Eco-Nalogies: On Dimorphism

When most people hear the word ‘dimorphism,’ their minds likely go straight to gender. But in truth, sexual dimorphism is just one rather well-known example of a common evolutionary framework, whereby nature promotes its own stability through calculated self-polarization, much like a tightrope walker carries weights in both hands to help balance along the centerline. 

Culturally, many people think of evolution as a long, steady slope of gradual change, but in reality, change occurs at a far more incremental, step-wise manner, where long periods of relative stagnation are punctuated by briefer, more intense periods of radical development. A useful framework for describing this pattern is called punctuated equilibrium, whereby some external occurrence—say, an asteroidal impact—prompts a swift and corresponding biological shift. But given this history of change as the only constant, natural selection knows better than to just sit passively through the interim, adapting only towards short-term optimization. Just how biodiversity lends stability to an ecosystem, so too do various dimorphisms—essentially, intraspecies diversification—lend stability to a species as a whole. 

There is a Jewish tale about a rabbi named Zusya who is observed by his students to be trembling upon his deathbed. One of the students approaches his teacher and says, “Zusya, why are you trembling? Have you not lived a life as ethical and virtuous as Moses himself?”

“Maybe,” Zusya admits. “But in the coming world, God will not ask me, ‘Zusya, why were you not like Moses?’ No, God will ask: ‘Zusya, why were you not like Zusya?!’”

In life, many of us hold ourselves to some external standard of perfection, where each of our actions are intended to be objectively virtuous. Rather than hold ourselves up to the standard of Zusya, who identified his weakness solely by comparison with his own essence and potential, we follow a more Kantian approach, where we seek to satisfy the categorical imperative of: ‘What would happen if everyone acted as I do now?’ And yet, what if the world just isn’t so neatly Kantian? What if the ‘right thing to do’ is not measured by its scalability unto others, but by its scarcity outside of oneself?

Culturally, we tend to think of calling someone ‘reactionary’ as an insult. But what is the basis of personal ethics at all, if not rooted in the idea that we are properly reacting to some imbalance in the world? If too many passengers crowd on the port of a ship, thus tilting the entire boat, is it not the correct, most ethical response to move to starboard? And if the entire crowd moved to starboard, should not the individual switch back to port? Kant would have us all stand in the direct center of the ship, but it is only natural for humans to seek out the superior view along the edges. 

The evolution of politics is analogous to this boat. When we observe universal clustering around progressive and conservative thought, asking which side is right is no different than asking which side of the boat would be preferable to tip over. In its wisdom, nature has imbued in our brains the capacity for both of these modes, and we elevate one over the other at our own peril. 

At this point, one might be wondering, ‘If the answer is not pure progressivism or conservatism, but a balance between the two, then why would nature not simply select for each of us to be politically moderate?’ The answer is that for all its powers, nature is well-adapted to its own blindness. At any moment, some external, non-biological event might throw us off our equilibrium, and force us to adapt quickly or die. In such a case, it is helpful to have some distinctly progressive- (or conservative-)minded individuals on hand, to help balance the ship before it tips over. In this way, polarization is the cure to its own disease. 

This political dimorphism extends to realms far outside of what we would normally consider politics. In business, for example, we see that progressive-minded individuals (higher in trait openness/spontaneity) are far better at creating new businesses, while their conservative-minded counterparts (higher in trait conscientiousness/closedness) are needed to manage these businesses once created. In this way, political diversity between individuals is no less helpful than biological diversity is within a given ecosystem. Each person is not ‘wrong’ for straying toward his natural side of the ship, but so too are our ideological counterparts not ‘wrong’ for favoring theirs. And when we each react by pulling harder toward our respective flanks, the entire ship threatens to teeter over. 

Choosing to view political (and other) dimorphisms as a group adaptation of which individuals are only part and parcel does not preclude us from acting in accordance with our own particular biases. For example, I know that my trait disgustedness is exceedingly low, likely in the bottom 1 percentile. And at times, it is tempting to believe that my low disgustedness is better, and not merely different, from others. After all, how many genocides have come about as a consequence of playing to citizens’ disgust, treating others as ‘vermin’ or ‘plagues’ or voicing the need to ‘cleanse’ society of such undesirables? And yet, a world filled with too many Nadavs would be terrible at containing the spread of pathogens, would facilitate the swift collapse of many favorable societal values and/or niceties, would perhaps tolerate too much intolerance—When Jesus turned the other cheek, don’t think he didn’t get slapped halfway to Bethlehem. In short, I would not want to live in a world populated only by carbon copies of me. It is through this lens that I can both wholly embrace my own value, while still remaining appreciative that there exist others who think differently from myself. And understanding all the while that if we must cluster at different sides of the ship, at least we get to spend the day on the water. 

The decision to view each continuum of values not in terms of right and wrong, but as a useful and necessary tension between two overreactions, might seem like a drastic shift for us to take. But is it, really? When we look at various culturally-enshrined virtues, essentially all of them lie at a midpoint between two extremes. Courage, for example, sits in moderation between cowardice and foolhardiness; diligence, between sloth and obsession. To suggest that nature would select for perfect courage, or perfect diligence, erroneously assumes that such an ideal balancing point even exists. In the present, maybe (though I daresay one could accurately pinpoint it), but the optimal slot will always shift over time. The spread of disease will move ‘optimal’ trait disgust to the affirmative, no less surely than the spread of genocide will shift it back. Equipping each human with a unique array of inherent traits is nature’s way of diversifying its assets; the biological embodiment of William Blake’s famous assertion that: “The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.” The message of this essay is not to admonish us for following our dispositions, but only for thinking that they are the one and only way, that “I am X, and therefore you should be, too.” Each of us is equipped with something that only we are capable of bringing into the world, and can only make progress as a species by sharing it—And accepting it when others try to share their own inimitable parcel of goodness. It is as if we are all strangers trapped in a cave, and must empty our pockets in order to improvise our escape. One person has a paperclip; another, a rubber band. Does anybody have a stick of chewing gum? And so on. 

Neither is this to deny the presence of any objectivity with regards to ethics and individual action. Some people want to tip the boat over, and I needn’t mince words in denouncing that action as objectively destructive. (Supposing that it is a ship worth sailing, of course. Some ships admittedly deserve to be sunk.) But speaking generally, there exists a meta-tension between those who believe that existence is worth having and perpetuating, and those who do not. I am squarely in the former camp, but that does not mean I must deny the utility of all those pesky Ivan Karamazovs who argue otherwise. If nothing else, these ‘Ivans’ might serve as an argumentative sharpening blade for the pro-existence camp, thus increasing their ability to articulate and implement the worldview that they (I would argue) rightly profess. As they say, every Batman needs his Joker. The lesson here is not individual moral equivalency, but collective moral utility. In the end, we may not all be able to love the ‘other side,’ but if we can at least accept their inherent evolutionary usefulness, then perhaps we may take steps toward better understanding the functions of the world, and our own humble plot within its lush and diverse garden. 

Ultimately, it is not your job to be like Moses, or like Zusya for that matter. Just be yourself, looking for ways you might be of service, while trying to look to others through a similarly charitable lens. If you are blessed enough to be ‘one of the good ones,’ let that be your reward in itself.