Popular Science has a story about "Why do we want to squeeze cute things?" that demonstrates something like a predatory connection to cuteness:
But for the sake of thoroughness, researchers did a second experiment to test whether the aggression was simply verbal, or whether people really did want to act out in response to wide-eyed kittens and cherubic babies. Volunteers were given bubble wrap and told they could pop as much of it as they wanted.(H/t: InstaPundit.)
When faced with a slideshow of cute animals, people popped 120 bubbles, whereas people watching the funny and neutral slideshows popped 80 and 100 bubbles respectively.
Now they posit a couple of theories about this that point in other directions. Still, I think I'm right: there is something about the kind of mind you need as a mammalian predator, as a predator who hunts by thought rather than by pure instinct, that gives rise to this.
Consider further anecdotal evidence:
Now why is that, I wonder? But I think it is.
16 comments:
I'm not sure it's people changing the animals. Temple Grandin has a theory that dogs actually changed humans. Still, there's something going on.
It seems to work with social hunters, but I'm betting it would be different with solo hunters, like the other big cats.
Predation is also a tough business, so there's a requisite for a certain level of intelligence. We don't really develop the same emotional bonds with most non-predatory animals (cows, sheep- save the jokes). Horses are different, not sure why.
Not sure if you realize this but that gentleman in the second video you put up got himself and his girlfriend (God rest her soul) mauled and partially eaten by a brown bear/s.
http://www.adn.com/2003/10/09/585763/treadwell-get-out-here-im-getting.html
Gives that article you linked to "he's so fluffy I want to die" link a strange twist wouldn't you say?
Anyway, not that it has a thing to do with your theory but I thought if you and your readers were unaware of that fact you might want to know.
Found my way over here via Maggie's Farm. Look forward to checking out your blog some more after the driving range tomorrow.
Cheers.
Yeah, I was going to say, Timmy Treadwell took "bonding" a little far. A recurring theme in his videos is about how much he "respected" the bears. He did no such thing. He loved them, I do not doubt. But he never took them seriously as wild predators. His "respect" was a shallow and childish thing.
Mind you, I do not doubt that a grizzly cub raised by humans would not bond successfully. And I think you're on to something with the predatory mammal thing. Even the smaller ones like ferrets bond closely with people. But most prey animals (like rabbits) never do. It's food for thought.
Oh, I know who he was. I assumed everyone here knew the facts of the case, as we've discussed him before. It has been a while ago, though -- 2005. I forget how long we've been doing this.
Maybe the ability to form emotional bonds with prey animals is adaptive in something like the following way: if you are able to empathize, you can feel something like what they probably feel. Now this feeling is predictive, and like all predictive functions it is of value to a hunter. It is less valuable to prey animals, whose survival is often better served by instinct than by thought (i.e., it's enough for a horse to be afraid of a tiger, and to use its senses to know if one is around -- there is little or no additional benefit from being able to feel what a tiger feels emotionally).
Some further, phenomenological evidence for this theory: The things we experience as cute are also the things that make good prey. We don't usually think of a physically strong or powerful thing as cute. Rather, it applies to small, fuzzy creatures, or very young creatures, or sometimes very old ones. These are the kinds of things that a lion (say) would eat -- and we all know it's the kind of things that kittens are inclined to play with before they devour.
So confer that with this description of the experience of looking at a baby by Armin A. Brott, author of The Expectant Father: Facts, Tips and Advice for Dads-To-Be.
"Sooner or later, almost every writer takes a crack at trying to describe love. And for the most part, they fall short. But there’s a line in Maurice Sendak’s classic children’s book, Where the Wild Things Are, that captures the feeling of loving one’s own child exactly: “Please don’t go—we’ll eat you up—we love you so.” As crazy as it may sound, that’s precisely what my love for my daughters feels like to me. Whether we’re playing, reading a book, telling each other about our days, or I’m just gazing at their smooth, peaceful faces as they sleep, all of a sudden I’ll be overcome with the desire to pick them up, mush them into tiny balls, and pop them in my mouth. If you don’t already know what I mean, believe me, you will soon. Just you wait."
Now, obviously one's own child is in no danger of cannibalism. But I suspect that explains what is otherwise (as he says) a very strange phenomenon that we experience.
I re-read the post you linked, and believe I must disagree with one statement you made:
And perhaps in one more way: both were, each in their fashion, brave men.
I will grant you the Lieutenant, for I have no reason to think otherwise. Treadwell I do not think can be called "brave". To be brave, one must understand that what they are doing is dangerous. They must face their fear squarely and honestly, and he did neither. He simply did not believe he was in danger. Whether it be because he thought he knew what he was doing, or because he simply idolized the bears to the point that he refused to see the danger. I think the proper word for his behavior would be "foolhardy".
Aristotle would probably agree with that assessment. I've often wondered at his description of what he describes as 'the vice of too much courage,' which he says is sometimes called "rashness." Here's the citation (from book 3 of the Nichomachaen Ethics):
Of those who go to excess he who exceeds in fearlessness has no name (we have said previously that many states of character have no names), but he would be a sort of madman or insensible person if he feared nothing, neither earthquakes nor the waves, as they say the Celts do not; while the man who exceeds in confidence about what really is terrible is rash. The rash man, however, is also thought to be boastful and only a pretender to courage; at all events, as the brave man is with regard to what is terrible, so the rash man wishes to appear; and so he imitates him in situations where he can. Hence also most of them are a mixture of rashness and cowardice; for, while in these situations they display confidence, they do not hold their ground against what is really terrible. The man who exceeds in fear is a coward; for he fears both what he ought not and as he ought not, and all the similar characterizations attach to him. He is lacking also in confidence; but he is more conspicuous for his excess of fear in painful situations. The coward, then, is a despairing sort of person; for he fears everything. The brave man, on the other hand, has the opposite disposition; for confidence is the mark of a hopeful disposition. The coward, the rash man, and the brave man, then, are concerned with the same objects but are differently disposed towards them; for the first two exceed and fall short, while the third holds the middle, which is the right, position; and rash men are precipitate, and wish for dangers beforehand but draw back when they are in them, while brave men are keen in the moment of action, but quiet beforehand.
I'm not sure I would take 'the fearlessness of the Celts' as an instance of non-courage. It seems to be a kind of rational mode, to me, based on intense love: if you love the wild sea, or the dangers of bears, or motorcycles, or the charge of a plunging horse, then it is rational to banish fear and accept what Fate brings.
Otherwise, your life will not include what you love most. You'll be safe, but without the joy of that intense love. How rational is it to decide in those terms? Well, for many people it is the choice they make -- they will forgo that experience of intense love in favor of safety. There is a long philosophical tradition favoring this approach in emotional matters (see e.g. the Stoics).
But the Celts seem to me to have a point. Maybe it's my own Celtic blood that says so, but I see their way as a good way. It strikes me as a legitimate form of courage.
It seems to be a kind of rational mode, to me, based on intense love: if you love the wild sea, or the dangers of bears, or motorcycles, or the charge of a plunging horse, then it is rational to banish fear and accept what Fate brings.
But what's it's not is failing to recognize those things are dangerous. You know they are, and accept the danger. This is brave. But failing to even recognize that the sea is dangerous and going out on a boat heedless of that danger is not. There can be no bravery where there is no danger ("I bravely stood before the charge of that bunny"), nor can there be if one does not even know a situation is dangerous. An office manager in the WTC who told people to get back to work after the first plane hit was not brave. He did not know there was any danger. His courage was untested UNTIL he became aware of the danger. I slept through Hurricane Opal when it roared through Ft. Stewart. I was not brave because I didn't even know what had happened until the next day.
It [empathy] is less valuable to prey animals, whose survival is often better served by instinct than by thought (i.e., it's enough for a horse to be afraid of a tiger....)
Yet an effective way to survive a predator is to kill it. Thus, empathize with it, understand how it thinks and feels, and then arrange the chase so as to lead your predator over the cliff that you successfully avoid.
However, there's little empirical evidence of this, except as humans--who double as prey and predator.
Eric Hines
Mike:
Yeah, I've slept through a hurricane too. I wouldn't call that brave either; it was more offhand bravado, since I wasn't really worried about that particular storm. But if it had gotten bad, I would have been less able to deal with it (because sound asleep).
Mr. Hines:
Technically, at the point you are planning to kill your opponent, you're engaged in predatory behavior. :)
I mean, you could kill them by accident in instinctive defense without leaving the prey category. But planning their death in advance is pretty predatory, wouldn't you agree?
I used to chase tornadoes on my bicycle when I was in Jr High. Today, I wouldn't call that brave, just stupid. Part of knowing what you're doing before it constitutes bravery.
But planning their death in advance is pretty predatory, wouldn't you agree?
Not necessarily. If I'm doing it preemptively to prevent its getting me, or if I'm executing a pre-planned defensive maneuver, that seems like self defense. Only were I doing it to eat the predator, or to eliminate a rival, would I call me preying on the predator.
Eric Hines
Yeah, I'm not buying it. I think developing a planning-to-kill mind is predatory. If you can do that, yeah, I think you could become empathetic.
Another way of asking about instincts here might be to ask after anthropomorphic characters in literature who look empathetic. Aslan?
"However, there's little empirical evidence of this, except as humans--who double as prey and predator."
I daresay all predators double as prey sooner or later.
Yeah, I've slept through a hurricane too. I wouldn't call that brave either; it was more offhand bravado, since I wasn't really worried about that particular storm. But if it had gotten bad, I would have been less able to deal with it (because sound asleep).
In my particular case, I was at PLDC and in the barracks. I had no idea the hurricane was even coming. I fell asleep during what I thought was a rainstorm and only learned that it was a hurricane (and a mighty destructive one) the next day when we discovered the base was shut down for three days. And my apologies, I said Stewart earlier, it was at Benning.
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