Working knowledge - bet 3
Altruism is very common among humans. We do it all the time, and even enjoy it. Some economists, like high school debaters, take great pleasure in pointing out that people enjoy altruism, therefore it is selfish, therefore altruism cannot exist. This argument would be beneath notice if it were not so common. The interesting fact is precisely that people do good simply because they enjoy helping. They often do it by stealth, without anyone but the helper knowing. Even when they help because they “should,” they are being altruistic. Try to explain “should” to a mountain lion, the quintessential loner animal. Crows who go up against a hawk understand “should” perfectly—not in the ear, but in the heart, where it matters. The mountain lion will never understand.
Humans have more complex biology than crows or dogs, but, with us as with them, it seems that instinct teaches us to be favorably disposed towards anyone near. Doubtless, in prehistoric times, people nearby were likely to be relatives, so individuals were increasing their own overall genetic fitness by favoring close neighbors. Early Darwinians also expected people to be fixated on their immediate descendents. They are not. Humans do take care of their nuclear families, but they are also protective of wider groups. Humans everywhere create levels of fictive kinship, from full adoption at birth to courtesy-aunts. Sacrifice for the wide group is universal and routine.
In fact, human society depends on bonds that go far beyond anything that can be maintained by direct reciprocity or any other rational or economic bond (let alone blood relationship). We have to be respectful to perfect strangers, obedient to governments whose leaders we never meet, and faithful to abstract rules and concepts that have no personal embodiment at all. Not even crows and dogs manage this. They will die for their groups, perhaps even for The Flag if you condition them to see it as a group marker, but not for Liberty or Capitalism.
Humans also sacrifice their lives willingly for their social groups, whether kin or no. Not only loyal soldiers, but even punks in street gangs, do this without a second thought. Some ideology of fictive kin—“we are a band of brothers”—always seems to enter in, but it is often a very small fig-leaf. People will sacrifice themselves for “imagined communities,” in Benedict Anderson’s famous phrase (B. Anderson 1991).
Humans are so social that loneliness is intensely stressful, causing major health consequences. Oddly, however, loneliness can be caught socially, like an infection. It actually propagates through social networks. This is especially true for women, who talk over their problems with each other a great deal; sympathizing with another’s loneliness makes a woman think of her own problems, and thus what might be called infectious loneliness has been traced through a whole large social network in a major study (Cacioppo et al. 2009).
Many early theories of human evolution were based on the assumption that Darwinian selection necessarily produced competitive individualists. This belief, derived from economic theory, is wrong. Humans join a vast group of animals—crows, parrots, wolves, dolphins, monkeys, and even colonial corals and amoebas—in living highly social lives based heavily on cooperation. Individual advantage comes from working with one’s society. Social scientists speak loosely of "society" as if it were a single tangible object, but this must not lead us to reify or essentialize society. Society is people—families, friends, foes, and those "Other People" our parents were always invoking. ("What will Other People say if you wear that shirt?")
Social scientists who take their reification too literally can delude themselves into thinking that individuals react rationally to Society, or its Institutions, or its Principles. Ethnographers know that, in reality, individuals react emotionally to other individuals or to symbols of reference groups. The individuals may be filling social roles to enforce cultural rules, but they are confronting each other person to person, and that is a confrontation that always, necessarily, invokes a total personal response. Social attacks, criticisms, and and even small verbal slights are physiologically very stressful, causing major release of stress hormones (Flinn 2008) and preparation of the body for fight, flight or depression.
This means that we are evolved to think in terms of sharing, being responsible, being protective, and caring within groups of this size. People are not “selfish”; unless traumatized and abused to the point of fearing and hating their own, they will care for their families and friends. But, on the other hand, people are not evolved to take care of the whole world. It becomes harder and harder to care about other people as they get farther and farther from one’s immediate reference group. One of the proofs of this is corruption: corrupt officials sometimes look out for themselves, but usually look out for their families and friends, if only because they have to have mutual support. My long experience living in corrupt countries is that the problem is not selfishness but lack of unity above the group level. People are fully participant in their families, friendship groups, villages, and neighborhoods. They just don’t feel any real identification or participation with the wider state-level polity. An extreme example is the Mafia, characterized as it is by incredible levels of loyalty and mutual support at family and village level, but a purely predatory attitude toward everything beyond.
Existing hunting-gathering groups display a great deal of moving around, especially as young people marry out. A given group includes a lot of non-kin, many of them wives or husbands coming from different groups. This makes kin selection difficult. Often, however, at least some kin stay together, and brother-sister bonds are important (Hill et al. 2011).
Social solidarity is constructed through religion, songs, folklore, festivals, co-work, shared cultural knowledge, and other ways. Such devices are increasingly necessary as populations get larger and more “faceless.” Even a small group needs some of these social mechanisms, but a nation needs massive investment in them. From media and museums to schools and songs, nations draw on every mechanism they can think of to create “imagined communities” (B. Anderson 1991).
However, humans are amazingly comfortable in large groups. Even simple hunter-gatherer societies usually run to about 500 individuals. There is evidence that 500 is about the number of entities that the human brain can easily manage when they are clumped into one sector. A typical person seems to know (really know, not merely recognize) about 500 place names, 500 plants, 500 people (Berlin 1992; Hunn 2007). Homo sapiens naturally lives in a world of expanding social circles that typically run from a very intimate inner circle of three or four to a wide one of perhaps 500. These larger groups in turn add up, and people now feel solidarity with much larger groups—nations, religions, even all humanity or all life.
Often, solidarity is constructed along kinship lines and breaks down along them when conflict occurs. This is known as “segmentary opposition” in the trade, but is better put by the Mediterranean proverb: “I against my brother, my brother and I against our cousin, my cousin and brother and I against our village, and our village against the world!” That captures the realities of human sociability about as well as many a learned tome in sociology. Because of this, the most universal way of constructing “imagined communities” is by making their members into fictive brothers and sisters, or, with some churches, “brethren and sistren.” Many patriotic song begins “We are a band of brothers…” or something very close. (The specific quote is the first line of “The Bonny Blue Flag,” a Confederate rallying song.)
Robin Dunbar and others (Dunbar and Shultz 2007) find that in higher primates brain size—including size of brain regions—tracks social complexity. In other animals, pair-bonded species are bigger-brained than others, but higher levels of sociability do not add much (except perhaps in crows and jays). Dunbar and Shultz argue that human “bondedness” is a complex social phenomenon, like pair-bonding, rather than mere aggregating. Evolution has selected for computation of complicated social relationships. Joan Silk (2007) details many of the primate relationships in question and their advantages. Clearly, higher primates succeed through large-scale, complex sociability. Humans are far more sophisticated at such tasks than apes, though humans are not much better than apes at many physical tasks (Herrmann et al 2007) and even at simple life-skill cognitions like picking good food from a forest environment.
This can only have arisen if early humans received huge advantages from living in big groups. I personally cannot imagine any way that group solidarity and self-sacrifice could have evolved except through warfare, as many have argued from Darwin on down (Bowles 2008, LeBlanc and Register 2002; Van Vugt et al. 2008). Samuel Bowles (2009) has recently made a powerful case for this argument, showing that small local cultures do fight a great deal; mortality from violence in such groups can be as low as zero, but usually runs from 4 or 5% to over 40% of deaths, and these are often among young people with most of their reproductive lives ahead of them. Bowles shows that wars between groups could rapidly select for solidarity with such mortality.
Groups of 50-150 must have been able to unite and exterminate smaller groups. Modern Homo sapiens appeared in East Africa about 200,000 years ago, and very possibly the key adaptation was development of tight, fast-moving, warlike bands of this size that quickly eliminated rivals. I believe this is why we humans feel so extremely protective about our immediate groups, as argued by Bowles (2008). Bowles is a former Marxist, and recognizing this must be a bitter pill for him; so much for worker solidarity!
Hatred of rival groups is very often the deepest, most intense, and most involving human feeling. Markers of group membership, such as physical similarity and shared basic ideas and beliefs, evolve into racism and religious bias. Often, the only way to unify a diverse group is to oppose a common enemy (Arrow 2007; Bowles 2006; Boyd 2006; Choi and Bowles 2007; Nowak 2006). Bowles thinks that competition over resources in the harsh, fast-fluctuating conditions of Pleistocene Africa would have made this a likely scenario (cf. Potts 1996; see also Boyd and Richerson 2005; Cheney and Seyfarth 2007; Richerson and Boyd 2005). Leaders manipulate this by targeting hated groups.
A truly Machiavellian leader, like Osama bin Laden, may take advantage of his enemies’ blundering by getting them to seem opposed to a huge group rather than to a tiny band. Bin Laden quite openly admitted that Al Qaeda’s 2001 attack on the United States was deliberately calculated to make the Bush administration incautiously blame “Islam” or “the Islamic world” rather than a tiny, ragged band of not-very-Muslim fanatics. Bush played into this, talking of a “crusade” and letting his stalwart backers rant about a “clash of civilizations” and other wild-eyed matters. The result was that a group that would have ordinarily been written off as mad managed to get all Islam to see the United States as their collective enemy.
What matters in this story is that it shows that humans have to be stirred up to feel truly threatened by a structural-opponent group, but that it is generally easy to stir them up, and once they are stirred up their enmity often gets out of control and becomes all-dominant and implacable.
Human life seems based on “parochial altruism”—mutual support among “us”—and opposition to “them” (structural opponent groups). A society of tolerant altruists would not stay compact and tightly organized enough—no selection pressure would favor strong altruism and self-sacrifice. It would be vulnerable to any threat. A society of bullies—oppositional and nonaltruistic—would quickly destroy itself. Instead, we observe unity against opponents, such that the easiest and commonest way to unite a society behind a leader is for the leader to go up against an enemy. The interesting question, clearly, is how “we” and “they” are defined. Threat can bring together warring factions. Humans are individualists as well as social, and this leads to endless reshuffling of groups.
Most of us have multiple memberships and roles, and can be mobilized to defend our country, our neighborhood, our profession, or our family, according to whatever threat seems most immediate. Government can be my defender and organizer against invaders one year, but the next year can be the enemy when it tries to build a superhighway over my family land. Much, if not most, of social life is a constant negotiation and renegotiation of threats and priorities for defense.
Societies are nested: the town in the province, the province in the nation, the nation in the world. Societies grade into each other: French into Swiss, North Italian into South Italian. Social rule systems have fuzzy edges, and there is continual negotiation and debate in the fuzzy zones (and even in the cores).
That 50-150 size range was probably the biggest that the early hunting-gathering lifestyle could support. It may also be about the minimum size for a viable breeding population of humans. There must have been peaceful benefits to large groups too: food-finding, collective food-gathering and storing, sharing information, social support, defense against nonhuman predators, and much more. Complex culture probably cannot develop with extremely small, scattered groups; it requires demographic critical mass (Powell et al. 2009). The more people are interacting, the more cultural complexity can be maintained, so long as the people are not reduced to serious want or illness.
The birth of sociability through war explains only our vicious and cruel streak and our sometimes fanatical loyalty. Human sociable goodness, so popularity in all societies, must have evolved in connection with more beneficial group activities. War by itself would not produce the whole spectrum of “caring and sharing.” The arts, usually neglected by students of human evolution, but universal and biologically grounded, must have arisen to communicate deep and usually positive emotion within a wide group. They still serve to bond groups by communicating, and synchronizing, emotions too deep for speech. Perhaps Giambattista Vico was right in his speculation, almost 300 years ago, that humans sang before they talked (Vico 2000; Mithen 2007).
Animals from termites to crows and mole-rats have evolved extreme sociability without warfare or group competition. They probably did it because of food: they feed by specialized manipulation of large patches of stuff they can eat. Termites seek logs, mole-rats seek large tubers, and crows seek garbage dumps (or the pre-human equivalent). Humans certainly evolved as seekers for rich, widely dispersed patches of food—berrying grounds, small animal concentrations, rich fishing spots—and that has very obviously conditioned our social life (Anderson 2005). Baboons have groups whose solidarity fades with distance, but extends to neighboring troops. I have watched baboon troops break down into small foraging groups and rejoin into large troops. These troops hold together only so long as food is concentrated and abundant (tourist-facility garbage cans, for example).
Social life, including altruism, could have evolved through “kin selection, direct reciprocity, indirect reciprocity, network reciprocity, and group selection” (Nowak 2006:1560)—in other words, at first through kin sticking together in families, later through extending networks of reciprocal help and exchange. Such networks could extend farther and farther. Finally, groups held together by such ties could compete with other groups, making some degree of group selection at least theoretically possible (Curry 2006).
Solidarity and responsibility decline with social distance. This is quite different from hatred, rejection, or prejudice. I feel nothing but good will toward the people of India, but I can’t feel as loving and responsible toward them as I do toward my children. On the other hand, my adopted kids are as close to me as my biological ones, and my sister-in-law and her kids are a very great deal closer to me than my blood cousins, proving that social closeness can overcome lack of genetic closeness.
Fairness and egalitarianism also characterize humans, and are also wired in. This makes great sense if we evolved to find and share large patches of food, but no sense if we evolved only to fight. Egalitarianism as opposed to simple selfishness develops between the ages of 3 and 7 in humans (Fehr et al. 2008). It never develops in chimpanzees, our closest relatives, or in dogs. Dogs can be generous with puppies in their pack, but throw the pack some bones, and selfish competition with even the closest packmates is the rule. This startles us humans when we see it in such an otherwise social animal.
Leadership is another concern that evolved, again in connection with war as well as foraging. An excellent discussion by Van Vugt, Hogan and Kaiser (2008—I like that third name!) finds the origin of leadership and hierarchy in tribal warfare and its need for rapid, organized dealing with any emergency. I agree, though these authors exaggerate both the extent of the warfare and its monolithic role. Leadership surely involved defense against predatory animals, organization of foraging and foodsharing, care for the long-helpless human infants, eldership in kingroups, and ordinary dispute-resolution, as well as actual war-leading.
These authors also emphasize followership: people have to have a strong capacity to put themselves under an elder or leader. This would follow naturally from our long childhood under parental supervision, but it does go well beyond that. Nothing could be further from Hobbes’ “savage” in a “warre of each against all” than the human animal docilely following a warchief, boss, or priest. The human problem—control over life versus sociability—here takes the form of maintaining a balance of power, with conformity but with full accountability and recourse, in hierarchic situations.
Humans are usually raised by parents who constantly correct them, often harshly. They generally deal with that, and go on to live peaceably in a wider social world where such correction would be insulting and conflictive. We do this so easily that we never realize how truly weird it is. Children by the age of five learn that they can’t talk to each other the way their parents often talk to them. Adults have learned a great deal more about fine-tuning critiques. Correcting your own child, your neighbor’s wayward kid, and the office pest all require different behaviors.
No animal can even remotely approximate this. Higher mammal parents can be strict teachers, and the young take it, but—at least among adult wild animals—any attempted correction by a nonparent merely gets a fight started. Domestic dogs have been bred to take any amount of correction (and even abuse) without usually turning on their masters. Many a wolf-owner has gotten careless and tried that with a pet wolf. Bad idea. And even a dog will not put up with the insane abuse that spouses and children get, and accept, in many households. Some other animals are savage enough to dole out such abuse, but no other animal will tolerate it.
In the contemporary world, many people seem to need not only direct social ties, but the "virtual" social and communicative world of movies and TV shows. I have spent a good deal of my life in “developing” societies, and I find that, everywhere, the first thing people buy when they get beyond the barest necessities is a communication device—a radio, TV, or cellphone. The worldwide appeal of the media says everything about the desperate human need to be in a social communication network. TV has become a social ritual, but it is also a practical necessity for more and more people, allowing them to talk about and understand their interpersonal worlds. A person who ignores the media is almost a nonbeing.
Human hard-wiring for sociability includes our large numbers of mirror neurons, which respond to both others’ behavior and our own equivalent behavior. This allows—even forces—tight entailment of behavior, or at least “empathetic” reaction to others. A simple model is provided by birds, which learn songs from others with the help of a mirror-neuron system that connects vocal centers, motor centers, and forebrain (Prather et al. 2008). Monkeys have more. Humans appear to have large numbers of mirror neurons entraining all sorts of behavior. This permits culture: exceedingly elaborate, complex behavior learned from the wider group. Without massive innervation with mirror neurons, we could never manage that.
Ashley Montagu, many years ago, wrote a book called The Biosocial Nature of Man (1973; the title follows the usage of the time—of course he intended to include women). He stressed the biological grounding of human sociability. Indeed, we are the heirs of millions of years of evolution as a social species.
Language, Too, Evolved
This evolutionary scenario for humans would be just about right for developing the complex language we have and use (see again Cheney and Seyfarth 2007). Even a smart animal does not need language for communicating in a small face-to-face kingroup. We clearly have innate skills in language (Chomsky 1957; Pinker 2003; on wider questions of innate abilities, see Barkow, Cosmides and Tooby 1992). Language involves facility with complex symbols, but above all it requires a facility for arranging them in hierarchic structures: sounds into words, words into sentences, sentences into texts, texts into life works, life works into whole traditions. No other animal can even manage a sentence, let alone a lifetime of writings organized into a single coherent oeuvre, or a commentary on Shakespeare’s place in Western drama.
All this must have evolved over time. The idea that language was “invented” in a short, rather recent time is clearly wrong. The human lip, tongue, and throat musculature, vocal cords, and brain wiring all show clear proof of thousands of generations of evolutionary shaping for highly complex vocal communication. Presumably, language evolved from two-symbol phrases (such as apes create in gesture talk, and many birds produce in song) to simple three-“word” phrases, and on to very simple sentences, and ultimately—possibly within the last 150,000 years—to full grammatical complexity.
This language program governs not only language but also a large part of music and other arts. Human music is a strange and complex phenomenon, clearly close to language in its communicative function and hierarchic organization. All animals communicate, but very few sing. Most are birds, and many of these actually learn a musical communication system, as opposed to following rigid instinct. However, they, like chimpanzees and dogs, are not known to go beyond simple phrases. They appear to have nothing like a sentence, let alone a book. I sometimes wonder about mockingbirds, though; what are they thinking when they weave all those imitations into their songs?
It would make no sense for even the most intelligent animal to talk, if it had no social groups, or none bigger than the nuclear family. Messages could be communicated economically by instinctive noises and gestures. Language would be wildly overengineered for such an animal. It makes sense only if there is a large group, many of whom are out of touch for long periods and some of whom are immigrant, and if this groups sometimes needs to talk to other large groups that are downright strangers.
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