Caveman Logic: The Persistence of Primitive Thinking in a Modern World (28 page)

Shermer also examines how the confirmation bias might affect the beliefs and behavior of a scientist. This example is particularly important for two reasons. First, science is a great example of where you might find the confirmation bias at work. The fate of scientific theories depends upon how information is gathered and interpreted. If science in general or a theory in particular depended upon the information-processing skills of one individual—perhaps one with a vested interest in the outcome—then we might be in for some serious trouble. After all, there is no reason to believe that scientists in general are any better equipped to keep the confirmation bias at bay than nonscientists. Scientists are first and foremost human beings, and they are as likely as most to seize on positive data and discount disconfirming evidence. But science does not advance because scientists have evolved to a higher mental standard than other people. The virtue of science is built into its collective process. As Shermer notes, “Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence.” Hypotheses, by definition, are stated in terms that lend themselves to empirical testing. Such testing is performed widely, by individuals without emotional ties to the hypothesis. The essential self-correcting mechanisms of science are an antidote to the flaws of the confirmation bias. It is as if the rules of science, with its endless need for replication and reexamination, were constructed by individuals with a deep understanding of the flaws of human reasoning. The individual practitioners can be flawed, as long as the rules they are forced to follow are not.

Shermer laments the dangerous impact of this bias on fields like law, business, and politics. He goes so far as to suggest that political debate should, for example, require opponents to argue each other’s positions. Shermer concludes that skepticism is the antidote to the confirmation bias. That may be true, but it is not particularly helpful to say so. As we have argued, the confirmation bias is a natural state of affairs for us. Even bringing it to the level of awareness does not necessarily preclude it. The forces that underlie the confirmation bias are powerful, emotional, and supported by a network of evolved mental circuitry. That is a formidable adversary. Skepticism, on the other hand, is—at present, anyway—an unnatural state practiced by a small minority of the population and prized by very few. We are more likely to name our daughters “Faith” than “Doubt” or “Skeptic.”

“The attribution of human qualities to nonhuman things”—that’s the simple definition of
anthropomorphism
. We all do it, mostly unconsciously, and far more frequently than we realize. Anthropomorphism is not some aberrant cognitive trait confined to the stupid or uncritical among us. It is a normal quality of the human mind, affecting both thought and perception. It is doubtful that anyone ever went broke selling anthropomorphism and some (e.g., Walt Disney) have gotten very rich. Is anthropomorphism just a quirky little human trait that never hurt anyone? Not according to Yann Martel’s best-selling novel
Life of Pi
(2006). The title character, the son of a zookeeper, learns in no uncertain terms that the most dangerous species on Earth is what he calls “
Animalus anthropomorphicus
.”

Although there are many positive things one might say about anthropomorphism (it has added sentimentality and compassion to our treatment of animals), it also leads us to misunderstand many of those same animals. The mental modules that underlie anthropomorphism must have provided a selective advantage for our ancestors and, even if the trait has become selectively neutral today, there is little selection pressure to abandon it. Indeed, the only culture/subculture I can think of that specifically discourages it is scientific training, especially those areas where contact with nonhumans is an important part of the experience. No self-respecting (or, for that matter, respected) comparative psychologist, learning theorist, or ethologist could remain actively anthropomorphic while functioning at a professional level. Even animal welfare activists, along with some more moderate animal rights advocates, have taken pains to remind us that those pets we adore are not human surrogates that thrive when we treat them like furry little humans with tails (or feathers). They are members of another species with needs, abilities, and agendas that are often far removed from our own.

Like other forms of mental shortcomings discussed in this book, anthropomorphism stems not from a broken or nonfunctioning mental ability but from one that is functioning quite well. It is being triggered far too frequently, and in contexts where it just doesn’t belong. When dealing with other humans, it is appropriate for my “intuitive psychology” or “theory of mind” module to be triggered. The benefits of understanding and anticipating another’s thoughts and motives are obvious. However, the application of this intuitive psychology to various classes of nonhumans is another matter.

The following is a list of creatures or things in whose presence you are likely to find yourself one day. Just how anthropomorphic are you likely to be in each case? The list is not arbitrary. I have known people to make anthropomorphic attributions about each of them. Were they right to do so in all cases? Are some more appropriate than others?

1. A chimpanzee

2. A dog

3. A rat

4. A lizard

5. A fly

6. A vegetable

7. A rock

8. A toaster

9. A car

10. A computer

This is not a trick question. The strictest answer is that none is correct. Human characteristics should be applied to humans. To do any more is to distort understanding (and prediction of behavior). But isn’t that unnecessarily tough? Doesn’t that chimp share nearly 99 percent of its genetic material with you? Yes, and you can dwell on that side of the equation while you look into those big soulful eyes, or you can focus on the enormity of that 1 percent difference. That chimp might tear you apart limb from limb and have you for dinner while staying within the norms of its species’ culture. It also may fail to comprehend some of the most basic abstract relations between events that even your slow-witted brother-in-law grasps unthinkingly. As Steven Pinker observed in
How the Mind Works
(1997), while our species reaches for the stars and ponders issues such as the ones in this book, chimpanzees remain an endangered species, clinging tenaciously to a shrinking habitat in a corner of Africa. So much for mixing sentiment and science.

Like the chimp, the dog was on the list to sucker some of you into saying yes. They may be man’s best friend, but they are an entirely different species, whose natural history intersected with ours hundreds of thousands of years ago, but whose mental and physical lives are immensely different from ours. We share enough, through phylogenetic development and domestication, for us to get along famously—probably better than any two unrelated species have a right to. But come the crunch, dogs are still dogs. They are neurologically closer to wolves than to the humans who love them. Their needs may occasionally overlap with our own, but more often than not they diverge in ways that we can barely understand.

Like dogs, rats are highly intelligent and adaptive mammals and make excellent pets. I can assure you from personal experience that, under the right conditions, they seek contact with you and even come when you call them. But they, too, are a different species from us and attributions about their motives or emotional states may be misleading, at best.

Few people I know would get anthropomorphic about a lizard (they’re simply too reptilian looking), and no one I’ve ever met attributes much in the way of human mental states to a fly. Anthropomorphism typically leads to more humane treatment and, in the case of a housefly, most people draw the line at not swatting them. Adoption and nurturance seem out of the question.

Many people I’ve met fuss over their plants and talk about their “needs” in ways that suggest more than strict botany. I actually had one friend tell me she felt more of a connection with her philodendron than with her cactus. Somehow, because it came from the desert, she did not feel as “attuned” to it.

Each of these cases involves a living organism, which might seem a minimum requirement for anthropomorphism. Humans certainly have the capacity to distinguish between animate and inanimate objects, and for good reason. Animate objects move under their own steam and have agendas. Inanimate ones do not. Items 7-10 on the list above can be grouped together as inanimate. The houseplant is a bit of a judgment call for many people. I’ve heard people argue that hacking one’s way through the underbrush with a machete is akin to a killing spree. But let us set that issue aside for now and simply say that nonliving entities such as rocks, toasters, cars, and computers are less likely to trigger attributions of human qualities in most of us. Certainly, it is true that many humans grow up playing with, and becoming extremely attached to, dolls. But those dolls are modeled on human anatomy and might be expected to trigger mental attributions, especially in the very young. However, a variety of inanimate objects, which bear no similarity to human form, continue to trigger attributions of human qualities, and not just by children. During the 1960s, people (admittedly some unusual people) kept pet rocks, on some of which human faces had been crudely painted.

I included a vegetable on the list of contenders to reflect an exchange I had with a seven-year-old boy. We were bringing his dinner to the table and a French-fried potato fell off the plate. He jumped off his chair to rescue it from the floor before I could throw it out. As he popped it in his mouth, I asked why he felt so strongly about this particular piece of potato. “I didn’t want it to feel left out,” he explained. “It came all the way from the factory with its friends, and I didn’t want it to end up in the garbage after all it had been through.” I have seen people treat their pets with less compassion.

What’s good enough for a potato is certainly good enough for a household appliance or a car. I was amused to learn that Caribbean patois often included statements like “The pot wants cleaning” or “The car wants washing.” Beyond treating these metal devices with compassion, people often describe mechanical failures in anthropomorphic ways. Breakdowns by toasters, computers, and cars are not uncommonly described in terms suggesting an internal agenda on the part of the failed appliance. “My computer is out to get me. I swear, of all the nights it could have broken down, it picks
tonight
with the paper due tomorrow.” Similar statements are frequently made about automobiles, which apparently never break down at opportune times. This, in turn, suggests a malevolent or malicious spirit lurking just behind the Ford sticker. Forget that it’s a hunk of metal. Anything with timing like that must have a mind. “It’s still pissed off at me for not getting the oil changed on time.”

The instructive thing is that we have the capacity to laugh at the folly of the above examples while knowing full well that we are not immune to such perceptions or statements. This is the power of anthropomorphism. We come hardwired for it. We engage in it unconsciously as well as on occasions when we are fully aware of what we are saying and how outrageous it is. It’s
fun
to be anthropomorphic. Animals the world over are the beneficiaries of much kindness that might otherwise not come their way. None of this is problematic. Can our anthropomorphism module be brought under control? People understandably hold funerals for their deceased pets. (Although here, again, species seems to be a large determinant of the degree of ritual. Often dogs are buried but goldfish are flushed.) But do we and should we memorialize and mourn our cars, computers, and toasters?

Not all scientists working with animals are militant in their opposition to anthropomorphism. My colleague Gordon Gallup has argued for what he calls “critical anthropomorphism.” It is best seen as a middle ground between the relentless and uncritical approach taken by most persons without scientific training, and the reflexive “it can bring no good” attitude held by many scientists. Acknowledging that anthropomorphism is deeply ingrained in all of us, Gallup suggests that at the least, anthropomorphism may benefit our observations and fuel hypotheses for later testing. Just as anecdotes cannot substitute for rigorously controlled observation, they—like anthropomorphism—can have their role in science as sources of ideas that can eventually be tested under controlled conditions.

In his book
Faces in the Clouds
(1993), Stewart Guthrie states, “Anthropomorphism is universal in human perception.” Guthrie’s book is subtitled
A New Theory of Religion
. Not surprisingly, his thesis is that the widespread and unfettered use of anthropomorphism is at the core of religious belief and behavior.

What are the advantages of anthropomorphism, or at least of the cognitive predispositions that give rise to it? Whether anthropomorphism is an adaptation, per se, or what Steven Jay Gould calls an
exaptation
(a feature that was not produced via natural selection for its current function) is an open question, but there is every reason to believe that it continues to serve some function. Here is the proverbial baby and bathwater problem. Expunge anthropomorphism and you may be losing an essential and highly adaptive part of human nature. True, our entertainment would no longer consist of talking mice and ducks, our religions might take a giant step in the direction of abstract deities with inscrutable goals and no interest in our prayers, our pets might be treated more like members of their own species, but are these improvements our species wants to make?

Given a choice, most people would rather welcome a golden retriever into their home than a scorpion. This normal attitude has a name: speciesism. It’s rare to find an “ism” that is politically correct. Racism. Sexism. Ageism. None of those things are valued by enlightened people and most of us have learned to suppress racist, sexist, and ageist impulses in order to behave in a more socially acceptable manner. Sixty years ago there was plenty of social support for acting in a racist, sexist, or ageist way. Comedy routines on the radio and in motion pictures—both a good reflection of prevailing attitudes—supported behavior that makes us cringe today.