Let’s [address] the question of how humans acquired music and language, since it helps us to understand the revolutionary power of imitation. Music and language are skills, and skills are not like physical attributes – bigger wings, longer legs: not only can they be imitated, which obviously physical characteristics on the whole can’t, but in the case of music and language they are reciprocal skills, of no use to individuals on their own, though of more than a little use to a group. An account of the development of skills such as language purely by the competitive force of classical natural selection has to contend not only with the fact that the skills could easily be mimicked by those not genetically related, thus seriously eroding the selective power in favour of the gene, but also with the fact that unless they were mimicked they wouldn’t be much use. Imitation would itself have a selective advantage: it would enable those who were skilled imitators to strengthen the bonds that tied them to others within the group, and make social groups stable and enduring. Those groups that were most cohesive would survive best, and the whole group’s genes would do better, or not, depending on the acquisition of shared skills that promote bonding – such as music, or ultimately language. Those individuals less able to imitate would be less well bound into the group, and would not prosper to the same degree.

The other big selective factor in acquiring skills and fitting in with the group would be flexibility, which comes with expansion of the frontal lobes – particularly the right frontal lobe, which is also the seat of social intelligence. Skills are intuitive, ‘inhabited’ ways of being and behaving, not analytically structured, rule-based techniques. So it may be that we were selected – not for specific abilities, with specific genes for each, such as the ‘language gene(s)’ or the ‘music gene(s)’ – not even ‘group selected’ for such genes – but individually for the dual skills of flexibility and the power to mimic, which are what is required to develop skills in general.




Humanists believe that if we know the truth we will be free.  In affirming this they imagine they are wiser than thinkers of earlier times.  In fact they are in the grip of a forgotten religion.

The modern faith in truth is a relic of an ancient creed.  Socrates founded European thought on the faith that truth makes us free.  He never doubted that knowledge and the good life go together.  He passed on this faith to Plato, and so to Christianity.  The result is modern Humanism.

Socrates was able to believe that the examined life is best because he thought the true and the good were one and the same:  there is a changeless reality beyond the visible world, and it is perfect.  When humans live the unexamined life they run after illusions.  They spend their lives searching for pleasure or fleeing pain, both of which are bound to pass away.  True fulfilment lies in changeless things.  An examined life is best because it leads us into eternity.

We need not doubt the reality of truth to reject this Socratic faith.  Human knowledge is one thing, human well-being another.  There is no predetermined harmony between the two.  The examined life may not be worth living.

The faith of Socrates in the examined life may well have been a trace of an archaic religion:  he ‘habitually heard and obeyed an inner voice which knew more than he did … he called it, quite simply, “the voice of God”’.  Socrates was guided by a daimon, an inner oracle, whose counsels he followed without question, even when they led him to his death.  In admitting that he was guided by an inner voice, he showed the lingering power of shamanic practices, in which humans have immemorially sought communion with spirits.

If Socratic philosophy originates in shamanism, European rationalism was born in a mystical experience.  Modern humanism differs from Socratic philosophy chiefly in failing to recognise its irrational origins – and in the hubris of its ambitions.

The bequest of Socrates was to tether the pursuit of truth to a mystical idea of the good.  Yet neither Socrates nor any other ancient thinker imagined that truth could make mankind free.  They took for granted that freedom would always remain the privilege of a few; there was no hope for the species.  By contrast, among contemporary humanists, the Greek faith that truth makes us free has been fused with one of Christianity’s most dubious legacies – the belief that the hope of freedom belongs to everyone.

Modern humanism is the faith that through science humankind can know the truth – and so be free.  But if Darwin’s theory of natural selection is true this is impossible.  The human mind serves evolutionary success, not truth.  To think otherwise is to resurrect the pre-Darwinian error that humans are different from all other animals.

An example is the theory of memes.  Memes are clusters of ideas and beliefs, which are supposed to compete with one another in much the same way that genes do.  In the life of the mind, as in biological evolution, there is a kind of natural selection of memes, whereby the fittest memes survive.  Unfortunately, memes are not genes.  There is no mechanism of selection in the history of ideas akin to that of the natural selection of genetic mutations in evolution.

In any case, only someone miraculously innocent op history could believe that competition among ideas could result in the triumph of truth.  Certainly ideas compete with none another, but the winners are normally those with power and human folly on their side.  When the medieval Church exterminated the Cathars, did Catholic memes prevail over the memes of the heretics?  If the Final Solution had been carried to a conclusion, would that have demonstrated the inferiority of Hebrew memes?

Darwinian theory tells us that an interest in truth is not needed for survival or reproduction.  More often it is a disadvantage.  Deception is common among primates and birds.  As Heinrich observes, ravens pretend to hide a cache of food, while secreting it somewhere else.  Evolutionary psychologists have shown that deceit is pervasive in animal communication.  Among humans the best deceivers are those who deceive themselves: ‘we deceive ourselves in order to deceive others better’, says Wright.  A lover who promises eternal fidelity is more likely to be believed if he believes the promise himself; he is no more likely to keep the promise.  In a competition for mates, a well-developed capacity for self-deception is an advantage.  The same is true in politics, and many other contexts.

If this is so, the view that clusters of false beliefs – inferior memes – will tend to be winnowed out by natural selection must be mistaken.  Truth has no systemic evolutionary advantage over error.  Quite to the contrary, evolution will ‘select for a degree of self-deception, rendering some facts and motives unconscious so as not to betray – by the subtle signs of self-knowledge – the deception being practiced’.  As Trivers points out, evolution favours useful error: ‘the conventional view that natural selection favours nervous systems which produce more accurate images of the world must be a very naive view of mental evolution’.

In the struggle for life, a taste for truth is a luxury – or else a disability:

tormented persons want truth.
Man is like other animals, wants food and success and women,
not truth.  Only if the mind
Tortured by some interior tension has despaired of happiness:
then it hates
its life-cage and seeks further.

Science will never be used chiefly to pursue truth, or to improve human life.  The uses of knowledge will always be shifting and crooked as humans are themselves.  Humans use what they know to meet their most urgent needs – even if the result is ruin.  History is not made in the struggle for self-preservation, as Hobbes imagines or wished to believe.  In their everyday lives humans struggle to reckon profit and loss.  When times are desperate they act to protect their offspring, to revenge themselves on enemies, or simply to give vent to their feelings.

These are not flaws that can be remedied.  Science cannot be used to reshape humankind in a more rational mould.  Any new-model humanity will only reproduce the familiar deformities of its designers.  It is a strange fancy to suppose that science can bring reason to an irrational world, when all it can ever do is give another twist to the normal madness.  These are not just inferences from history.  The upshot of scientific inquiry is that humans cannot be other than irrational.  Curiously, this is a conclusion few rationalists have been ready to accept.

Tertullian, a theologian who lived in Carthage sometime around AD 200, wrote of Christianity: Certum est, quia impossible (it is certain because it is impossible).  Humanists are less clear-minded, but their faith is just as irrational.  They do not deny that history is a catalogue of unreason, but their remedy is simple: humankind must – and will – be reasonable.  Without this absurd, Tertullian-like faith, the Enlightenment is a gospel of despair.

John Gray, Straw Dogs: Thoughts on Humans and Other Animals.