The Evolution of Weirdness

Weirdness cannot be defined, but whatever it is, it evolved, which means it provided an evolutionary advantage at many times during human evolution.

One reason it cannot be defined is that what one culture, in space or time, considers weird, another culture may not. One example is psychopaths. In most cultures, most people dislike psychopaths. They are very, very smart, and almost always use their intelligence and their charisma to advance their own interests. We tend to think of the psychopathic mass murderers and other criminals, but many psychopaths (who constitute about one percent of the population) pass as ordinary people and may be surprised by their own (often genetically-based) diagnosis. A lot of politicians and preachers are psychopaths, who cultivate the goodwill of others for their own financial or sexual benefits. And they also like to shame you for suspecting that they are committing acts of evil. It takes highly-developed social intelligence to recognize a psychopath. See the book by Kevin Dutton: The Wisdom of Psychopaths: What Saints, Spies, and Serial Killers Can Teach Us about Success. New York: FSG, 2012.

The success of psychopaths depends on the social situation. Adolf Hitler was a psychopath, and he got millions of people to follow him. After Germany lost World War Two, many Germans felt mentally liberated, and wondered, What were we thinking, to follow this jerk? Germany was not a nation of psychopaths, but maybe the Nazis were a party of psychopaths.

But there are many other ways of being weird. Most of us are a little weird in a few ways. But I mean clinical weirdness. One example is Williams Syndrome [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Williams_syndrome]. People with Williams Syndrome have distinctive facial characteristics, and medical problems such as heart conditions. They have diminished intelligence, overall. They are extremely talkative, and effusively express their emotions. They are almost always cheerful. I have never knowingly met one but I get the impression that it would be really hard to not like them.

One word you would not associate with Williams Syndrome is suspicious. In order to become socially powerful, within your society, you have to be suspicious of the motives of other people in your society, and certainly of people in other societies. People with Williams Syndrome will walk right up to you and trust you. This is socially awkward. But openness and the willingness to trust is an essential component of altruism, of social bonding. It’s just that these people have too much of a good thing.

Another reason weirdness cannot be defined is that each kind of weirdness has its own social and genetic basis. Williams Syndrome is associated with a specific genetic deletion that affects a specific part of the brain. There is no set of terms in any language that exactly matches the symptoms of this deletion. And, in fact, characteristics resulting from mutations can be highly modified by upbringing and social circumstances. I am thinking of a person who acts as if she has Williams Syndrome, but who looks normal, and is brilliant.

Throughout human evolution, behavior patterns have sometimes been useful and sometimes not. Since each behavior has a different set of causes, human behavior has proven to be immensely variable. This has happened not because natural selection has done a bad job on human behavior, but because both the source and the target of human behavior is constantly shifting.

 

We can be glad we have empathy and altruism in the human species. And maybe Williams Syndrome is the price we pay for it.

 

Next, I will write about the evolution of nerds. Or not. Maybe I am a bit too close to the subject to be objective.

Pyroterrorism?

This essay follows directly from a previous entry, based on Quand la Forêt Brûle: Penser La Novelle Catastrophe Écologique by Joëlle Zask (Premier Parallèle, 2019). (When the Forest Burns : Thinking about the New Ecological Catastrophe), about megafires. It made the point that, in the globally-warmed future, there will be no small fires, whether control burns or natural fires. They will all be big and destructive.

Toward the end of the book, the author mentioned a possibility that I had never considered, or even heard about: Pyroterrorism. That is, terrorists could start huge fires, believing that these fires would disrupt whatever little social cohesion that we have and leave us vulnerable to their other acts of terrorism. Apparently this idea has been published on foreign terrorist websites, to which I will not provide any connection.

It gets even worse. The terrorists do not even have to start the fires. They can wait for the fires to start in some other way, and then claim credit for them. They could say that, See, Allah is great, because He destroyed Paradise, California and surrounding areas in the 2018 Camp Fire, and He destroyed Maui in 2023. They would not have to say that their terrorist groups had started them, something of which most people would be skeptical.

But there are a couple of major reasons that pryoterrorism will either not occur soon or will have no great effect.

First, it is easy to start a forest fire. All it takes is a match. An arsonist can start a fire and leave so little evidence of his identity that no one would ever find him or even suspect that arson had occurred. Authorities estimate that there are thousands of such cases of criminal arson every year. But in order to prove that a fire began as an act of arson, much less to find the culprit, there has to be multiple simultaneous ignitions, and probably evidences of piling up brush and of gasoline. These are the things that would be necessary in order to give a fire a good chance of spreading. Even under hot, dry conditions, with lots of dry vegetation and strong wind, most fires will not become mega-fires under present conditions.

Second, terrorists have said online that a mega-fire would disrupt our society. But that is not what has happened. One of the few good things one can say about the modern world is that natural (or human-enhanced) disasters being people together rather than driving them apart. The California and Hawaii fires ignited an outpouring of humanitarian sentiment and relief. This has left the terrorists looking like the Grinch who was astonished to see the people of Whoville celebrating even after he had successfully stolen Christmas.

Neither foreign nor domestic terrorists would have much chance of success with pyroterrorism.

Enough mega-fires would cause such financial strain that we could have a major economic disaster, but it does not appear that pyroterrorism will destroy even the little bit of altruism that we have. So the good news is that there is one less thing to worry about.

Wild Child

I just finished reading a collection of short stories by T. C. Boyle (T. Coraghessan Boyle). The title of the collection is the same as the last and longest story: Wild Child.

T. C. Boyle’s fiction is able to romp through all the fields of the imagination, including many scientific topics that might scare away other fiction writers. His imagination is wild, and yet every story is something that could, conceivably, have happened, and many of them are based on real events, as in the rich couple who spent a quarter million dollars to clone their dog.

But Wild Child is straight historical fiction. It sticks fairly closely to the known facts of the wild boy of Aveyron, in France, at the end of the eighteenth century. The boy, apparently aged about five, was left for dead in the forest by a family who could not afford another mouth to feed, but he survived. Legend has it that wolves raised him, but this is unconfirmed and Boyle does not use this element in his plot.

The boy was completely a brute. He knew only how to catch small animals with his bare hands and eat them raw, or dig potatoes from farmers’ fields (again with bare hands). When he was captured by well-meaning peasants, and later raised in special institutions that tried to rehabilitate him, his reaction was fierce and violent. He had no conscience, sense of shame, or capacity for empathy. Eventually the teacher who tried the most to rehabilitate him had to give up. The former wild child died at age forty without language, with minimal capacity to learn anything, and with continuing hostility.

What is interesting about this story for this blog is what it does and does not tell us about human evolution. Scientists at the time thought that the child represented an earlier stage of human evolution, before language and social skills developed. But we know today that this is not the least bit true. The Wild Child was the product of severe abuse—his throat had been cut when he was left for dead. He was not pre-verbal; if he was about five when abandoned, he had started to develop human skills and then forgot them. He may have had normal human capacity for language, conscience, and empathy, but these were cut short forever. All during human evolution, people lived in groups, where they had fully functional social skills. They hunted together and shared food. Families helped each other to raise the kids. Most mammals live in social groups. There has, for them or for us, never been a Wild Child stage of evolution.

While I was reading this story, I was watching and playing with my grandson, who is younger than the Wild Boy was when he was abandoned. Leo is always talking, exploring, being very expressive. We played catch with some of his stuffed animals. It was not just motor skills he was developing. He made up stories about the animals. This was imagination that he would not have had, or might have lost, if he had been abandoned in the forest like the Wild Child. He is cheerful, which is one of the options of human nature. The Wild Child might have been cheerful also, if he had a chance. Leo asked me what I was reading, and I told him it was about a little boy who grew up by himself until it was too late, so he did not know how to talk, or to get along, or do practically anything that Leo can do. Leo understands that his time spent with his parents, his sister, his grandparents, or his friends is essential for his normal growth.

One of the worst things about abuse is that it shatters the normal evolutionary social connections that every animal needs, especially humans who crave it most.

Happiness is Fill in the Blank

I’ve been looking through a dull but well-intentioned book from 1937, 101 of the World’s Greatest Books. That is, five to ten page summaries of them. They were the ones you would expect from the era which continued with Great Books of the Western World, whose numerous volumes filled many library shelves even in small towns because teachers and librarians thought these were the books that everyone ought to know about to be considered educated. Great novels, epic stories, great scholarly works, great plays, great works of philosophy, almost all of which were outdated even in 1937. I wasn’t expecting much, not having much interest in the classical authors (Dante was especially silly), but just in case I missed something, I wanted to check.

Rather than to discuss the summaries of the “great” philosophers, which would lull you to sleep, I have chosen one narrow question: What is happiness?

Aristotle answered this question in a prolonged and painful contemplation of the obvious. His was the doctrine of the golden mean, which says that happiness is where you have enough, but not too much, of everything, from wealth to strength. Is there anyone who didn’t already know this? Some people act as if the right amount of sexual pleasure is as much as possible, but even they get worn out once in a while, and they will probably admit this. Some people act as if the right amount of sexual pleasure is none at all, not even accidental thoughts of sex. They are not happy, protestations notwithstanding. But the vast majority of humans already live by the doctrine of the golden mean. I certainly do.

While the golden mean seems obvious, there are lots of people who say that happiness is different for every person. Let me cite, rather than a philosopher, the mid-century musician Ray Coniff, whose song said that “Happiness is different things to different people” (“To a beatnik, it’s a beard, beard, beard…”) In the 1960s, when as a little kid I was absorbing television, I heard the tobacco corporation version: “To a landlord, it’s a great big rent, to a smoker, it’s a Kent.” (I’ve never heard this song on the radio since the 1960s. I assume the tobacco company bought the rights to the original song and is hoarding them.)

I think we all, regardless of philosophy or religion, know that there must be some universals to happiness (except among psychopaths). And, I maintain, many of these universals match the behaviors and feelings produced in our species by evolution. We can only be truly happy when we can honestly feel we are doing the right things with our lives—that is, altruism. We actually enjoy being good (up to a point), and having allies rather than having only enemies and competitors. And having a sense of purpose—which is also the product of evolution—and not just disconnected events.

Happiness is, therefore, not just whatever rings our bells, or floats our boats, or tickles our fancy, or verbs our object. It is a product of evolution, just like language and toenails and the cockles of your heart.

Thomas Gilcrease, Master of Altruism

As described in Connie Cronley’s masterful and readable biography of the Oklahoma progressive crusader Kate Barnard, young Native men and women who had oil rights on their Oklahoma allotment properties were frequently the targets of white grafters who would stop at almost nothing to get the oil rights of those properties. This would include a kind of gentle kidnapping known as “spiriting away.” The young Natives, usually from the Muskogee Creek Nation, were invited on trips and given a good time. Alcohol was usually involved. The young Natives were kept under constant supervision, and once they were good and drunk, they were asked to sign a contract giving one of the Tulsa oil magnates the rights to their oil. One young woman was taken on a hog-shooting trip, beered up, and told to sign a contract. She said that she had been threatened with jail if she did not sign.

Yes, this happened in the United States, early in the twentieth century. It happened in Oklahoma after statehood. In one case, the oil multimillionaire was Thomas Gilcrease.

 

I will quote from Cronley’s book (p. 159):

Usually, the minors were taken to neighboring states—Texas, Missouri, or Arkansas—but the case of a Creek minor named Marcus Covey was remarkable for the distance he was taken. Marcus disappeared in late 1911, just as oil was discovered near his allotments. His parents…were frantic to find him. His mother contacted the secretary of the interior, and his father, a member of the Masonic fraternal organization, asked the Masons’ help in finding the boy. The Secret Service searched for four months and finally found Marcus in Southampton, England. “He was sent there by one Thomas Gilcrease,” the Secret Service agent reported, and was found “in company with a hired lieutenant of Mr. Gilcrease’s.”

Nobody in Tulsa, where I live, would fail to recognize the name. Thomas Gilcrease became one of the most famous philanthropists in Tulsa. His money was the basis for what is popularly known as the Gilcrease Museum, which is a museum and historical society of world renown. It even publishes its own journal. Its major emphasis is Native American history and culture. I have attended Native American displays and events at “the Gilcrease.”

Now that your mind has had a chance to process this breathtaking story, let me break it down a little further in terms of evolutionary theory. Thomas Gilcrease was a master of altruism, that is, of doing good things in the service of his own resources and power. In this, he is no different from thousands of other rich people. It’s just the astonishing hypocrisy that makes this story stand out.

In evolutionary theory, there are three levels of altruism, and each of them confers an evolutionary advantage that far outweighs the cost of the good deeds themselves, as I described in my Encyclopedia of Evolution.

• Kin selection. A rich person can invest in his offspring, or his extended family, which are the only way that his genes can get passed into future generations. Gilcrease certainly made his family rich.
• Direct reciprocity. Do something generous for me, and I might do something generous for you. You can’t be sure, but it usually works. Gilcrease was good to his friends, and undoubtedly received favors from them in return.
• Indirect reciprocity. By being generous, a rich person can buy a reputation for generosity. This will make society in general trust him more, which will cause him to get even richer. A good reputation can be worth more than money in the bank. The generosity has to be, however, very conspicuous. Gilcrease raked in the benefits of adoration bestowed upon him by Tulsans. Gilcrease got rich partly by kidnapping a young Native man and stealing his oil, and this allowed him to endow a museum that is a world leader in promoting Native studies.

Gilcrease could have helped the Creek tribe (he was himself one-eighth Creek) more by simply not kidnapping young Marcus than by stealing his oil money and then giving it back to the Creek tribe indirectly through his museum. But it was a lot more fun this way. If he had simply not stolen the oil, who would know it? To Gilcrease, the adulation he got from Tulsans, including Creeks, was a thousand times more satisfying than the quiet knowledge that he simply did not kidnap the young Creek man. Oh, and I bet there were tax breaks for his generosity also.

Thomas Gilcrease ruthlessly stole money then leveraged it to buy admiration. This is the highest expression of the evolution of altruism.