10
T he leopard, thrown off track by the commotion, eventually gives up
and walks away.23
The Thompson's gazelle is not alone. Social animals of all
kinds--mammals and birds alike--shriek, thump or jump to warn their
companions of an impending attack. Every one of the shriekers takes
the chance that his or her warning gesture will make her the first victim
of the hunter's assault.
The theory of kin-selection says the jumping or thumping animal
is protecting her relatives. In a small number of cases, this hypothesis
has worked out brilliantly. But in many others, it's been a failure.
Large groups of animals do not just consist of brothers, sisters and
cousins. In fact, mobs like the flocks of birds that migrate thousands of
miles each spring and fall seem to contain very few close relatives at
all.24 Yet members of the flock still shriek a warning when a hungry
raider approaches. Why do these creatures choose to make themselves
conspicuous?
A stealthy meat eater will have an easy time creeping up on a
group whose members dare not act as lookouts for their neighbors.
That social band's days on the savannah are numbered. But the
aggregation whose participants court destruction by shrieking-up is
primed for self defense. An occasional individual may suffer, but the
group will live to face another day.25
Individual selectionists have made a heroic effort to deal with the
problem of altruism via the concept of kin selection. But there is a
more subtle challenge to the primacy of personal survival they haven't
yet dared tackle: intropunitive behavior. In the 1950's, psychologist
Harry Harlow at the University of Wisconsin wanted to see how
necessary the love of a mother and friends were to humans. He
couldn't wrench newborn babies from their mamas' arms and raise
them in isolation cages. But he could do the next best thing. He tried
the experiment on newborn monkeys. The simians raised without
social contact frequently sat in a corner of their cage, curled into a ball,
<< < GO > >>
10
T he leopard, thrown off track by the commotion, eventually gives up
and walks away.23
The Thompson's gazelle is not alone. Social animals of all
kinds--mammals and birds alike--shriek, thump or jump to warn their
companions of an impending attack. Every one of the shriekers takes
the chance that his or her warning gesture will make her the first victim
of the hunter's assault.
The theory of kin-selection says the jumping or thumping animal
is protecting her relatives. In a small number of cases, this hypothesis
has worked out brilliantly. But in many others, it's been a failure.
Large groups of animals do not just consist of brothers, sisters and
cousins. In fact, mobs like the flocks of birds that migrate thousands of
miles each spring and fall seem to contain very few close relatives at
all.24 Yet members of the flock still shriek a warning when a hungry
raider approaches. Why do these creatures choose to make themselves
conspicuous?
A stealthy meat eater will have an easy time creeping up on a
group whose members dare not act as lookouts for their neighbors.
That social band's days on the savannah are numbered. But the
aggregation whose participants court destruction by shrieking-up is
primed for self defense. An occasional individual may suffer, but the
group will live to face another day.25
Individual selectionists have made a heroic effort to deal with the
problem of altruism via the concept of kin selection. But there is a
more subtle challenge to the primacy of personal survival they haven't
yet dared tackle: intropunitive behavior. In the 1950's, psychologist
Harry Harlow at the University of Wisconsin wanted to see how
necessary the love of a mother and friends were to humans. He
couldn't wrench newborn babies from their mamas' arms and raise
them in isolation cages. But he could do the next best thing. He tried
the experiment on newborn monkeys. The simians raised without
social contact frequently sat in a corner of their cage, curled into a ball,
<< < GO > >>