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Why Your Mother Loves You

Illustration by Robert Neubecker

If you hope to get your obituary on the front page of the New York Times, I recommend spending a lifetime eloquently saying things of debatable importance. Witness Margaret Mead and Isaiah Berlin. Whatever you do, don't make a clear, major contribution to Western thought that has great philosophical ramifications. Witness William Hamilton, whose death was noted back on Page A18 of Friday's Times.

You can't really blame the Times. Its news judgment here basically reflects the intellectual biases of its readers, which I guess is a reasonable thing for news judgment to do. And, as for the obituary itself: Though it did contain a couple of minor errors, it fairly well captured the view of Hamilton held by his colleagues—deep respect for a profoundly creative thinker. But his colleagues, being scientists, stuck to the facts and didn't rhapsodize about the philosophical import of his work. Hamilton is one of the few biologists—few scientists, in fact—for whom such rhapsodies would be in order.

Hamilton's signature accomplishment was the theory of kin selection. Kin selection—an idea that had been dimly perceived by past thinkers but had never been turned into a general and rigorous theory—is commonly said to explain the evolution of altruism among relatives. And it does. It explains why you feel more inclined to run into a burning building to save your sibling than to save just anybody.

The key insight here is that it is possible for a gene to fare well via natural selection even if the organism containing the gene doesn't fare well. An "altruism gene" (to oversimplify for expository purposes) can thrive by leading its organism to take risks, even risks that may lead to death, so long as the risks are taken on behalf of other organisms that stand a good chance of containing that gene. Which is to say: so long as the risks are taken on behalf of close kin. (Confused? Click here.)

The routinely cited examples of kin-selected altruism in animals—in ground squirrels that endanger themselves by emitting a warning call on seeing a predator, in insects that forgo reproduction, in people—are important. But equally important, and rarely mentioned, is that kin selection explains the existence of these animals; kin selection almost surely was crucial to the evolution of multicellular life to begin with.

After all, a multicelled organism (such as you) is in a sense a very tightly integrated society of cells, most of which seem quite altruistic: They labor without reproducing, a privilege left to the egg or sperm cells. But, through the lenses of Hamilton's theory, we can see that the altruism is superficial. The "sacrificial" labor of the nonreproductive cells actually serves the interests of their genes, because the reproductive cells contain the same genes. The genetic information of the sterile cells gets into the next generation just as surely as if they had sent it there themselves.

Various people who don't appreciate this application of kin selection have sat around pondering the mystery of the evolution of multicellular life. (This was for a time a common pastime among "complexity theorists" at the Santa Fe Institute, though I gather that some of them have since gotten more conversant in Darwinism.) And it's true that, even with kin selection, the threshold to complex multicellular life is a bit daunting; various tricky logistical feats have to get mastered. Still, with the theory of kin selection in hand, the origin of multicellular life is reduced from a mystery to a problem.

What's more, it becomes a problem that natural selection was likely to solve, given enough time. Since many single-celled forms of life reproduce clonally—no sex, no mixing up of genes—they often find themselves in the company of genetically identical neighbors. This is fertile ground for kin selection to work its magic—to instill an intercellular altruism that, via further kin selection, can grow until the hazy line between a cooperative society of cells and a single multicelled organism is crossed. And indeed, we now know that multicellular life evolved on several different occasions—five, maybe 10 times.

Kin selection is thus a key link in a broader argument that I've made repeatedly: The evolution of complex life—and of highly intelligent life—was likely from the beginning, given enough time. Hamilton was among the biologists who agree with me on this point, a fact I discovered while interviewing him for a documentary series that never came to fruition. Of course, he stressed, it wasn't foreordained that the intelligent species which finally evolved would be descended from an ape. "It might have been the descendant of a squirrel-like creature or a dolphin-like creature," he said. Still, the chance of some form of intelligent life evolving was so high that he was "quite favorably inclined to search for signs of intelligent life on other planets."

With minor prompting, Hamilton went off on flights of cosmic speculation. Given the likelihood of the evolution of intelligence, could natural selection have been set in motion with some end in mind? Yes, actually, he'd played around with sci-fi scenarios to that effect. Of course, the answer is unknowable, but "the theological possibility," he said, "is still certainly alive." So far as I know, Hamilton was not a religious man, which makes this sort of statement all the more a testament to his open-mindedness.

There is one other evolutionary likelihood that kin selection suggests: the invention of love. In a complexly sentient species (e.g., us), an altruistic disposition toward relatives tends to involve the feeling of love. And, though in our species feelings of love toward non-kin are possible, these were subsequent add-ons; love of kin preceded broader forms of love in evolutionary time. (Certainly maternal love goes way, way back, and maternal love—though a more intuitively obvious product of natural selection than love of a sibling—is technically just a special case of the general phenomenon of kin-selected altruism.) Given the power of the logic of kin selection—altruism has evolved repeatedly, independently—love would seem to have been fairly likely to show up eventually on a planet populated by lots of complex organisms.

Of course, the kind of love we "naturally" practice can be invidious and nasty. (Remember the Texas "Cheerleader Mom," who plotted to kill her daughter's rival for a cheerleading slot?) Still, the capacity to feel kindly toward people at all is the kernel of potential goodness that makes more benign forms of love possible. And, given the fact that hatred is a fairly obvious outgrowth of natural selection, it's nice to have this foundation on which goodness can potentially build.

Many of Hamilton's accomplishments were duly appreciated upon his death. The Times obituary noted his contribution to current thinking on how sexual reproduction evolved. And the obituary stressed that his theory of kin selection did much to inspire the "gene's eye view" of evolution that was central to E.O. Wilson's and Richard Dawkins' well-known writings on animal behavior. This fact alone—that Hamilton helped start a literal revolution in the understanding of animal behavior, including human behavior—would arguably be enough, in a just world, to get him front-page-obit treatment. When you throw in the things the obit missed, the case for better billing seems overwhelming. There is just something odd about seeing the man whose theory explains why multicellular life evolved, and why love was likely to come to this planet, on the same page with "Pee Wee King, 86, 'Tennessee Waltz' Writer" and "Daniel Yanofsky, 74, Canadian Chess Champion."

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Robert Wright, a senior fellow at the New America Foundation, is the editor in chief of Bloggingheads.tv and the author of The Moral Animal, Nonzero, and, most recently, The Evolution of God.
COMMENTS

Highlights from The Fray:


Perhaps the NYT placed this man's obit in the back with the lesser knowns because this guy is apparently a "lesser known". Right or wrong, he is not of celebrity status, which, sadly, is what most consumers of popular media know or care about. However, I would also say that I felt a tinge of resentment toward Wright for naming a couple of people with whom the great thinker had to share space. Hope their families are not reading this article during their time of mourning.

As far as the theory of kin selection, it would give one pause when considering adoption. He makes some provisions for this kind of love, but seems to imply that adoptees might receive less love and care than birth children.

--Sheila

(To reply, click here.)

[Several Fray readers made the same point about the placing of the obit, including Jim Miara who said: I was with you right to the last sentence. Whoa. That was cold, unnecessary.]


Genes? Damn right. Designed to perform. Built to last. By God himself. What else is there to say on the subject that you could fill a book? If evolution were a computer system, it would be on the bench in DOS mode with one line of text on the screen, "out of disk space."

-- Kevin M. Schafer

(To reply, click here.)

[Sheila
responded: If ignorance is bliss, sir, you must be in heaven. See also her post above.]


The theory is internally consistent. However, it does not address, nor can it absent some further elaboration, the altruism, even to risk of near certain death, directed toward non-kin. We have firefighters and cops and other rescuers, professional or passers-by. We have soldiers who will risk death for their platoon mates, or even strangers.

The kin-based altruism gene cannot be at work here. In fact, this kind of behavior is at odds with the kin-based altruism, significantly reducing the likelihood that the gene will be passed on. Is there any kind of thinking where a larger group, including or friends can fool the altruism gene into thinking the person who needs the benefits of altruistic behavior is "kin"?

--Richard Aubrey

(To reply, click here.)



[No film mistake goes uncorrected in The Fray]
The Texas "Cheerleader Mom" plotted to kill the mother of her daughter's rival on the cheerleading squad, in hopes it would emotionally devastate the girl and force her withdrawal from the group.

--Max Frost

(To reply, click here.)


Personally, I might run into a burning building to save my cat -- but I'm not sure I'd do it for people, even my siblings. The cat's been spayed, too, so even if we were genetically closer, I don't see the evolutionary point. OK, my kids would come first, sure. But Kitty is next.

--Ted Alper


(To reply, click here.)

(3/15)

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