In
my mathematician’s incarnation, and in my loitering around the Institute Vienna Circle, I
came across Austrian Karl Sigmund,
the 2003 Gauss
Lecturer. Along with John
Maynard Smith (the “Etonian communist”) and American George Robert Price,
he is at least one parent of evolutionary game theory, a fascinating branch of
mathematics that applies game theory to biology or, rather, the evolving
populations of life forms. Its tools are valuable to my interest in crowd
phenomena. It defines a mathematical framework of contests, strategies and
analytics for Darwinian competition. There are indeed mathematical criteria to
predict the resulting prevalence of such competing
strategies, and evolutionary game theory establishes a rational basis for
altruistic behaviors within the Darwinian process. Unlike classical game
theory, it centers on the dynamics of strategy change; its determinants that
are not just competing strategies but, more importantly, the frequency of
occurrence of these strategies within a given population.
Humans
have superior adaptive abilities. They are far better than apes at imitation.
And they are receptive to praise and reprimand. Man is the perfect pet –
domesticated like no other, by ourselves. It is not unusual that a species
practices selective breeding on its own kind. Sexual selection is well known
since Darwin. An oft-cited example is the peacock’s tail: it does not
facilitate survival but only impressing the female of the species – although
recent research puts that in question. A male characteristic and the female
preference for it spread across the population.
Of
course, domestication does not only require selective breeding of just any
given characteristic. Said characteristic must also have an economic benefit.
What is the economic utility of humans? They don’t contribute commodities such
as wool or eggs, but they contribute services. There are other service animals
as well: horses serve as means of transportation, dogs as a hunting tool or an
alarm device. What purpose do humans serve? They serve as partners of other
humans. A partner is someone amenable to assistance, but only on condition of
reciprocity.
Indeed,
human readiness to cooperate
with partners, their “conditional
cooperation,” is a salient characteristic. And it is unique. While bees or
ants also cooperate on a large scale, they do so only within their beehive or
anthill, that is to say, with their own siblings. Humans are rather unique in
that they are capable of cooperating also
with individuals to whom they are not related.
Such
cooperation is grounds for the success of our species. There appear to be no
natural limits to the degree of our communal enterprise. That seems odd: should
evolution not favor creatures that primarily maximize their own interests?
Of
course, it can be in the best interest of an individual to participate in a
common enterprise. But even greater would be the benefit of a free rider: an
individual who contributes less than others and who thus exploits the
collective. If this information spreads, there will soon be only free riders
and the communal enterprise will fail. That happens, and in this case,
maximization of the individual interest was counterproductive – a social
dilemma.
The
prescription formula against it is obvious: free riders
must be penalized and compelled to cooperate. But such compulsion is
expensive, because it creates an incentive to count on others bringing the free
rider to heel. This, of course, is nothing but an advanced form of free riding.
Game theory, which is the mathematical
analysis of conflicts of interest, permits us to show that compulsion
to cooperate works only if and when the enterprise is a voluntary one.
Voluntary
submission to compulsion sounds like an odd thing, but it nonetheless forms the
basis of all human societies. We sign a purchase-and-sale agreement; we enter
into marriages. Even the social contract of the great moral philosophers is
based on voluntariness. Jean-Jacques Rousseau commented on the voluntariness of
ties: “Man is born free; and everywhere he is in chains. One thinks himself the
master of others, and still remains a greater slave than they” (The Social
Contract vol. I, ch. 1) («
L’homme est né libre, et partout il est dans les fers. Tel se croit le maître
des autres, qui ne laisse pas d’être plus esclave qu’eux »). This
explains why – and how – our social life is based on morals. Humans have a
moral instinct just as they have an instinct for language. Of course, we are not born with a native
language, but with a talent to learn it. Similarly, we
are not born with morals, but with the talent to adopt moral norms. This
includes our great disposition to recognize authority and to follow
rules even when they are absurd. This requires great adaptive aptitude –
thankfully, we are better at aping than any apes! Imitation supports
learning. We love to drill, to teach, and to indoctrinate like no other
animal species. We are receptive to
praise and reprimand, we bristle at the lapses of others, and are – less
readily – ashamed of our own.
We
build reputation
systems. A significant part of our daily
flow of information consists of gossip: we judge others. Such reputation
systems are key for our choice of sexual or business partner. Our economy
is based on trust, and the safest method to gain a reputation of
trustworthiness is to be virtuous, which is to say, to internalize social norms
to such an extent that they are no longer perceived as compulsion or duty.
These are virtues we instilled in ourselves. They include compassion, empathy,
and a sense of fairness.
Moral
norms are cultural products. But it can happen that genes adapt to cultural
circumstances. For example, our genetic
predisposition for the digestion of starch and milk products has changed
dramatically since humans settled and built permanent residences. The same was
true of dogs. Predispositions for our behavior are shaped by cultural
development. We
also bred virtues into dogs – love of humans is just one example. Thirty thousand
years of canine-human partnership left
traces in both our genomes.
We
have not identified genes for virtue, but there are genes for certain dysfunctions
in social behavior. Again, there is a useful parallel to language
instincts: we have not identified genes for language, but there are genes for certain language
deficiencies. Experiments
with chimpanzees and human children show that helpfulness is congenital.
So
it is entirely possible that humans domesticated themselves. In so doing, we
bred the sole
moral species on the planet. It is another matter that we did not shed
aggressiveness in the process. But that has not worked entirely in the case of
domesticating canines, either.
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