Nesting and Nurturing
For over a decade, I have been extremely interested in evolutionary biology, especially as it relates to the human condition. I see it as a way to better understand the connection between people and places. Recently, I read The Meaning of Human Existence by biologist and naturalist Edward O. Wilson. It’s an approachable and relevant look at how humanity has evolved over time and where it might be headed in the future. And while the content is interesting and well-written, with topics ranging from the enlightenment to extraterrestrials, as I read it, I couldn’t stop my mind from considering questions I’m certain the book wasn’t intending to focus on. Specifically, I was intrigued by the brief reference to the idea of eusociality.
According to Wilson, “biologists have found that the biological origin of advanced social behavior in humans was similar to that occurring elsewhere in the animal kingdom. Using comparative studies of thousands of animal species, from insects to mammals, we’ve concluded that the most complex societies have arisen through eusociality – meaning, roughly, the ‘true’ social condition.” He continues that such a phenomenon is exceptionally rare, having only arisen in nineteen documented cases within a collection of insects, rodents, and marine crustaceans. However, he argues that humans are, in fact, the twentieth occurrence of such a condition.
“In all of the eusocial species analyzed to date,” Wilson argues, “the final step before eusociality is the construction of a protected nest, from which foraging trips are launched and within which the young are raised to maturity.” For our ancestors, this final step begun over two million years ago with a growing preference for a diet that was increasingly reliant on meat. For a group to harvest “such a high-energy, widely dispersed source of food, it did not pay to roam about as a loosely organized pack of adults and young in the manner of present-day chimpanzees and bonobos. It was more efficient to occupy a campsite (thus, a nest) and send out hunters who could bring home meat, both killed and scavenged, to share with others. In exchange, the hunters received protection of the campsite and their own young offspring kept there.”
This was a pivotal moment. The sovereignty of the individual was slowly becoming reliant on the success of the group. This group mentality immediately began to illustrate the undeniable value of cooperation, prioritizing personal relationships that resulted in the shared success of the group, offering mutual benefit to all of its members. As Wilson (among many others) points out, “within groups selfish individuals beat altruistic individuals, but groups of altruists beat groups of individuals” – making the concept of reciprocity a key ingredient to understanding our perception of humanity. Over time, this behavior has manifested itself into an instinctive need to belong to a group – for safety, resources, and belonging.
While these first humans had distinct group structures that were recognized by their collective membership, they were also fundamentally defined by their connection to their campsite – their nest. It was an identity characterized by the behavior and territory of the group – and everything outside the perceived limits of this identity posed a potential threat. Wilson writes eloquently about the benefits these group dynamics have provided our species over thousands of years, but it was a narrative that made me wonder: How has the predominance of a virtual economy and social media redefined how we identify with our respective groups? How has the dissolving boundaries of our physical nests, traded away for a more virtual existence, changed how we look at the world and our groups?
In many ways, our brains’ ability to evolve hasn’t kept pace with the structural changes that have defined our communities over the last few decades. Too much has changed in too short of a period of time (especially in evolutionary terms). For example, as Wilson notes, “our distant ancestors regularly faced injury or death while hunting for food too close to the edge of a ravine, or when they stepped carelessly on a venomous snake, or stumbled upon a raiding party of an enemy tribe.” This explains why many of us have instinctive fears of heights, snakes, or strangers. However, in contrast, “automobiles, knives, guns, and the excessive consumption of dietary salt and sugar are among the leading causes of present-day mortality. Yet no inborn propensities to avoid them have evolved. The likely reason is the lack of time for evolution to have hardwired them into our brains.”
In our minds, group identity is still an active strategy to obtain security and success. We also still rely on our natural fears to protect us from danger. But how well are these instincts suited for the modern world? What benefit does the eusocial condition provide without the presence of a physical nest for our groups to share, manage, and care for? What happens when new threats arrive that our brains haven’t yet had the time to evolve a sensitivity to? I’m not sure. But it feels as though these very questions are playing out in the anxiety and stress permeating our communities today.
Our social structures are evolving faster than we are; therefore, we need to make a concerted effort to acknowledge that our brains are preconditioned to value group identity and reciprocal cooperation. However, without a campsite these connections can quickly become superficial. For us to remain a functioning eusocial species, it seems that we will need to understand how we can reconcile our evolved habits within the framework of a modern nest.
As Wilson concludes, “The problem holding everything up thus far is that Homo sapiens is an innately dysfunctional species. We are hampered by the Paleolithic Curse: genetic adaptations that worked very well for millions of years of hunter-gatherer existence but are increasingly a hindrance in a globally urban and technoscientific society. We seem unable to stabilize either economic policies or the means of governance higher than the level of a village.” And even then, our villages seem to be dissolving.
We need to belong to a group. Our brains won’t let us think otherwise. But we also need to appreciate the need for our groups to respect the localized geography of the communities in which we live and work. In many ways, our resiliency will be defined by our willingness to understand how we can transcribe the recent societal advances and benefits of modern living onto the physical structure of the neighborhood (our contemporary campsite) and admire it as a place that we can share and operate together. This is our true social condition. It’s epitomized by our cognitive connection to our village and its villagers, a place where we feel most comfortable, where we feel most secure, and where we operate most efficiently. Without that relationship, we are lost. And we don’t have time for our brains to catch up.