arrived ahead of him to set up a “spontaneous” encounter in which Dawkins would drive up to the door, step out of his van, walk toward me, shake my hand, and warmly greet me before we’d walk off together to see the primates. We did all of this as if it were the first time—even though we’d met before. To break the ice, I told him about the epic drought in Georgia, and how our governor had just led a prayer vigil on the steps of the state capitol to make sure we’d get some rain. This cheered up the staunch atheist, and we laughed at the marvelous coincidence that the vigil had been planned as soon as the weatherman had announced rain.
Our tower debate was frosty indeed, but only because it was one of those unusually chilly days in Georgia. With Dawkins unselfishly tossing fruits at the apes below, we quickly settled on common ground, which wasn’t too hard given our shared academic background. I have no problems calling genes “selfish” so long as it’s understood that this says
nothing
about the actual motives of humans or animals, and Dawkins agreed that all sorts of behavior, including acts of genuine kindness, may be produced by genes selected to benefit their carriers. In short, we agreed on a separation between what drives evolution and what drives actual behavior that is about as well recognized in biology as is the separation of church and state outside Georgia.
Overall, we had a splendid chat, as the Brits say, trying to flesh out this two-level approach. Before applying it here to kindness or altruism, let me start with a simpler example: color vision. Seeing colors is thought to have come about because our primate ancestors needed to tell ripe and unripe fruits apart. But once we could see color, the capacity became available for all sorts of other purposes. We use it to read maps, notice someone’s blushing, or find shoes that match our blouse. This has little to do with fruits, although colors indicatingripeness—red or yellow—still get us excited and are therefore prominent in traffic lights, advertisements, and works of art. On the other hand, nature’s default color—green—is considered calming, restful, and boring.
The animal kingdom is full of traits that evolved for one reason but are also used for others. The hoofs of ungulates are adapted to run on hard surfaces, but also deliver a mean kick to pursuers. The hands of primates evolved to grasp branches, but also help infants cling to their mothers. The mouths of fish are made for feeding, but also serve as “holding pens” for the fry of mouth-breeding cichlids. When it comes to behavior, too, the original function doesn’t always tell us how and why a behavior will be used in daily life. Behavior enjoys
motivational autonomy.
A good example is sex. Even though our genital anatomy and sexual urges evolved for reproduction, most of us engage in sex without paying attention to its long-term consequences. I’ve always thought that the main impetus for sex must be pleasure, but in a recent poll by American psychologists Cindy Meston and David Buss people offered a bewildering array of reasons, from “I wanted to please my boyfriend” and “I needed a raise” to “we had nothing to do” and “I was curious how she’d be in bed.” If humans usually engage in sex without giving reproduction a thought—which is why we have the morning-after pill—this holds even more for animals, which don’t know the connection between sex and reproduction. They have sex because they are attracted to one another, or because they have learned its pleasurable effects, but not because they want to reproduce. One can’t want something one doesn’t know about. This is what I mean by motivational autonomy: The sex drive is hardly concerned with the reason why sex exists in the first place.
Or consider the adoption of young that aren’t one’s own. If the mother of a juvenile primate dies, other females often take care of it. Even adult
Our tower debate was frosty indeed, but only because it was one of those unusually chilly days in Georgia. With Dawkins unselfishly tossing fruits at the apes below, we quickly settled on common ground, which wasn’t too hard given our shared academic background. I have no problems calling genes “selfish” so long as it’s understood that this says
nothing
about the actual motives of humans or animals, and Dawkins agreed that all sorts of behavior, including acts of genuine kindness, may be produced by genes selected to benefit their carriers. In short, we agreed on a separation between what drives evolution and what drives actual behavior that is about as well recognized in biology as is the separation of church and state outside Georgia.
Overall, we had a splendid chat, as the Brits say, trying to flesh out this two-level approach. Before applying it here to kindness or altruism, let me start with a simpler example: color vision. Seeing colors is thought to have come about because our primate ancestors needed to tell ripe and unripe fruits apart. But once we could see color, the capacity became available for all sorts of other purposes. We use it to read maps, notice someone’s blushing, or find shoes that match our blouse. This has little to do with fruits, although colors indicatingripeness—red or yellow—still get us excited and are therefore prominent in traffic lights, advertisements, and works of art. On the other hand, nature’s default color—green—is considered calming, restful, and boring.
The animal kingdom is full of traits that evolved for one reason but are also used for others. The hoofs of ungulates are adapted to run on hard surfaces, but also deliver a mean kick to pursuers. The hands of primates evolved to grasp branches, but also help infants cling to their mothers. The mouths of fish are made for feeding, but also serve as “holding pens” for the fry of mouth-breeding cichlids. When it comes to behavior, too, the original function doesn’t always tell us how and why a behavior will be used in daily life. Behavior enjoys
motivational autonomy.
A good example is sex. Even though our genital anatomy and sexual urges evolved for reproduction, most of us engage in sex without paying attention to its long-term consequences. I’ve always thought that the main impetus for sex must be pleasure, but in a recent poll by American psychologists Cindy Meston and David Buss people offered a bewildering array of reasons, from “I wanted to please my boyfriend” and “I needed a raise” to “we had nothing to do” and “I was curious how she’d be in bed.” If humans usually engage in sex without giving reproduction a thought—which is why we have the morning-after pill—this holds even more for animals, which don’t know the connection between sex and reproduction. They have sex because they are attracted to one another, or because they have learned its pleasurable effects, but not because they want to reproduce. One can’t want something one doesn’t know about. This is what I mean by motivational autonomy: The sex drive is hardly concerned with the reason why sex exists in the first place.
Or consider the adoption of young that aren’t one’s own. If the mother of a juvenile primate dies, other females often take care of it. Even adult
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