Evolutionary Approaches to Literature copy

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Literature, edited by N. Carroll and J. Gibson, New York: Routledge, 2016, 137-‐. 146. ... (for example, Goodheart 2007, Kramnick 2011) have lamented how ..... Thought and Narrative Language, edited by B. K. Britton and A. D. Pellegrini,.
Evolutionary  Approaches  to  Literature   Stephen  Davies,  Philosophy,  University  of  Auckland     Important  note:  This  is  a  final  draft  and  differs  from  the  definitive  version,   which  is  published  in  The  Routledge  Companion  to  the  Philosophy  of   Literature,  edited  by  N.  Carroll  and  J.  Gibson,  New  York:  Routledge,  2016,  137-­‐ 146.  I  have  been  assured  by  the  University  of  Auckland's  research  office  that  if   they  have  made  this  publicly  available  then  it  does  not  violate  the  publisher's   copyright  rules.     I—Introduction   I  present  this  topic  under  two  subheadings.  Evocriticism  involves  the  application   of  the  theories  of  evolutionary  psychology,  sociobiology,  and  the  like  to  the   interpretation  of  literature.  Literary  Darwinism  maintains  that  literary  behaviors   are  grounded  in  our  evolved  human  nature,  either  as  an  adaptation  that  made  its   bearers  more  productive  of  similarly  endowed  offspring,  or  as  a  byproduct  of   some  other  adaptation.  Sometimes  "evocriticism"  has  been  suggested  as  a   replacement  name  for  "literary  Darwinism"  (Boyd  2009),  but  the  latter  came   earlier  (Carroll  2004).  As  I  use  the  terms,  they  cover  different  but  related  uses  of   biological  theory  applied  to  the  discussion  of  literature.  A  proponent  of   evocriticism  could  regard  it  as  one  among  a  variety  of  interpretative  options  and   range  it  alongside  her  psychoanalytic,  deconstructivist,  Marxist,  feminist,  and   queer  interpretations  of  a  given  text.  She  might  be  agnostic  about  or   unconcerned  with  the  issue  of  whether  prehistoric  literary  behaviors   contributed  to  our  species'  evolution.  But  many  proponents  of  evocriticism  are   also  literary  Darwinists  and  combine  the  two  approaches.     Most  literary  Darwinists  (and  most  of  their  critics)  are  English  literature   academics.  There  is  often  an  ideological  aspect  to  the  adoption  of  literary   Darwinism  by  members  of  English  departments.  They  are  keen  to  repudiate  the  

 

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dominance  in  their  discipline  of  the  social  science  model,  according  to  which   knowledge  is  self-­‐referentially  circular,  the  human  mind  is  a  blank  slate,  and  all   concepts  are  culturally  constructed  (see  Gottschall  2008,  Boyd  2009,  Carroll   2011).  They  would  like  to  substitute  for  this  a  more  scientific  approach  that   acknowledges  biological  commonalities  in  our  shared  human  nature  and  sees   literature  as  playing  a  vital  role  in  identifying  and  conveying  these.    

For  valuable  collections  of  academic  discussions  of  the  theories  and  issues,  

see  Gottschall  and  Wilson  2005,  Boyd,  Carroll,  and  Gottschall  2010,  and  the   journal  Style  2008,  2/3  and  2012,  3/4.     II—Evocriticism   Evolutionary  psychology  argues  that  our  minds,  as  well  as  our  bodies,  are   products  of  evolution.  Many  of  our  current  behaviors  and  ways  of  thinking  were   inherited  from  our  forebears  and  were  adaptive  for  them  in  facilitating  their   reproductive  success.  Among  the  tendencies  discussed  by  evolutionary   psychologists  are  sexual  attraction,  mating  strategies,  female  childcare,  male   mate  guarding,  jealousy,  male  aggression,  striving  for  status,  social  score-­‐keeping,   cooperation,  free  riding,  cheater  detection,  kin  rivalry,  kin  altruism,   intergenerational  and  intragroup  relations,  and  intergroup  conflict.  They  explain   sociality  and  empathy  in  terms  of  Theory  of  Mind  (our  capacity  to  project  into   the  minds  of  others  to  understand  what  they  are  thinking,  desiring,  and  feeling)   and  the  related  notion  of  levels  of  intentionality  (in  which  I  know  that  she  fears   that  he  will  resent  …).    

Of  course,  much  literature  is  concerned  with  graphically  portraying  

perennially  fascinating  human  themes:  love,  ambition,  redemption,  war,  

 

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friendship,  loss,  political  struggle,  and  the  like.  And  these  are  precisely  the   subjects  theorized  by  evolutionary  psychology.  So  it  is  natural  to  test  whether   great  literary  works  match  the  theories  and  if  this  explains  the  value  we  accord   them.     On  this  last  matter  there  is  clearly  room  for  skepticism.  Ellen  Dissanayake   (1999)  objects  that  the  approach  reveals  biological,  not  literary  value.  Others   (for  example,  Goodheart  2007,  Kramnick  2011)  have  lamented  how  evocriticism   reduces  interpretation  to  thematics  and  thereby  overlooks  aspects  of  the   author's  skills  and  style  that  are  crucial  to  assessments  of  literary  value.  Even   advocates  (such  as  Carroll  2011)  have  identified  some  of  their  fellow  evocritics   as  guilty  of  such  charges.  And  there  is  the  concern  that  their  focus  on  human   universals  leads  evocritics  to  overlook  what  its  cultural  time  and  location   contribute  to  a  literary  work's  character  and  value  (Easterlin  2012).  But  I  doubt   that  these  worries  are  decisive.  Evocritics  need  not  confine  their  critical   appreciation  exclusively  to  literature's  illustration  of  evolutionary  themes,  and   even  if  they  do,  they  need  not  claim  thereby  to  account  for  all  the  ways  in  which   literature  might  be  valuable.  On  the  positive  side,  they  can  surely  claim  that  the   author's  psychological  insight  and  sensitivity  adds  value  to  a  literary  work  and   that  the  Darwinist  approach  to  criticism  seeks  evidence  of  this.  And  they  can   attend  to  the  manner  in  which  the  author  individualizes  and  develops  the  theme   in  question,  these  being  prime  locations  of  literary  value.  In  considering  the   work's  individuality  and  originality,  they  can  and  should  take  into  account  the   work's  artworld  context  and  cultural  background.       The  uses  in  literary  interpretation  of  ideas  from  evolutionary  psychology   and  its  cognate  disciplines  are  too  frequent  and  diverse  to  be  usefully  

 

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summarized  here.  Instead,  I  offer  a  few  illustrative  cases.  And  because  of  their   brief  treatment,  I  provide  little  evidence  of  subtle  literary  appreciation  in  the   following  examples.   Ernest  Hemingway's  short  story,  'The  Short  Happy  Life  of  Francis   Macomber,'  tells  the  tale  of  a  rich  man  who  shows  cowardice  on  a  big-­‐game  hunt.   He  is  scorned  by  his  ageing  wife,  Margot,  who  becomes  sexually  involved  with   the  safari's  professional  hunter.  In  trying  to  redeem  himself,  Francis  kills  a   charging  wounded  buffalo,  succeeding  only  at  the  last  second.  His  wife,  Margot,   fires  at  the  same  moment  from  the  car,  hitting  Francis  in  the  head  and  killing  him.     According  to  Michelle  Scalise  Sugiyama  (1996a),  women  should  have   inherited  a  preference  for  men  who  are  successful  hunters.  Meanwhile,  short-­‐ term  extra-­‐pair  copulations  with  men  of  high  reproductive  quality  can  be  to  the   benefit  of  children  thereby  conceived  (provided  the  women's  unsexy  but   resource-­‐rich  partners  continue  to  support  them).  So,  Margot  responds  to   Francis'  humiliation  in  a  predictable  fashion.  But  her  position  would  be   undermined  if  he  bravely  overcame  his  fear.  He  then  would  become  more  likely   to  ditch  her  for  a  chaste,  younger  woman.  It  is  therefore  likely  that  she  intended   to  kill  rather  than  to  save  Francis,  in  order  to  secure  his  resources.   The  politics  of  sexual  attraction  are  explored  in  a  broader  way  by  Cynthia   Whissel  (1996).  Her  study  of  25  popular  women's  novels  and  six  famous   romantic  stories  bears  out  the  prediction  that  females  choose  mates  on  the  basis   economic  resources  and  parenting  potential,  while  males  seek  sexual  exclusivity   and  fertility  (that  is,  youthfulness).  Male  protagonists  are  likely  to  be  bold,   aggressive,  and  untrusting,  while  female  protagonists  are  likely  to  be  friendly,   timid,  and  astonishable.  Moreover,  while  novels  for  women  are  predominantly  

 

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about  mate  choice  and  mating  commitment,  fictions  for  men  more  often  focus  on   inter-­‐male  aggression  and  adventure,  and  rarely  involve  such  commitment.   Ian  Jobling  (2001)  notes  the  cross-­‐cultural  commonness  of  stories  pitting   a  hero  against  a  semi-­‐human  ogre.  Citing  examples  from  20  cultures,  he  shows   that  the  stories  share  a  number  of  key  elements:  a  courageous,  morally  upright   hero  defends  the  group  against  a  less-­‐than-­‐fully-­‐human  outsider  who  has  injured   some  group  members  in  some  way.  The  hero  defeats  the  ogre  in  physical  combat,   usually  by  killing  him.  Such  stories  help  to  reinforce  innate  positive  biases  in  the   perception  of  the  self  and  the  in-­‐group  and  they  reinforce  negative  biases  in  the   perception  of  out-­‐groups.  Jobling  claims  that  this  is  one  of  the  principal  reasons   why  such  tales  are  told.   Male  aggression  is  also  a  subject  of  Homer's  Iliad,  according  to  Jonathan   Gottschall  (2001).  In  nonhuman  animals,  male  competition  is  mostly  for  status  or   territory  and  the  access  these  provide  to  mates.  Though  such  competition  is   often  ritualized  or  even  ceremonial,  lethal  combat  is  not  uncommon.  As   Gottschall  catalogs,  Homer's  Iliad  makes  human  life  out  to  be  surprisingly  similar.   The  Greek  bard  highlights  how,  when  we  are  mired  in  war,  human  animality,   physical  vulnerability,  and  mortality  come  to  the  fore.  At  the  same  time,  he   shows  us  as  apart  from  other  animals  in  possessing  the  godlike  intelligence  that   allows  us  to  comprehend  the  impossibility  of  transcending  our  animal  nature.   Meanwhile,  an  examination  of  ten  of  Shakespeare's  plays  reveals  that   relations  between  characters  mimic  the  social  dynamics  of  small  groups  (Stiller,   Nettle,  and  Dunbar  2003,  Stiller  and  Hudson  2005).  The  number  of  characters   that  are  present  within  each  scene  reflects  similar  numbers  to  those  of  observed   human  support  cliques.  Different  scenes  are  linked  through  keystone  characters,  

 

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thereby  enabling  the  flow  of  information  and  the  expansion  of  the  small  social   world  of  the  fictional  group.  This  approach  possibly  respects  cognitive  limits  on  a   large  audience's  tracking  of  a  range  of  characters.   Daniel  Nettle  (2005)  takes  a  broad  look  at  the  dramatic  genres  of  tragedy   and  comedy.  The  former  is  typically  about  status  competition  and  the  latter   about  mate  selection.  The  enduring  appeal  of  these  genres  is  due  to  the  way  they   exploit  our  intrinsic  interest  in  the  strategies  others  of  the  group  adopt  in  the   attempt  to  maximize  their  fitness.  We  study  this  for  the  relevance  it  has  to  our   own  attempts  at  fitness  maximizing.   It  is  worth  noting  several  respects  in  which  these  illustrative  examples   are  not  typical.  Cross-­‐cultural  studies  (as  in  Jobling  2001),  the  use  of  statistical   analysis  (as  in  Whissel  1996),  genre  studies  (as  in  Whissel  1996  and  Nettle   2005)  and  comparisons  across  more  than  a  few  works  (as  in  Whissel,  Jobling,   and  Stiller)  are  comparatively  uncommon,  as  is  the  focus  (in  Jobling  2001)  on   what  is  a  predominantly  oral,  as  against  written,  literary  tradition.  Among   literary  scholars,  Jonathan  Gottschall  (2008)  and  Joe  Carroll  (et  al.  2009,  2011)   are  unusual  in  coding  and  statistically  testing  a  large  body  of  works.  Most   evocritics  based  in  university  literature  departments  discuss  one  or  only  a  few   works  at  a  time  and  these  few  works  typically  are  high  quality  published  novels   written  in  the  past  two  hundred  years.  The  primary  focus  is  on  fictional   narratives,  but  lyrics  also  have  been  considered  (see  Boyd  2012).     III—Literature  as  an  evolutionary  adaptation   Reading  and  writing  originated  about  5000  years  ago  (Gosden  2003),  but   literacy  became  comparatively  widespread  only  several  centuries  after  the  

 

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invention  of  the  printing  press  in  the  fifteenth  century.  Reading  and  writing  are   not  supported  by  innate,  task-­‐specific  neural  circuits.  Neither  is  regarded  as   evolutionarily  adaptive  by  biologists.  So,  if  we  are  to  identify  literature  as  an   evolutionary  adaptation,  the  most  plausible  account  will  take  a  broad  view  of   literature,  not  confining  it  to  fine  writing,  and  see  its  origins  in  prehistoric  oral   traditions  of  tale-­‐telling  and  recitation.    

Not  surprisingly,  the  standard  view  is  that  literary  behaviors  are  an  

ancient  adaptation  and  that  they  retain  their  adaptive  benefits  to  the  present  day.   Thus:  'When  I  speak  of  the  adaptive  functions  of  literature,  I  mean  to  signify  the   adaptive  functions  of  the  oral  antecedents  of  written  stories,  poems,  and  plays.   The  same  arguments  that  apply  to  these  oral  forms  will  be  understood  as   extending  also  to  their  counterparts  in  written  language'  (Carroll  2009,  160).  But   other  views  have  been  canvassed.  Paul  Hernadi  (2001)  thinks  we  are  now  so   surrounded  by  literature  that,  like  our  hunger  for  sugar  and  fat,  our  interest  in  it   is  no  longer  adaptive.  The  opposite  view  is  that  literature  has  only  recently   become  adaptive,  helping  us  to  accommodate  the  mismatch  between  our  species'   current  and  ancient  lifestyles  (Storey  1996)  or  to  deal  with  the  chaos  and   uncertainty  of  modern  life  (Argyros  1991,  Austin  2007).    But  no  evidence  is   offered  to  show,  for  instance,  that  relevant  literary  behaviors  have  recently   become  heritable.   Where  are  we  to  locate  the  relevant  adaptation?  So  ubiquitous  and   foundational  is  it,  the  human  tendency  to  construct  narratives  (about  who  we  are,   where  we  came  from,  where  we  are  going,  what  happened)  is  most  likely   adaptive.  Similarly,  our  capacity  imaginatively  to  create  and  consider  fictional   scenarios  is  central  to  practical  reasoning,  as  when  we  hypothesize  about  the  

 

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future  or  counterfactually  consider  how  the  past  might  have  been.  Also  adaptive   is  our  Theory  of  Mind  ability,  which  allows  us  to  understand  and  interact  socially   with  other  people.  The  creation  and  appreciation  of  literature  might  involve   these  adaptive  behaviors,  but  it  is  unlikely  that  literature  is  the  primary   adaptation  that  gives  rise  to  them.  They  are  directed  mainly  to  negotiating  the   real  world  and  the  risks  and  challenges  it  poses  and  they  tend  to  be  well-­‐ developed  in  the  child  before  mastery  of  reading  and  widespread  engagement   with  literature  (Callaghan  et  al.  2005,  Easterlin  2012).  Indeed,  it  is  more   plausible  to  suggest  that  the  creation  and  appreciation  of  literature  depends  on   the  prior  mastery  of  these  skills  (Astington  1990).  In  other  words,  if  literature  is   adaptive  it  is  not  its  narrativity,  fictionality,  or  psycho-­‐social  insight  that  makes  it   so.  Narrativity  does  not  distinguish  it  from  biography  or  history;  fictionality  does   not  distinguish  it  from  practical  reasoning  and  fantasy;  psycho-­‐social  insight   does  not  distinguish  it  from  work  in  history,  psychology  and  the  social  sciences   (Davies  2012,  ch.  11).   In  response,  it  might  be  argued  that  we  should  not  overplay  the   distinction  between  factive  and  fictional  discourse  (Dutton  2009).  Both  are  liable   to  be  creatively  constructive  and  imaginative.  I  agree.  But  literary  Darwinists  are   very  clearly  focused  on  the  kind  of  writing  that  belongs  in  university   departments  of  literature,  not  departments  of  history  or  sociology.  And  we  are   rarely  indifferent  to  whether  a  story  is  told  as  fiction  or  fact.  We  may  adopt   indifference  to  the  fact  that  the  creation  stories,  folk  science,  or  religious  myths   of  other  cultures  are  told  as  true,  for  instance.  But  most  of  the  time  it  matters  to   us  what  really  happened  and  why,  and  we  are  keen  to  separate  this  from  

 

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conjecture,  fantasy,  and  fictions  told  as  entertainments.  (This  is  appreciated  and   discussed  in  Zunshine  2006  and  Swirski  2010.)   Of  course,  it  remains  possible  to  argue  that  literature  is  adaptive  because   it  refines  the  relevant  mind-­‐reading  and  information-­‐extracting  skills  in  ways   that  would  not  otherwise  be  possible  (see  Zunshine  2006  and  Mar  and  Oatley   2008,  Green  and  Donahue  2009,  for  instance)  or  that  it  plays  a  special  role  in   "fine  tuning"  or  "calibrating"  them  (see  Tooby  and  Cosmides  2001,  Carroll  2011).   But  I  doubt  that  literature  of  the  kind  under  discussion  is  uniquely  important  in   these  regards,  so  this  position  appears  to  be  weak.     This  is  not  to  deny  that  we  can  learn  from  literature,  or  that  it  allows  us  to   explore  scenarios  "off-­‐line"  without  exposing  ourselves  to  real-­‐world  costs  and   risks,  or  that  it  might  make  us  more  sensitive  to  and  understanding  of  people   who  are  not  like  us.  Many  literary  Darwinists  characterize  this  as  literature's   evolutionary  purpose.  For  instance,  Denis  Dutton  write  that  'the  features  of  a   stable  human  nature  revolve  around  human  relationships  of  every  variety:  social   coalitions  of  kinship  or  tribal  affinity;  issues  of  status;  reciprocal  exchange;  the   complexities  of  sex  and  child-­‐rearing;  struggles  over  resources;  benevolence  and   hostility;  friendship  and  nepotism;  conformity  and  independence;  moral   obligations,  altruism,  and  selfishness;  and  so  on…  These  issues  constitute  the   major  themes  and  subjects  of  literature  and  its  oral  antecedents.  Stories  are   universally  constituted  in  this  way  because  of  the  role  storytelling  can  play  in   helping  individuals  and  groups  develop  and  deepen  their  own  grasp  of  human   social  and  emotional  experience'  (2009,  118).  Similarly,  Brian  Boyd  holds  that   'fiction  …  does  not  establish  but  does  improve  our  capacity  to  interpret  events.  It   preselects  information  of  relevance,  prefocuses  attention  on  what  is  strategically  

 

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important,  and  thereby  simplifies  the  cognitive  task  of  comprehension.  At  the   same  time  it  keeps  strategic  information  flowing  at  a  much  more  rapid  pace  than   normal  in  real  life,  and  allows  a  comparatively  disengaged  attitude  to  the  events   unfolding.  …  Fiction  aids  our  rapid  understanding  of  real-­‐life  social  situations,   activating  and  maintaining  this  capacity  at  high  intensity  and  low  cost'  (2009,   192–3).   In  assessing  such  claims  we  should  bear  in  mind  that  literature  is  equally   capable  of  providing  seductively  misleading  information,  of  inculcating  hatred,  of   affirming  what  is  corrupt  in  the  status  quo,  of  reinforcing  crude  stereotypes,  of   validating  what  should  be  questioned  in  the  prevailing  morality,  and  so  on.  And   even  where  it  is  genuinely  useful  and  not  misleading,  notice  that  the  value  of   literature  is  here  alleged  to  lie  in  its  serving  both  as  a  vehicle  on  which  we   practice  skills  and  as  a  repository  for  knowledge.  That  seems  to  take  us  far  from   a  Darwinist  perspective,  which  should  deal  with  inherited  traits  and  dispositions,   not  with  acquired  competence  and  learned  information.  If  there  are  evolutionary   adaptations  at  work  here,  they  are  in  the  dispositions  that  allow  us  to  learn  from   experience  and  rehearsal.  But  as  I  have  already  suggested,  those  dispositions  are   mainly  directed  to  the  real  world  and  motivate  engagement  prior  to  any  full-­‐ blown  interest  in  literature  as  such.   One  way  of  mitigating  this  last  objection  would  be  by  shifting  from   classical  evolution  theory,  in  which  the  unit  of  selection  is  the  individual  (or  her   genes)  and  the  means  of  transmission  is  genetic,  to  what  is  known  as  multilevel   selection  theory,  in  which  the  unit  of  selection  is  the  group  and  the  means  of   transmission  is  cultural.  The  idea  then  would  be  that  literature-­‐enhanced  groups   outcompeted  literature-­‐impoverished  groups  and,  secondly,  that  intra-­‐group  

 

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competition  was  less  significant  for  survival  and  reproductive  success  than  inter-­‐ group  competition.  And  rather  than  genetic  inheritance,  the  relevant  benefits   would  be  conveyed  culturally,  with  literary  traditions  playing  a  key  role.   A  few  literary  Darwinists  explicitly  adopt  multilevel  selection  theory   (Boyd  2009,  for  example),  though  none  attempts  to  provide  the  kind  of  evidence   I  just  suggested  is  appropriate.  A  few  others  identify  group  benefits,  while   making  clear  that  they  regard  the  individual,  not  the  group,  as  the  primary  unit   of  selection  (Dissanayake  1988  and  Hernadi  2001,  for  instance).  But  the  vast   majority  of  the  many  writers  who  appeal  to  the  way  that  literature  unifies  and   strengthens  the  group  by  confirming  and  reinforcing  its  myths,  hierarchies,   practices,  and  values  are  apparently  unaware  of  their  departure  from  the  classic   model  of  natural  selection.  They  are  also  apparently  unaware  of  the  reservations   biologists  hold  about  multilevel  selection  (Pinker  2007)  and  the  weakening  of   explanatory  power  that  the  shift  entails  (Davies,  2012,  43–4).   What  alternative  adaptive  functions  are  proposed  for  literature?  A   common  suggestion  is  that  it  is  a  form  of  sexual  display.  Both  Geoffrey  Miller   (2000)  and  Denis  Dutton  (2009)  draw  attention  to  the  seductive  power  of  a  large   vocabulary  and  to  the  possibilities  provided  by  language  for  the  exhibition  of   intelligence,  humor,  imaginativeness,  creativity,  and  playfulness.  Literary   authors  typically  prove  themselves  superior  in  their  mastery  of  language.   This  approach  faces  a  number  of  objections.  It  looks  as  if  what  might  be   adaptive  here  is  intelligence  and  humor,  rather  than  the  production  of  literature   as  such.  Literary  behaviors  might  implement  these  adaptations,  but  so  do  many   non-­‐literary  alternatives.  To  return  the  focus  to  literature,  it  would  be  necessary   to  demonstrate,  for  example,  that  skilled  authors  parented  more  extensive  

 

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lineages  than  non-­‐authors  and  that  literary  skills  are  heritable.  (In  fact,   advocates  of  sexual  selection  rarely  attempt  such  demonstrations  and  in  any   case,  I  doubt  that  the  attempt  would  be  successful.)  Besides,  the  creation  and   consumption  of  literature  often  is  a  private  affair  far  removed  from  courtship   settings  or  romantic  contexts.  Perhaps  the  ancient  group's  fireside  storyteller   benefitted  reproductively  from  being  the  focus  of  attention  (Gottschall  2012),   but  in  that  case  we  might  suspect  that  contemporary  professional  literature  has   forfeited  that  earlier  adaptive  function.  And  if  face-­‐to-­‐face  storytelling  is  to  be   made  central,  it  should  also  be  recognized  that  this  takes  place  more  often   between  mothers  and  children,  or  within  groups  of  children,  than  between  those   in  the  market  for  a  reproductive  partner.  This  is  not  to  deny  that  males  might   appropriate  literary  behaviors  for  the  purpose  of  sexual  display.  (Almost  any   behavior  that  can  be  turned  into  a  competition  can  be  used  in  this  way,  of   course.)  But  it  is  to  raise  doubts  about  the  claim  that  literary  behaviors  exist  and   are  sustained  by  the  evolutionary  need  to  attract  mates.   A  related  theory  argues  that  literature  confers  social,  not  solely  sexual,   rank.  Michelle  Scalise  Sugiyama  (1996b)  has  defended  such  a  view  in  discussing   hunter-­‐gatherer  communities.  And  Brian  Boyd  (2009)  presents  this  as  a  general   account  of  the  evolutionary  significance  of  literature.  He  maintains  that  we  are   an  ultrasocial  species.  As  such,  we  seek  both  to  command  the  attention  of  others   and  to  share  attention.  Art  –  and,  in  particular,  literature  –  provides  the   advantage  of  'getting  along  (improved  cooperation,  and  therefore  participation   in  more  successful  groups)  and  getting  ahead  (improved  status  within  one's  own   group)'  (Boyd  2009,  108).  'An  evolutionary  model  of  fiction,  therefore,  should   focus  on  ways  storytellers,  as  active  individual  strategists,  maximize  the  

 

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attention  of  their  audience  by  appealing  to  features  that  have  evolved  to  be  of   interest  to  all  human  minds,  to  our  shared  understandings  of  events,  our  shared   predispositions  to  be  interested  in  and  engaged  by  what  others  do  and  our  sheer   readiness  to  share  attention'  (Boyd  2001,  201).   The  concerns  faced  by  these  theories  are  like  those  raised  earlier.  It  looks   as  if  what  is  adaptive  is  social  status,  and  plainly  literary  skill  provides  only  one   route  to  this.  Meanwhile,  the  production  and  consumption  of  literature  in  the   modern  context  take  place  under  circumstances  that  are  not  social.  And  as   Pinker  (2007,  174)  asks,  what  is  adaptive  about  sharing  attention  to  events  that   never  happened?  Literary  creativity  might  be  coopted  as  a  means  to  seeking   status,  but  it  is  not  obvious  that  this  is  literature's  original  or  primary  purpose.     IV—Literature  as  a  byproduct   It  may  be  that  literary  behaviors  are  connected  to  evolution  not  by  being   adaptive  but  as  byproducts  instead.  That  is,  they  are  incidental  consequences  of   some  behavior  or  aptitude  that  is  adaptive  in  its  own  right.  Of  course,  this  thesis   does  not  secure  what  literary  Darwinists  most  desire:  that  literature  is  seen  to  be   foundational  to  our  human  nature  by  virtue  of  improving  the  reproductive   success  of  our  distant  ancestors.  But  some  evolutionary  psychologists  think  the   byproduct  thesis  should  be  the  default  assumption  for  the  arts  in  general  (see   Tooby  and  Cosmides  2001,  De  Smedt  and  De  Cruz  2010).  And  Steven  Pinker   (2007),  who  shares  this  view,  argues  against  adaptationist  accounts  of  literature   and  also  against  the  common  mistake  of  extrapolating  beyond  the  observation   that  literature  benefits  us  to  the  conclusion  that  literary  behaviors  are  adaptive   for  the  sake  of  those  benefits.  

 

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What  adaptive  behaviors  could  give  rise  to  literature?  I  have  already  

mentioned  some  prime  candidates:  our  tendency  to  narrativize,  to  think  and   reason  in  terms  of  what  is  not  actual,  and  to  understand  our  fellow  humans  as   intentional  agents  with  beliefs,  desires,  and  emotions  other  than  our  own.  Given   both  how  important  such  activities  are  in  ordinary  life  and  how  intrinsically   pleasurable  they  can  be  to  exercise,  it  would  not  be  at  all  surprising  that  we   would  invent  pastimes  that  involved  them.  In  any  case,  this  view  is  consistent   with  Pinker's  hypothesis:  'fiction  may  be,  at  least  in  part,  a  pleasure  technology,  a   co-­‐opting  of  language  and  imagery  as  a  virtual  reality  device  which  allows  a   reader  to  enjoy  pleasant  hallucinations  like  exploring  interesting  territories,   conquering  enemies,  hobnobbing  with  powerful  people,  and  winning  attractive   mates.  Fiction,  moreover,  can  tickle  people’s  fancies  without  even  having  to   project  them  into  a  thrilling  vicarious  experience.  There  are  good  reasons  for   people  (or  any  competitive  social  agent)  to  crave  gossip,  which  is  a  kind  of  due   diligence  on  possible  allies  and  enemies.  Fiction,  with  its  omniscient  narrator   disclosing  the  foibles  of  interesting  virtual  people,  can  be  a  form  of  simulated   gossip'  (2007,  171).    

William  Flesch  (2007)  identifies  a  different  but  also  plausible  adaptation  

as  the  source  of  literature.  He  argues  that  we  admire  altruists  and  those  who   punish  wrongdoers,  even  at  their  own  cost.  Both  behaviors  signal  evolutionary   fitness.  Flesch  maintains  that  fictions  tell  interesting  stories  about  social   interactions  involving  altruism  and  punishment,  and  about  the  score-­‐keeping   with  which  we  monitor  and  judge  these  behaviors.  'We  are  fitted  to  track  one   another  and  to  track  as  well  how  others  monitor  one  another  and  what  they  do   when  they  monitor  one  another.  What  we  wish  to  track  is  past  behavior  in  order  

 

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to  respond  in  the  present  to  that  behavior.  Fiction  recruits  this  central  capacity   in  human  social  cognition  for  taking  pleasure  in  responding  to  the  nonactual'   (Flesch  2007,  46).    

As  Flesch  explains  it,  literature  does  not  develop  our  sense  of  social  

justice  or  improve  our  capacity  to  keep  track  of  social  relations.  And  though   authors  display  their  understanding  of  such  matters  and  can  be  admired  for  this,   their  gain  in  status  is  not  an  evolutionary  purpose  for  which  we  have  literature.   Though  he  does  not  explicitly  advocate  the  byproduct  thesis,  Flesch's  theory  is  of   that  type.    If  I  were  to  question  his  theory,  it  would  be  about  the  narrowness  of   its  scope.  It  is  far  from  plain  that  all  narrative  fiction  is  driven  by  our  interest  in   monitoring  altruism  and  punishment.     V—Closing  comments   Evocriticism  provides  an  interesting  addition  to  the  interpretative  arsenal   employed  by  literature  commentators.  Provided  it  is  used  to  reveal  aspects  of  the   literary  work,  rather  than  simply  to  illustrate  the  theories  of  evolutionary   psychology,  it  can  account  for  some  aspects  of  literary  value.  Of  course,  if  it  is  to   be  revealing  it  must  be  used  carefully,  with  proper  respect  for  the  work  it  targets,   but  this  is  no  less  true  of  other  approaches  to  interpretation  that  have  as  their   goal  the  revelation  of  the  author's  work  and  achievements.    

Literary  Darwinism  of  the  variety  that  identifies  literary  behaviors  as  

evolutionary  adaptations  is  more  problematic.  First,  we  should  note  the  variety   of  different  theories  in  the  arena.  They  vary  as  regards  when  literature  was   adaptive,  what  it  is  an  adaptation  for,  whether  natural  or  sexual  selection  is   central,  whether  the  unit  of  selection  is  the  individual  or  the  group,  and  whether  

 

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the  focus  should  fall  primarily  on  highly  talented  individuals  or  on  everyone,  as   the  successful  heirs  of  distantly  past  adaptations.  As  a  result  of  this  variety,  it  is   not  easy  to  come  to  an  all-­‐encompassing  conclusion.     Second,  many  literary  Darwinists  are  careless  of  what  is  required  in   showing  that  literary  behaviors  are  adaptive.  It  is  not  common  for  them  even  to   consider  if  past  authors  were  notably  successful  reproducers  or  if  the  literary   behaviors  they  identify  as  adaptive  are  heritable.  There  is  a  tendency  to  assume   that  it  is  sufficient  to  point  to  advantages  that  exposure  to  literature  can  produce,   whereas  more  is  needed  to  demonstrate  that  those  behaviors  were  biologically   selected  on  account  of  those  advantages.  And  if  there  is  a  shift  toward  locating   the  benefits  of  literature  as  accruing  to  the  group,  this  rarely  goes  with   recognition  of  the  kinds  of  evidence  this  calls  for,  of  the  differences  between   organism-­‐level  and  group-­‐level  selection,  and  of  the  controversy  that  still   surrounds  the  idea  of  multilevel  selection  among  biologists  and  philosophers  of   biology.     Third,  theorizing  in  the  literary  Darwinist  mode  frequently  seems  to  be   ideologically  motivated  by  a  perceived  socio-­‐political  need  to  rescue  the   academic  disciplines  of  English  or  literary  studies,  or  to  ennoble  the  arts,  or  to   put  studies  of  the  humanities  on  the  same  level  of  those  of  the  sciences.  This   ideological  component  is  often  more  prominent  than  a  commitment  to  meeting   scientific  standards  of  rigor.  Many  hypotheses  of  literary  Darwinism  not  only  are   not  subjected  to  empirical  test  but  also  could  not  be  assessed  in  that  manner.  The   movement  might  be  stronger  and  more  convincing  were  there  an  empirical   program  to  support  it.  And  some  literary  Darwinists  (such  as  Gottchall  2008  and   Carroll  2011)  have  made  moves  to  generate  such  a  program.  But  on  the  other  

 

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hand,  others  question  the  compatibility  of  such  methodologies  with  the   interpretative  enterprise  that  sifts  through  the  complex  layers  of  meaning  that   are  found  in  literary  works  (Easterlin  2012)  and  object  to  reconfiguring  literary   criticism  around  the  study  of  human  nature  (Crews  2008).  (On  the  uneasy   history  of  the  relation  between  literary  criticism  and  psychology,  see  Lamarque   2011.)    

The  version  of  literary  Darwinism  that  characterizes  literary  behaviors  as  

byproducts  of  adaptations  lying  elsewhere  certainly  is  plausible  and  would  find   more  adherents  than  opponents  among  evolutionary  psychologists  and   biologists.  But  it  is  worth  noting,  as  I  have  not  so  far  stressed,  that  this  is  not  a   less  demanding  option.  It  needs  to  rule  out  the  possibility  that  behaviors  that   were  not  originally  adaptive  could  have  become  so  later,  and  it  needs  to  agree  on   the  adaptations  that  give  rise  to  these  ancillary  behaviors  and  to  account  for  how   they  do  so.     Stephen  Davies,   Department  of  Philosophy,   University  of  Auckland.    

 

 

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