The Naked Ape (18 page)
Chapter Five - Fighting
IF we are to understand the nature of our aggressive urges, we must see them against the background of our animal origins. As a species we are so preoccupied with mass-produced and mass-destroying violence at the present time, that we are apt to lose our objectivity when discussing this subject. It is a fact that the most level-headed intellectuals frequently become violently aggressive when discussing the urgent need to suppress aggression. This is not surprising. We are, to put it mildly, in a mess, and there is a strong chance that we shall have exterminated ourselves by the end of the century. Our only consolation will have to be that, as a species, we have had an exciting term of office. Not a long term, as species go, but an amazingly eventful one. But before we examine our own bizarre perfections of attack and defence, we must examine the basic nature of violence in the spearless, gunless, bombless world of animals.
Animals fight amongst themselves for one of two very good reasons: either to establish their dominance in a social hierarchy, or to establish their territorial rights over a particular piece of ground. Some species are purely hierarchical, with no fixed territories. Some are purely territorial, with no hierarchy problems. Some have hierarchies on their territories and have to contend with both forms of aggression. We belong to the last group: we have it both ways. As primates we were already loaded with the hierarchy system. This is the basic way of primate life. The group keeps moving about, rarely staying anywhere long enough to establish a fixed territory. Occasional inter-group conflict may arise, but it is weakly organised, spasmodic and of comparatively little importance in the life of the average monkey. The ‘peck order’ (socalled because it was first discussed in respect of chickens) is, on the other hand, of vital significance in his day-to-day and even his minute-to-minute-living. There is a rigidly established social hierarchy in most species of monkeys and apes, with a dominant male in charge of the group, and the others ranged below him in varying degrees of subordination. When he becomes too old or weak to maintain his domination, he is overthrown by a younger, sturdier male, who then assumes the mantle of the colony boss. (In some cases the usurper literally assumes the mantle, growing one in the form of a cape of long hair.) As the troop keeps together all the time, his role as group tyrant is incessantly operative. But despite this he is invariably the sleekest, best-groomed and sexiest monkey in the community.
Not all primate species are violently dictatorial in their social organisation. There is nearly always a tyrant, but he is sometimes a benign and rather tolerant tyrant, as in the case of the mighty gorilla. He shares the females amongst the lesser males, is generous at feeding times, and only asserts himself when something crops up that cannot be shared, or when there are signs of a revolt, or unruly fighting amongst the weaker members.
This basic system obviously had to be changed when the naked ape became a cooperative hunter with a fixed home base. Just as with sexual behaviour, the typical primate system had to be modified to match his adopted carnivore role. The group had to become territorial. It had to defend the region of its fixed base. Because of the cooperative nature of the hunting, this had to be done on a group basis, rather than individually. Within the group the tyrannical hierarchy system of the usual primate colony had to be modified considerably to ensure full co-operation from the weaker members when out hunting. But it could not be abolished altogether. There had to be a mild hierarchy, with stronger members and a top leader, if firm decisions were going to be taken, even if this leader was obliged to take the feelings of his inferiors more into account than his hairy, forest-dwelling equivalent would have to do.
In addition to group defence of territory and hierarchy organisation, the prolonged dependency of the young, forcing us to adopt pair-bonded family units, demanded yet another form of self-assertion. Each male, as the head of a family, became involved in defending his own individual home base inside the general colony base. So for us there are three fundamental forms of aggression, instead of the usual one or two. As we know to our cost, they are all still very much in evidence today, despite the complexities of our societies.
How does the aggression work? What are the patterns of behaviour involved? How do we intimidate one another? We must look again at the other animals. When a mammal becomes aggressively aroused a number of basic physiological changes occur within its body. The whole machine has to gear itself up for action, by means of the autonomic nervous system. This system consists of two opposing and counterbalancing sub-systems—the sympathetic and the parasympathetic. The former is the one that is concerned with preparing the body for violent activity: The latter has the task of preserving and restoring bodily reserves. The former says, ‘You are stripped for action, get moving;’ the latter says, ‘Take it easy, relax and conserve your strength.’ Under normal circumstances the body listens to both these voices and maintains a happy balance between them, but when strong aggression is aroused it listens only to the sympathetic system. When this is activated, adrenalin pours into the blood and the whole circulatory system is profoundly affected. The hearts beats faster and blood is transferred from the skin and viscera to the muscles and brain. There is an increase in blood pressure. The rate of production of red blood corpuscles is rapidly stepped up. There is a reduction of the time taken for blood to coagulate. In addition there is a cessation in the processes of digesting and storing food. Salivation is restrained. Movements of the stomach, the secretion of gastric juices, and the peristaltic movements of the intestines afire all inhibited. Also, the rectum and bladder do not empty as easily as under normal conditions. Stored carbohydrate is rushed out of the liver and floods the blood with sugar. There is a massive increase in respiratory activity. Breathing becomes quicker and deeper. The temperature-regulating mechanisms are activated. The hair stands on end and there is profuse sweating.
All these changes assist in preparing the animal for battle. As if by magic, they instantly banish fatigue and make large amounts of energy available for the anticipated physical struggle for survival. The blood is pumped vigorously to the sites where it is most needed—to the brain, for quick thinking, and to the muscles, for violent action. The rise in blood sugars increases muscular efficiency. The speeding up of coagulation processes means that any blood spilled as a result of injury will clot more quickly and reduce wastage. The stepped-up release of red blood cells from the spleen, in combination with the increased speed of blood circulation, aids the respiratory system to boost the intake of oxygen and the removal of carbon dioxide. The full hair erection exposes the skin to the air and helps to cool the body, as does the outpouring of sweat from the sweat glands. The dangers of over-heating from excessive activity are therefore reduced.
With all the vital systems activated, the animal is ready to launch into the attack, but there is a snag. Out-and-out fighting may lead to a valuable victory, but it may also involve serious damage to the victor. The enemy invariably provokes fear as well as aggression. The aggression drives the animal on, the fear holds it back. An intense state of inner conflict arises. Typically, the animal that is aroused to fight does not go straight into an all-out attack. It begins by threatening to attack. Its inner conflict suspends inclined for combat, but not yet ready to begin it. If, in this state, it presents a sufficiently intimidating spectacle for its opponent, and the latter slinks away, then obviously this is preferable. The victory can be won without the shedding of blood. The species is able to settle its disputes without undue damage to its members and obviously benefits tremendously in the process.
Throughout the higher forms of animal life there has been a strong trend in this direction—the direction of ritualised combat. Threat and counter-threat has largely replaced actual physical combat. Full-blooded fighting does, of course, still take place from time to time, but only as a last resort, when aggressive signalling and counter signalling have failed to settle a dispute. The strength of the outward signs of the physiological changes I have described indicates to the enemy just how violently the aggressive animal is preparing itself for action.
This works extremely well behaviourally, but physiologically it creates something of a problem. The machinery of the body has been geared up for a massive output of work. But the anticipated exertions do not materialise. How does the autonomic nervous system deal with this situation? It has mustered all its troops at the front line, ready for action, but their very presence has won the war. What happens now?
If physical combat followed on naturally from the massive activation of the sympathetic nervous system, all the body preparations it had made would be fully utilised. The energy would be burned up and eventually the parasympathetic system would reassert itself and gradually restore a state of physiological calm. But in the tense state of conflict between aggression and fear, everything is suspended. The result is that the parasympathetic system fights back wildly and the autonomic pendulum swings frantically back and forth. As the tense moments of threat and counter-threat tick by, we see flashes of parasympathetic activity interspersed with the sympathetic symptoms. Dryness in the mouth may give way to excessive salivation. Tightening of the bowels may collapse and sudden defecation may occur. The urine, held back so strongly in the bladder, may be released in a flood. The removal of blood from the skin may be massively reversed, extreme pallor being replaced by intense flushing and reddening. The deep and raid respiration may be dramatically interrupted, leading to gasps and sighs. These are desperate attempts on the part of the parasympathetic system to counteract the apparent extravagance of the sympathetic. Under normal circumstances it would be out of the question for intense reactions in one direction to occur simultaneously with intense reactions in the other, but under the extreme conditions of aggressive threat, everything gets momentarily out of phase. (This explains why, in extreme cases of shock, fainting or swooning can be observed. In such instances the blood that has been rushed to the brain is withdrawn again so violently that it leads to sudden unconsciousness.)
As far as the threat signaling system is concerned, this physiological turbulence is a gift. It provides an even richer source of signals. During the course of evolution these mood-signs have been built on and elaborated in a number of ways. Defecation and urination have become important territorial scent-marking devices for many species of mammals. The most commonly seen example of this is the way domestic dogs cock their legs against marker-posts in their territories, and the way this activity is increased during threatening encounters between rival dogs. (The streets of our cities are excessively stimulating for this activity because they constitute overlapping territories for so many rivals, and each dog is forced to super-scent these areas in an attempt to compete.) Some species have evolved super-dunging techniques. The hippopotamus has acquired a specially flattened tail that is waggled rapidly back and forth during the act of defecating. The effect is that of shooting dung through a fan, with the result that the faeces are spread out over a wide area. Many species have developed special anal glands that add strong personal scents to the dung.
The circulatory disturbances producing extreme pallor or intense red flushes have become improved as signals by the development of bare patches of skin on the faces of many species and the rumps of others. The gaping and hissing of the respiratory disturbances have been elaborated into grunts and roars and the many other aggressive vocalisations. It has been suggested that this accounts for the origin of the whole communication system of vocal signals. Another basic trend developing out of respiratory turbulence is the evolution of inflation displays. Many species puff themselves up in threat and may inflate specialised airsacs and pouches. (This is particularly common amongst birds, which already possess a number of airsacs as a basic part of their respiratory systems.) Aggressive hair-erection has led to the growth of specialised regions such as crests, capes, manes and fringes. These and other localised hair patches have become highly conspicuous. The hairs have become elongated or stiffened. Their pigmentation has often been drastically modified to produce areas of strong contrast with the surrounding fur. When aggressively aroused, with the hairs standing on end, the animal suddenly appears larger and more frightening, and the display patches become bigger and brighter. Aggressive sweating has become another source of scent-signals. In many cases there have, once again, been specialised evolutionary trends exploiting this possibility. Certain of the sweat glands have become enormously enlarged as complex scent-glands. These can be found on the faces, feet, tails and various parts of the body of many species.
All these improvements have enriched the communication systems of animals and rendered their mood language more subtle and informative. They make the threatening behaviour of the aroused animal more ‘readable’ in more precise terms.
But this is only half the story. We have been considering only the autonomic signals. In addition to all these there is another whole range of signals available, which stem from the tensed-up muscular movements and postures of the threatening animal. All that the autonomic system did was to gear the body up ready for muscular action. But what did the muscles do about it? They were stiffened for the onslaught, but no onslaught came. The outcome of this situation is a series of aggressive intention movements, ambivalent actions, and conflict postures. The impulses to attack and to flee pull the body this way and that. It lunges forward, pulls back, twists sideways, crouches down, leaps up, leans in, tilts away. As soon as the urge to attack gets the upper hand, the impulse to flee immediately countermands the order. Every move to withdraw is checked by a move to attack. During the course of evolution this general agitation has become modified into specialise postures of threat and intimidation. The intention movements have become stylised, the ambivalent jerkings have become formalised into rhythmic twistings and shakings. A whole new repertoire of aggressive signals has been developed and perfected.
