An apology is a justification or defense of an act or idea, can also
be an expression of contrition and remorse for something done wrong.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Apology
Reciprocal altruism
In evolutionary biology, reciprocal altruism is a form of altruism in
which one organism provides a benefit to another in the expectation of
future reciprocation. This is equivalent to the Tit for tat strategy
in game theory. It would only be expected to evolve in the presence of
a mechanism to identify and punish "cheaters". An example of
reciprocal altruism is blood-sharing in the vampire bat, in which bats
feed regurgitated blood to those who have not collected much blood
themselves knowing that they themselves may someday benefit from this
same donation; cheaters are remembered by the colony and ousted from
this collaboration.
In a series of ground-breaking contributions to biology in the early
1970s Robert Trivers introduced the theories of reciprocal altruism
(1971), parental investment (1972), and parent-offspring conflict
(1974). Trivers' paper "The Evolution of Reciprocal Altruism" (1971)
elaborates the mathematics of reciprocal altruism and includes human
reciprocal altruism as one of the three examples used to illustrate
the model, arguing that "it can be shown that the details of the
psychological system that regulates this altruism can be explained by
this model." In particular, Trivers argues for the following
characteristics as functional processes subserving reciprocal
altruism:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reciprocal_altruism
http://www.nonzero.org/newyorker.htm
Many biologists believe that human social organization has also
favored genes for intelligence. Our species, for example, has
"reciprocal altruism." We are designed to feel warmly toward people
who do favors for us, to return the favors, and thus to forge mutually
beneficial relationships—friendships. What's more, one kind of favor
we swap is social support. That is, we are a "coalitional" species;
groups compete with each other for status and influence. Reciprocal
altruism takes brainpower—to remember who has helped you and who has
hurt you. And the coalitional variety takes more brainpower, since
strategic plotting and communication among allies are vital.
Here again, the basic ingredients are not peculiar to us. Vampire bats
have reciprocal altruism; they'll donate painstakingly gathered blood
to a needy friend, who will return the favor when fortunes are
reversed. And vampire bats have bigger forebrains—the locus of much
"social" intelligence—than other bats.
As for the richer form of reciprocal altruism, coalitional contention,
it turns out not to be confined to such famously political animals as
chimpanzees. Bottle-nosed dolphins even form coalitions of coalitions.
Team X of male dolphins will help team Y vanquish team Z, and, later,
team Y will return the favor. Since victory brings sex, skill in
coalition building is an obvious candidate for an arms race among
dolphins.
All told, if you look at the foundations of human intelligence—tool
use, language, reciprocal altruism, coalitional contention, and others—
you can find them, if in primitive form, scattered far and wide across
the animal kingdom. Given evolution's tendency to generate more and
more species, to elevate complexity, and to keep inventing and
reinventing technologies, the eventual combination of these
foundational properties in a single species was likely all along.
Gould writes, "Humans are here by the luck of the draw." Undeniably
true. But there's a difference between saying it took great luck for
you to be the winner and saying it took great luck for there to be a
winner. This is the distinction off which lotteries, casinos, and
bingo parlors make their money. In the game of evolution, I submit, it
was just a matter of time before one species or another raised its
hand (or, at least, its grasping appendage) and said, "Bingo!"
This thesis, though little publicized, is not radical. Some noted
biologists, such as William D. Hamilton and Edward O. Wilson, believe
that the evolution of great intelligence was likely from the start.
Hamilton's work also suggests another interesting likelihood. He was
the first to rigorously explain the evolution of family bonds—that is,
"kin-selected altruism." In the human species, with its complex
emotions, such altruism entails love and empathy. What's more, these
warm feelings were expanded by the advent of reciprocal altruism so
that we are now capable of empathizing with people we're not related
to. Since natural selection has invented both kinds of altruism
numerous times, it is not too wild to suggest that this expansive
sentiment was probable all along.
This prospect—that evolution's directionality may have a "moral"
dimension—helps explain why some religiously inclined people find
progressivism intriguing. Obviously, this theme wouldn't sell the
creationists themselves on Darwinism; if you think that Genesis is
literally true, evolution will always be your enemy. But, in the
battle between Darwinians and creationists for the hearts and minds of
the uncommitted, it matters whether evolution by natural selection is
spiritually suggestive.
Even if you accept the arguments for directionality, and agree that
intelligence and even love were likely from the start, that is hardly
overwhelming evidence of a higher purpose. But it's closer to it than
Gould's version of evolution—a stumbling, bumbling process that just
happened to lead, Mr. Magoo-like, to Einstein, Mother Teresa, and the
Internet.
Some Darwinians flirt with deism, the no-frills faith that was favored
during the Enlightenment precisely for its compatibility with science.
In this view, God set cosmic history in motion and then adopted a
hands-off policy, confident that it would lead to something
interesting. Certainly, history has led to something interesting. Who
knows? Maybe the present moment—when an intelligent form of life
starts to collectively, deliberately shape the whole biosphere's
destiny, was itself, in some statistical sense, destiny.
But, really, how consoling could any Darwinian god be? Those who would
like to believe in a higher power that is both omnipotent and benign
will be frustrated by the most casual inspection of the medium of our
design. Among the key ingredients in natural selection's creative
energy are death and suffering, the casting aside of the "unfit." And,
for every bit of love and harmony, there seems to be a flip side of
antagonism and cruelty; among the things we do for loved ones is hate
their enemies. What kind of god would use natural selection as a
creative tool?
It is tempting to answer as the biologist George Williams has: a very
bad god. On the other hand, a smart, reflective species with a
capacity for empathy could be capable of greater things than we've
seen. Maybe human behavior will someday justify a theology rather like
that of the ancient Manichaeans: maybe nature, though dominated by
darkness, has always contained seeds of light, seeds of intellect and
love, which over the ages grow until they transcend their base
embodiment.
In any event, to note the ample dark side of evolution is simply to re-
state the problem that any honest religion must confront: the problem
of evil. And solving timeless theological quandaries is beyond
Darwinism's job description. My point is just that Darwinism needn't
put theologians out of a job. Granted, it may force them to abandon
beliefs. Scientific progress, as the philosopher Alfred North
Whitehead wrote, has long spurred the amendment of religious doctrine
—"to the great advantage of religion"—while religion's essence
remained intact. For many religious people, part of that essence is
the belief that, above and beyond the vestigial cruelties and
absurdities of the human experience, there is a point to it all, a
point that, even if obscure, may yet become manifest. So far,
biological science has provided no reason to conclude otherwise.
http://www.nonzero.org/
