlled environments have been designed to minimize stressors and disease. It is yet more difficult to offer generalizations regarding the welfare effects of catching fish in the wild, in part because it is very difficult to study the stress-effects of actually catching fish in the wild. However, the effects of contemporary wild catching practices on fish populations are much more apparent: severe and ongoing depletion of fish stocks. As of 2002, the UN reported that 24% of fisheries were either overexploited or depleted.25 Even more worryingly, some now estimate that wild fish stocks will completely collapse by 2048.26 Even if this proves to be overly pessimistic, it seems safe to say that current wild capture practices can hardly be thought to constitute anything other than a disaster for fish welfare, considered at the population level. So to conclude concerning the question of wild capture, whether it makes a difference to the moral permissibility of eating fish in the actual world seems to depend more on what we say about HINP 23A more nuanced version of this thought might run as follows: "it is simply in the nature of certain animals to be eaten by other animals. If it is in the nature of some animal to be eaten by other animals, then there might be no sense in which it is wrong for that animal to be eaten; those animals are simply fulfilling their nature." While we are skeptical of the strong teleological outlook required in order to support this sort of objection, we are willing to spot such assumptions for the sake of argument. Still, we think, this objection fails. For the relevant question is not whether these creatures should be eaten by their natural predators, but rather by us, by human beings equipped with all manner of artifice, be that fishing lines or trawlers. We are unable to see how anything short of a divine creation-type story would allow one to posit that fish it in their nature to be caught and eaten by creatures like us. At the very least, some explanation of how this might be possible would be required to take this sort of view seriously. 24Cf. Conte (2004). 25United Nations Food and Agricultural Organization: General Situation of World Fish Stocks. Accessed at <www.fao.org/newsroom/common/ecg/1000505/en/stocks.pdf>. 26Worm et al. (2006). 11 rather than HENP, at least when the alternative food sources are plant-based. With respect to HINP, back to nature arguments do not appear to lend the principle much support, but it remains an open question as to whether farming might be inherently morally worse than hunting and trapping, given otherwise equal effects on its victims. Fishing Communities and Cultural Practices27 Fishing communities and farming communities differ in at least one interesting way. Many farming communities (although perhaps not ranching communities) could in principle maintain many aspects important of their lifestyle by switching what they farm from livestock to plants. On the other hand, if it proves morally impermissible to wild-harvest fish, the lifestyle of many traditional and modern communities would be lost. Perhaps the moral benefit of preserving these communities and lifestyles outweighs the harm of at least certain kinds of fishing, or perhaps the harm of harvesting certain kinds of fish. There are pitfalls in trying to defend this line of argument that must be avoided, so we shall begin by trying to avoid them. The first is committing to too strong of a moral principle. Let us call the toostrong principle the 'absolute principle of cultural preservation': The absolute principle of cultural preservation (ACP): The fact that P is a longstanding cultural practice, central to a community's way of life, makes preserving P the overriding moral consideration. It is not at all difficult to see what is wrong with ACP, which would provide overriding justification for the continuation of chattel slavery, serfdom, the systematic oppression of women, and many other deeply morally objectionable practices. To avoid the obvious problems that arise from ACP, we can try an alternative principle: The weaker principle of cultural preservation (WCP): The fact that P is a longstanding cultural practice, central to a community's way of life, makes preserving P a moral consideration to be non-minimally28 weighed against other moral considerations. 27We thank Simon Rosenqvist, who provided us with many valuable comments, in particular for his contribution to improving this section. 28The	'non-minimal'	clause	is	to	ensure	that	the	considerations	are	not	treated	so	weakly	as	to	be	always morally	outweighed	by	other	considerations. 12 WCP is clearly more plausible than ACP. All things considered, societies with chattel slavery ought to change their laws, members of cultures that oppress women ought to change their practices, and so on. However, even WCP is problematic, at least in forms that would help the case for making fishing, and the eating of fish that pays for it, be morally permissible. To see why, let us consider its consequences. If the fact that a particular practice is central to community's way of life is some non-minimally weighted moral reason to preserve that practice, then at least sometimes it must be able to outweigh, or at least balance against, another non-minimally weighted moral reason. Fishing kills a great many fish and also marine mammals (as an unintended consequence). Suppose that we assign a low moral weight to the suffering and death of each of these animals individually. Presumably over the history of the practice of fishing, eventually the amount of moral harm done is equivalent to that of killing a single human individual. Now let us suppose that there is culture with the following practice. Each year a handful of sand is thrown on the roof of every home occupied by just a single person. Let us also suppose that those homes are always occupied by a single person, with a new one moving in when the previous occupant partners off or otherwise leaves. Let us suppose that eventually, over the course of many decades, one of the roofs will collapse, killing the home's occupant. At that time, all the sand is removed from other roofs and used to fill in the collapsed house as a ceremonial grave. We might suppose that this practice exists for a reason of sorts. The community for its own safety has to move sand away from one side of the village, where the village food supply is grown, to keep it from mixing in with the soil. When the village was originally founded, it was too difficult to move the sand much beyond the village, and this practice of removal to single villagers' roofs had the benefit of not impeding cart traffic in the streets with big piles of sand. With modern technology, the village could over a period of several years safely transition to moving the sand all the way to the other side of the village. But the villagers choose not to, in part because a way of life will be lost. The threat of collapsing roofs is an important part of the process of partnering off, as it motivates single persons to marry, and it plays a critical role the regulating the real estate market. Even though this practice only kills one person every several decades and serves further cultural and economic purposes in the community, it is difficult to see the case for preserving its existence. Its moral costs are in the scheme of things not very high, but the trade-off between maintaining the 13 culture and killing someone unnecessarily seem to work against the former and in favor of the latter.29 It seems likely that someone who is attracted to the cultural practice argument will be willing to bite the bullet on cases like this one.30 It is our suspicion that increasing the number of innocents who are involuntarily harmed by the cultural practices will eventually make biting the bullet too difficult, even for those attracted to the cultural practices argument. The actual harm done by traditional fishing is often higher than might be expected. Commercial fishing, one of the bedrock traditional cultures of upper New England, is rated by the National Institute of Occupational Safety and Health as the most dangerous profession in America. Many Maine fisherman work in the most dangerous sub-industry is fishing for scallops (from 2000-2009 deaths occurred at a rate of 425 per 100,000 full time fisherman annually, or 26 total deaths during that period) and groundfish (at a rate of 600 deaths annually per 100,000 full time fisherman, or 44 total deaths, during the same period) in the Atlantic.31 It is at least plausible to assume that alternative economies could be developed with safer primary of sources of employment. Perhaps the most plausible cultural preservation principle would be one like this: The moral principle of cultural preservation (MCP): The fact that P is a longstanding cultural practice, central to a community's way of life, makes preserving P a moral good in virtue of being a cultural practice if and only if P is not morally bad independently of being a cultural practice. This principle's plausibility strikes us as difficult to explain beyond appeal to the folk's intuitions. People are quick to appeal to cultural practice as a good reason for doing something, as long as the tradition is seen as central to a particular culture and is not thought to be excessively harmful. We ourselves are not confident that the folk's intuitions are correct in this case, but that is a separate discussion.32 29Tyler Doggett helpfully noted to us that there are many cultural practices that cause unnecesary deaths, but against which there is no serious public outcry. Some of these practices, for example alpinism practiced by informed and consenting adults, may fall within the range of those activities which are unwise but permissible. In those cases where consent cannot be given, for example for dangerous activities that might be required of children in schools, it would seem that the lack of public outcry is a moral failing. 30Mark Budolfson helpfully suggested this point to us. 31See Center for Disease Control and Prevention (2010). 32See Cudd (2006) for a wide-ranging discussion of the problems of among other things assigning much moral weight to a practice because it is a cultural tradition. 14 While MCP may be correct, it is difficult to see what role it could play in an argument for the moral permissibility for the consumption of fish as a means to supporting fishing communities. In order for MCP to do work, it would already have to have been determined that fishing is not morally bad. There is some ambiguity in the 'morally bad' clause in MCP. If it is read as pro tanto bad, then it is difficult to see, affording any moral weight to the welfare of marine life (the fish being fished for or the marine mammals being harmed as a side-effect), it is difficult to see how fishing could fail to be pro tanto bad. On the other hand, if the clause is read as morally bad all things considered, then MCP does no extra work in determining the all things considered goodness or badness of fishing. This does leave open one possibility for the distinctive role that fishing plays in fishing communities to matter. That is the question of how much harm will accrue to the individuals of the community if they can no longer sell their fish. If eating fish is required for selling fish, and the failure to sell fish will result in significant harms to the fishing community, then the harms to the victims of fishing must be weighed against the harms from the cessation of fishing to the members of the fishing community.33 What the final assessment of these considerations should be is both a theoretical and an empirical question. But even if the immediate cessation of fishing, or of eating fish, would be morally wrong, it remains an open question as to whether particular communities or individuals are morally required to begin the transition process to a different lifestyle. Without the cultural preservation principles, and contingent on the feasibility of doing so, we cannot see any argument against many fishing communities being morally required to effect a transition to a different economy. Two Collective Action Problems Fishing raises a number of tricky issues pertaining to how we ought to act together-both as human beings in general and as specifically political groups-and what that means for how we ought to act individually. We shall focus here on two: first, how should fishing be regulated, given that it largely takes place in environments which are difficult to monitor and where rules are difficult, if not impossible, to enforce? Second, what should one do, as an individual, given the considerations regarding fish attested to above? As we shall see, these questions are not unrelated. Fisheries are, in a sense, the world's last great common resource. Many fisheries are, of course, 33Tyler Doggett helpfully pointed out that similar arguments may arise with respect to free-range farming: if these farms are less efficient, and that decrease in efficiency isn't made up for via increased prices, then farmers will be harmed by switching to free-range methods. That harm would thus need to be weighed against the benefit to the animals involved. 15 located within national waters, but a great many are located well beyond these boundaries. Supposing for the moment that we accept that we ought, collectively, to allow for industrial-scale fishing, how ought we to manage fishing stocks, and in particular those stocks which lie beyond the bounds of any national border? One common proposal is that we ought to harvest fish 'sustainably', where this is taken to mean something like "maintaining a yield of X tonnes of a particular species indefinitely while not grossly degrading the surrounding oceanic environment." One might attempt to achieve this goal in a number of different ways, but one common thought is that some non-governmental or supragovernmental body ought to distribute permits to catch a certain amount of fish in line with experts' projections for the particular fishery in question.34 This, in turn, raises the question of how these permits should be distributed, and how their trade should subsequently be regulated. We take this question of what this initial distribution should look like to be a very hard problem. It might initially seem that these permits should be primarily given to fisherpeople from poorer regions, since this would effectively serve as a wealth-transfer scheme to those regions. But note that fisherpeople from poorer regions may well have more incentive to cheat if they can, since greater profit is likely to disproportionately improve the lives of people in very poor areas. What's more, anti-cheating regimes (via inspections) and technologies (e.g. GPS transmitters) are expensive and may pose an undue burden on fisherpeople from poorer regions. On the other hand, distributing permits to fisherpeople from rich countries looks very much like rewarding these people for already being wealthy. All this suggests that there may be no easy answer to the question of how, regardless of what sort of agency might be set up to control fishing in international waters, permissions to fish in those waters ought to be distributed. Even if a fair distribution scheme were to be implemented, one would have to expect illegal fishing in international waters to continue well into the future. All this might make it tempting to shift the burden of regulating fishing from the body politic to the consumer: if consumers were to demand that the fish they eat be certified in some reliable manner, or if they were to refrain from eating fish at all, wouldn't that resolve this problem of regulating the world's ocean commons? Unfortunately, there is reason to worry that it might not. This brings us to our second question regarding collective action and fish: as an individual, should one expect to have any effect on fish welfare by choosing not to purchase and eat fish? Sadly, we suspect not. The system of fish production is highly complex and waste-tolerant, meaning that the signals generated by individuals' purchases (or lack thereof) are likely to get drowned out in the noise 34See, for instance, Hilbourn (2012). 16 of the overall system.35 This threatens to undermine one common motivation for not eating fish: the hope that one's individual actions will directly result, via the transmission of an economic signal, in increased fish welfare. Analogous reasoning should lead one to expect that one's signal regarding a particular certification scheme will be drowned out by the noise of the overall system of fish production. Of course, this problem is not at all unique to the question of whether it is permissible to eat fish; analogous problems arise with respect to any sort of land or avian animal we might consider eating.36 While we cannot hope to deal with this problem in full here, we shall offer a few initial thoughts on why this observation does not support the view that it is prima facie morally permissible to eat fish, or likewise to purchase fish without regard to their sustainability. Our basic strategy of response will be of the 'partners in crime' variety. That is, we think that this sort of worry can be used to generate an apparent reason not to φ in instances where one clearly ought to φ. So we reject the thought that inefficacy undermines one's reasons to φ in any general sense. That, of course, leaves unresolved the question of whether inefficacy worries undermine one's reasons not to eat fish in particular. So how does this sort of inefficacy objection threaten to over-generate? Consider a situation in which you live in a slave-holding society. You do not yourself own slaves, yet you face the following choice: either you can speak out in opposition of slavery and face moderately unpleasant social repercussions, or you can stay quiet and suffer no such repercussions. Either way, you should expect that your actions will have no effect on the welfare of the enslaved population around you. We can further stipulate that you are right in this expectation; your actions either way will have absolutely no effect on any slave's wellbeing. Ought you speak out against slavery and suffer the moderately unpleasant social repercussions? We submit that the answer is very clearly "yes." This shows that the mere fact that an action requires a small personal sacrifice but is likely to be causally inefficacious is not a clear object to that action's rightness. We further contend that the minor harms one might suffer by not eating fish-some lack of possible gustatory pleasure-are less significant than the moderate social harms of our imagined scenario.37 35See Budolfson (forthcoming) for the terrestrial analog of this argument. 36See the chapters by Nefsky, Fischer, and McPherson. 37We assume for the sake of argument that one can obtain all the necessary nutrients for a healthy life 17 The slavery example makes it easy to see that problems of collective action occur in many ethical contexts, from voting to taking actions to protect the environment. These collective action problems relate closely to cooperative behavior problems in ethics and to the problem of redundant causation in ethical action. At present, how to explain why problems like these, including the slavery problem, arise is controversial. It is much less controversial, however, to hold that one in fact has obligations even in cases where one's individual actions are inefficacious in part because others do not take similar actions. Thus, we tentatively conclude that basic inefficacy concerns do not yet serve to undermine arguments to the effect that we should not eat fish. And, to whatever extent one is unconvinced by those arguments, we do not think that these arguments undermine the thought that, in eating fish, one should attend to the sustainability and average environmental impact of the sort of fish one is eating. In order for these sorts of arguments to constitute a clear justification for the permissibility of eating fish, more would need to be done to demonstrate that the present case is unlike the case of the ineffective abolitionist we have just considered, as well as being different to many other ethical issues that run into closely related efficacy challenges besides.38 Conclusion Empirical ignorance and lack of empathy have often led to poor ethical decision making. In 2012, a weak year for international fisheries, the total fish catch for the world was 90 million tonnes. It is difficult to estimate how many total fish that includes, but even if we cautiously estimated the average fish size at 200lbs, this would mean that 900 million individuals were caught and killed. This does not include all the fish and other sea organisms killed collaterally in the fishing process. If humans are collectively making a moral mistake in eating many popular kinds of fish, then we are by eating sea vegetables rather than fish. The prime suspect for concern is Omega 3 fatty acids, which accumulate in fish flesh via their consumption of seaweeds containing those fatty acids, seaweeds from which these fatty acids can, in fact, be directly extracted. If this assumption proves to be wrong-that is, if there prove to be certain nutrients that can only be obtained by eating fish flesh- that might change the calculation here slightly, depending on the particular ill-effects of failing to consume these nutrients. 38Of course, we do not mean to rule out the possibility that inefficacy can serve to undermine one's reasons to φ in the right circumstances. For instance, the fact that a certain charity is ineffective can be an excellent reason for me to give to a different charity instead. What's more, we take it that there are likely to be cases where the fact that φ-ing is likely to be ineffective matters quite a bit to whether one ought to φ: for instance, cases where φ-ing also brings with it a significant risk of self-harm. We cannot see how the question of whether to eat fish could be seriously taken (by those in our likely audience's circumstances) to constitute a case like this, however. 18 making a massive moral mistake. This raises the question of how likely we are to be making a massive collective moral mistake. New and innovative research into fish intelligence and psychology has started to suggest that many of our naïve assumptions regarding the sophistication of many species of fish and about their capacity to feel pain and to suffer are simply false. This is in keeping with the general trend of learning through study that many species of animals possess intelligence and psychological capacities that were often not readily apparent to us on account of their inability to report their own interior lives. At the same time, the inscrutability of fish to us does little to generate empathy for them. It is easier to discount the suffering of creatures who cannot make the nature and intensity of their suffering known to us in a way that evokes an emotional response. For both this reason and because we have likely been underestimating the degree to which they possess morally salient psychological features, it now seems likely that we collectively have been acting wrongly with respect to eating fish on account of the harm caused by harvesting them. At the same time, distinctive features of the harvesting of fish-that they are wild caught and that they support distinctive ways of life-appear unlikely to weigh heavily enough in the moral calculus to tip the moral scales towards the permissibility of our collectively harvesting and eating fish. Best we can tell then, we are likely to be making a massive moral mistake when it comes to the way that we, collectively, interact with fish. Fish would seem to be worthy of moral consideration such that we should think twice about killing them for food, particularly when there are other options available to us. Even if the evidence in favor of fishes' moral standing was less compelling, we still think that a principle of caution would favor a massive shift in our attitudes towards fish. Suppose that I am only 50% confident that this is a priceless Ming vase as opposed to a fake: I still have excellent reason to be extremely careful with the vase. Why? 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