appear to show that oxytocin has a special ability to make animals ‘nice.’ Physiologically, therefore, a substance related to strength and readiness (vasopressin) is a close relative to one that produces friendliness and caring (oxytocin). They function in different ways, and we need them both. As the popular Swedish fictional character Pippi Longstocking says, ‘The one who is powerfully strong must also be powerfully nice.’”
Nowhere is this paradoxical combination exercised more dramatically than in nomadic pastoral cultures where people must nurture and stand up to large, potentially dangerous animals. Here, herbivores, carnivores, and omnivores up the ante on mutual aid, dramatically modifying their own instincts to collaborate with creatures that would otherwise be seen as enemies, competitors, or dinner.
Humans and herding dogs, for instance, must relinquish a territorial orientation to migrate with their grazing companions while also tempering aggressive behavior to nurture, direct, guard, and protect the entire interspecies social system. Tribesmen and tribeswomen must be brave, appropriately assertive, and alert around animals ten times their size. Cattle and horses must be respectful of children smaller than their own newborns, and they must refrain from running from, or attacking and driving off, “family members” that, in any other context, would be seen as potential predators. From birth, all members learn to respond respectfully to the subtle, meaningful, constantly changing body language cues of multiple species, suggesting that a particularly powerful combination of biochemical factors and behavioral modifications acted upon those of our ancestors who chose to form partnerships with large herbivores.
Meat provides a surprisingly modest part of the pastoral diet. Modern tribes mix grains, roots, fruits, and vegetables (gathered, traded, or planted and reaped during seasonal migrations) with lots of dairy products, everything from butter and cheese to fermented mood-altering drinks like koumiss, which Mongolia’s nomadic horse tribes make from mare’s milk. Some cultures, such as Africa’s cattle-oriented Maasai and Siberia’s reindeer-based Even people, occasionally consume blood from living members of the herd, though milk remains the staple. (Moving with the animals keeps these people physically fit — electrocardiogram tests applied to four hundred young adult male Maasai found no evidence of heart disease, abnormalities, or malfunction. Despite significant dairy consumption, their cholesterol levels were about 50 percent of the average American’s.)
In the majority of these traditional cultures, cattle, sheep, goats, camels, horses, and other animals aren’t treated as slaves or commodities, but as valued members of an interspecies society. Herders exhibit tremendous pride and affection toward their animals, who in turn trust their two-legged companions to lead them to greener pastures, oversee their mating, assist with their births, and milk them — the ultimate oxytocin-producing activity.
Close interaction with agile, nonpredatory animals promotes mental, emotional, and relational balance — as well as a form of empowerment that deftly combines fierceness and sensitivity. It is, after all, much more dangerous to herd, ride, or milk a large herbivore, even a domesticated one, than it is to hunt it from a distance. Interspecies affinity, attention to nonverbal cues, mutual respect, and mutual trust are literally survival skills for herding cultures.
The Power of Observation
While archaeological records indicate that pastoral cultures gained increasing sophistication between ten and six thousand years ago, cave paintings suggest that humans and animals engaged in a much longer process of mutual observation, and this in itself had a transformational effect. In Made for Each Other, Meg Daley Olmert contends that quietly watching other animals could have jump-started the oxytocin response that eventually set the stage for interspecies partnerships.
Olmert emphasizes that oxytocin can be produced not only by touch but also by the highly concentrated focus that mothers show when adoring their newborns. She also thinks oxytocin may be released during the “hunter’s trance,” a term the evolutionary biologist Edward O. Wilson coined to describe an expanded state of awareness he encountered when observing animals in nature, in which heart, breath, and mind are quieted, resulting in heightened concentration and attention to detail. Still, it’s significant that Wilson was not hunting in these cases, but watching ants and other animals with pure curiosity and no expected outcome. Wilson’s choice to name this pleasant, slightly altered state “the hunter’s trance” suggests that he hadn’t differentiated between the intensely aware predatory stare of our hunter-gatherer ancestors and the soft, appreciative, inviting gaze of those ancient naturalists who were capable of actually bonding with animals.
In any case, once activated, oxytocin would have encouraged humans and other mammals to buffer the fight-or-flight response and take social risks, eventually boosting the impulse toward what Kropotkin called “mutual aid.” Quite possibly, this boosted something else: A relaxed, concentrated focus, combined with intense dedication to and/or adoration of the subject matter, is also characteristic of creativity, suggesting that the biology of the human-animal bond could very well have been a factor in inspiring the earliest, most impressively detailed Paleolithic paintings at the Chauvet and Lascaux caves in France, some of which are over thirty thousand years old.
As David S. Whitley marveled in his 2009 book Cave Paintings and the Human Spirit: The Origin of Creativity and Belief, “This first art consists of true aesthetic masterpieces — works of art that fully rival our greatest creative achievements, of any time and place.” At Chauvet, only one vaguely human figure can be discerned: the lower portion of a woman’s body. A nearby image depicts a human-bison hybrid. The vast majority of the paintings are highly realistic, artistically accomplished representations of animals. But it also appears that the artists were able to get closer to some species, both physically and, more importantly, emotionally. Horses are the fourth-most-frequently painted subjects, behind felines, mammoths, and rhinos. And yet, these early equines are among the most vividly portrayed animals in the cave, clearly showing individual characteristics in striking detail.
One of the most famous paintings, featuring four horses, captures facial expressions that an artist would only pick up from close, direct observation of individual living horses. The smallest, most youthful animal has bulges along the bottom of its jaw — a classic sign of a colt or filly whose adult teeth are coming in.
Many of the lions also show specific facial features capturing intricate moods and behaviors, leading Olmert to come to a startling conclusion in her book: The cave artists “knew these animals — not just as a species but as individuals. These were neighbors, close neighbors.” What’s more, she insists, the “impressive detail and graphic skill” of the paintings “tells us those animals were not terribly frightened of us.”
A New Story
Most people assume that our ancestors advanced from hunting and gathering to traveling with domesticated herds. As the story goes, Homo sapiens finally settled down and claimed the land through agricultural innovations that, in turn, led to the invention of cities. Archeological evidence, however, reveals a much more interesting progression. Nomadic pastoralism was a specialization that grew out of early farming communities. For thousands of years, up until this very day in fact, migratory animal-centered cultures evolved beside sedentary forms of civilization, with each developing a unique body of knowledge.
Before we move forward, let me be clear: I’m not promoting one lifestyle over the other. I’m instead outlining a theory on the evolution of power itself, one that has an optimistic outcome. If we adopt the social intelligence and leadership skills pioneered by our nomadic cousins, while still valuing the technological innovations that could only have been perfected in a sedentary context, we may very well experience a transformation of consciousness that nature seems to have been promoting all along. Our very survival may depend on it.
First we have to expand our minds and tell a new story, one in which humanity becomes a partner, rather than a conqueror or director, in the coevolution of several intelligent
