Twenty-one was like history’s highest-status human leaders: Not a ruthless strongman but a peaceful warrior
Excerpted from "Beyond Words: What Animals Think and Feel"
Rick, a ranger here in Yellowstone National Park, conducts the whole conversation without taking his eyes from his scope. Rick follows free-living wolves every day. I’ve never seen real wolves before, so my eyes are glued to my scope too.
“If
ever there was a perfect wolf, it was Twenty-One,” says Rick, using the
wolf’s research-collar number as his name. “He was like a fictional
character.
“Twice, I saw Twenty-One take on six
attacking wolves from a rival pack — and rout them all,” Rick recalls.
“I’d think, ‘A wolf can’t do what I am watching this wolf do.’ Watching
him felt like seeing Bruce Lee fighting.”
Wolf
territorial fights resemble human tribal warfare. Wolves often target
the rival pack’s alphas, seemingly understanding that if they can rout
or kill the experienced leaders, victory will be theirs.
Twenty-One
distinguished himself in two ways: He never lost a fight, and he never
killed a vanquished rival. But why? A wolf letting vanquished enemies go
free seems inexplicable. Rick’s question about Batman and the Joker is
his koan-like way of trying to lead me to a big-picture explanation as
to why. But I’m not getting it.
Rick is saying that
history’s highest-status human leaders are not ruthless strongmen like
Hitler, Stalin and Mao. They are Gandhi, King and Mandela. Peaceful
warriors earn higher status.
Muhammad Ali — who has been called the most
famous man in the world — was a practitioner of ritualized combat who
spoke of peace and refused to go to war. His refusal cost him millions
of dollars and his heavyweight title, yet with his refusal to kill, his
status rose to unprecedented height.
For humans and many
other animals, status is a huge deal. For it, we risk much treasure and
blood.
Wolves do not understand why status and dominance are so
important to them, and for the most part, we don’t either. In wolf and
human alike, our brains produce hormones that compel us to strive for
status and assert dominance. Dominance feels like an end in itself. We
don’t need to understand why.
Here’s why: Status is a
daily proxy for competition. Whenever mates or food are in short supply,
the high-status individual has preferred access. What’s at stake is
survival, and ultimately, reproduction — the chance to breed, to count.
Our genes don’t need to let us understand why; they just need us to want
it. One could hardly expect that wolves would understand, any better
than we do, what drives us all. But I still don’t get what this has to
do with Batman.
“So, Rick,” I ask, my eye still in the
scope watching several ruddy-faced wolves bedding down in snow to sleep
off a big meal they’ve just finished, “why doesn’t Batman just kill the
Joker?”
“In admiring the hero who restrains himself” —
Rick has clearly thought about this — “we are impressed with the hero’s
power.” Rick elaborates that in what’s been called the greatest movie of
all time, Humphrey Bogart has won the love he has sought. But he
arranges things so that the other man does not lose his wife and is not
hurt. We admire him for strength combined with restraint.”
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