the evolving mind

[M]ost human beings don’t live in an environment much like the one for which their minds were designed. Environments — even the environments for which organisms are designed — are unpredictable. That is why behavioral flexibility evolved in the first place.
- Robin Wright (17)

In the 3rd quarter of the 20th century, people began to speak of the human brain as a computer. The analogy remains popular today. In the first years of personal computers, with the one-task-at-a-time DOS operating systems, the analogy was seriously flawed. Yes, the human brain does have a variable amount what we might call “processing power.” And yes, like most mammals, we have both short-term, dynamic memory (RAM) and long-term memory (floppy>hard-drive>flash>?). Yet the human brain is not a general information-processor serially computing the solution to the moment’s one task. A better analogy would be the more modern PC, which allows individuals to run many programs in parallel, one in the foreground, a number behind the scenes. So while the monitor may display the text we type, behind the scenes there is virus-protection software, automatic updates, audio file downloads, instant message services, etc., also running.

The term used to describe the mulitfaceted nature of the brain is “mental modules.” Rather than a central processing unit, what we have within the bone of our braincase is a multitude of semi-specialized functions. For instance, while we converse with other individuals, employing the language areas of our brains, we effortlessly continue to breathe, to monitor sensory information and to experience sometimes subtle emotional responses to what transpires.

Pascal Boyer put it this way: “[B]eing smart consists in having lots of specialized systems that handle only one problem, rather than just a larger, general-purpose intelligence. This would make sense because a large system would get bogged down by irrelevant details.(18) We have modules that handle specific classes of tasks, often working in the background of our unconscious. Some modules remain dormant until called upon. Just as a person may infrequently use the calculator function of their desktop computer, it remains there, ready to be called into action. This of course, plays a crucial rule in human behavioral flexibility. We are able to adapt to different environments, to differing pressures to adapt, thanks to the many types of tasks and behaviors that might be elicited within us. E.O. Wilson, author of Darwin’s Cathedral, wrote: “If people in different locations experience different environments, different modules will be triggered which in turn will lead to different behaviors.”(19)

Are human beings innately inclined to establish hierarchical social structures? Or are we, “at heart,” more of an egalitarian species?

Rather than an either/or question, the question is “when” or “under what conditions”? Similarly, human beings are capable of rational behavior. Again, the question is “when”? In my own experience, if you turn out the lights, touch a flame to a few candle wicks, and introduce a naked spouse, rationality flies out the window.

The modular nature of the human brain can explain why a politician can espouse, and perhaps truly believe, that homosexual behavior is immoral, and yet periodically engage in it him/herself.

Turning back to the topic of religion, it is possible to discern in religious thought and behavior an attempt to direct, make sense of, and perhaps even rationalize what other parts of our brains are doing and/or experiencing. For example, one part of our brain may understand the cycles of nature and the inevitability of death, while another part wonders how a previously permanent object has lost its permanence. (20)

Along the same vein, our modern mind, with its own active and perhaps refined modules, may not comprehend the significance of the concerns over cleanliness and purity expressed in the Old Testament. In a context lacking the insights of modern medicine, we might better comprehend the desire to control an unsure environment, an environment replete with potential contaminants.(21)

If and when we look at religious, superstitious and/or any behavior deemed irrational, it would serve us well to consider the natural precedents of these behaviors, rather than to evaluate them in a vacuum. In a species unchained to reflex, a species that can think and deliberate, where do we turn for answers when all alternatives appear equal or we lack good information. Do we think, “Well, I’ll just toss a mental coin and go with that”? No. In the supermarket we may tip the balance between equal options — rather than remain stuck and waiting for further input — by focusing on somewhat arbitrary criteria: product “A” now comes with 30% more . . . okay, decision made. On a newly acquired property and trying to determine where to dig a water well, we may have a vague idea where to dig, but is that enough? If we hold a forked rod and it twists in our hands to dip, well that is something we can see and what we see we tend to be more confident of. Superstitious, yes, but for some minds it gets the job done.(22)

The human being is a generalist par excellence, not because our minds are a single tool that suits every problem, but because within our mental and behavioral repertoire we’ve got a host of abilities and inclinations that can be elicited when needed. Sometimes a type of response may be elicited when the more conscious, rational parts of our minds find no reason for it. Consider this personal anecdote.

For a number of years I lived in Vermont. Besides the dysphoria-inducing drawback of extremely long winters, there were some nice things about living a snowball’s throw from the Canadian border. One was the chance to witness the aurora borealis, or Northern Lights. The last time I did will remain one of my most vivid memories.

My wife and I began watching the night light-show at about 9:00 pm from the front, ground-floor stoop. Unfortunately, the trees, streetlights and headlights from the passing cars diminished our view. So we threw on our warmest boots and coats and got in the car. We headed out a dirt road to a remote field.

When we pulled our car up tight to the roadside snowbank, we could see no houses, no other cars. The sky was immense, and the Northern Lights increased in intensity. They didn’t just shoot above, like a thin tide of white light slowly washing up and back an overhead beach. There was an immense shimmering . . . a series of whisper-thin curtains of colored light descended toward the frozen gravel road. Closer and closer the glimmering, undulating sheets of white, blue, green, and red came. I had never seen anything like it. The beauty and . . . the wonder? . . . nearly brought me to my knees. I could imagine a human from an earlier time being frightened by this display of charged particles, ejected from the sun, colliding with the Earth’s magnetic field. My scientific knowledge did nothing to diminish the incredible no-word-for-it of the event. It did, however, erase almost all of the fear.

Almost all? As the shimmering mists drifted closer and closer—as close as a snow squall might come as it washes your way and then obliterates the sight of everything else. Part of my mind wondered what would happen next. Had the lights come near enough to merge with the frost of my breath, I might have retreated to the car, like a dog spooked by a voice coming through the end of a vacuum hose.

The power of nature can be frightening. As in the case of forest fires, tornadoes, earthquakes, hurricanes, and volcanos. As science has provided us with real reasons why, for instance, the earth will shake and cause buildings to crumble, human beings have become less likely to attribute these occurrences to invisible agents. You might say the arms of gods have been shortened; they have atrophied. We don’t blame a god for volcano eruptions, at least not directly. We don’t spill verbiage about Earth-Mother being displeased. Not usually, at least among more educated citizens. And although it is custom to name hurricanes and speak about “their” movement and ferocity, this is an unthinking response, elicited in a situation it is no longer helpful.

On that frigid night in Vermont multiple parts of my brain where simultaneously active. Knowing that my mind can be nudged by unthinking “software” scripts better suited to another time and place, one small part of it, nonetheless, was overwhelmed by the startling intensity and apparent nearness of the phenomenon. What would happen next? Would my feeling of being small transmute into feeling overpowered and perhaps helpless? Would a normally dormant cluster of neurons incite an urge to cry out “don’t hurt me!”? Did my knees feel ever-so-slightly weak and thus was I a tad closer to falling onto them? Fortunately, on that night one particularly active part of my brain assured me that all was fine. And it was.

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(17) Wright, R., The Moral Animal: Evolutionary Psychology and Everyday Life, Vintage, NY, 1995, p.106
(18) Boyer, P. Religion Explained: The Evolutionary Origins of Religious Thought, Basic Books, New York, 2001, p. 117
(19) Wilson, D.S. Darwin’s Cathedral: Evolution, Religion, and the Nature of Society, University of Chicago, Chicago, 2002, p. 29
(20) Boyer, P. Religion Explained: The Evolutionary Origins of Religious Thought, Basic Books, New York, 2001, p. 225
(21) Boyer, P., 2001, p.134
(22) Daniel Dennett has noted, “[T]here is a good chance that divination actually helped (and didn’t just seem to help) our ancestors make up their minds when they needed to…” Dennett, D., Breaking the Spell: Religion as a Natural Phenomenon, Viking, New York, 2006, p. 151

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