September 19, 2017

Our fatal illusions

Appendix 1 of The Stable Society: its structure and control: Towards a Social Cybernetics, Wadebridge Ecological Centre, UK, 1978

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It is basic to the culture of Western man that, rather than being part of Nature, he is above it. This leads to the preposterous notion that his behaviour cannot be subjected to the sort of analysis used to understand the behaviour of other forms of life. Whereas atoms, molecules, cells, even complex multicellular but non-human animals can be described in the comparatively precise terms of physics, chemistry, biology, and cybernetics, it is widely believed that human beings and the societies in which they are organised can only be described in terms of a much vaguer language, that of the humanities, and that the precise prediction of their behaviour is not even remotely conceivable. We justify this thesis by establishing all sorts of totally artificial barriers between man and other forms of life.


One such barrier is consciousness. But can it really be regarded as a frontier separating the mental activities of man from those of lower forms of life? A little reflection will make it apparent that this term is a purely subjective one, and cannot, thereby, serve as a unit of an objective scientific model.

As Rapoport 110 writes:

“When the vitalist says that certain living organisms are characterised by ‘consciousness’, and that this property necessitates a postulate of a special principle, he has not really identified the ‘peculiar events’. No matter how direct is our awareness of our own ‘consciousness’, this term has no objectively identifiable referent.”

It is conceivable of course that the subjective notion of ‘consciousness’ could be associated with a precise teleonomic variable of a scientific model. In this way, it would be possible to determine what there was really in common between mental processes that appeared to us as conscious, and in what way these differed from others that appeared to us unconscious.

I think that this is in fact possible. Thus a signal interpretable as denoting the presence of a book that I was not looking for and that was situated in its normal place in my library would display both low relevance to the situation and low improbability. As a result, I would probably not be conscious of its presence when looking in its direction.

On the other hand, a signal denoting the presence of a book that I was looking for, though situated in its normal place in my library, would have high relevance and low improbability and, when looking in its direction, I would be conscious of seeing it.

A signal denoting the presence of a book that I was not looking for, but which occupied an unexpected position in my library, would display low relevance but high improbability. It would therefore be probable that, if I looked in its direction, I would be conscious of seeing it. On the other hand I would unquestionably be conscious of seeing a book that I was not only looking for, but that, at the same time, occupied an unexpected position in my library, as the signal that could be interpreted as denoting its presence would have both high relevance and high improbability.

If we accept that consciousness is needed for interpreting a signal displaying high information value vis-a-vis the receiving cybernism, then to say that humans alone display consciousness must be false, since, whereas it is certainly true that humans are capable of interpreting signals having a higher information value than can other animals, the difference is but one of degree.

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The physical world as depicted by nineteenth century science was grim and deterministic. Man had a psychological stake in carefully delimiting that area which was science’s domain, so as to preserve that of human behaviour from its incursions, and to maintain thereby the illusion of the freedom of the will. For this purpose, a mysterious force was postulated that Bergson called the ‘elan vital’, a resuscitation of Aristotle’s ‘entelechy’, a notion usually referred to today as ‘vitalism’, whose presence is supposed to distinguish mind from matter. Thus, if living things appeared to behave in a goal-seeking or directive manner, it was because they were ‘willed to do so’ by this mysterious force.

There are many objections to such a thesis. First of all, the twentieth century notion of matter no longer corresponds to that which prevailed previously. Among other things, it is no longer deterministic, since Heisenberg 111 showed that the behaviour of atoms, like that of humans, could not be predicted with certainty. Thus it is not from this quarter that the notion of the freedom of the will has most to fear. Secondly, it has been established over and over again that there is in fact no frontier between the animate and the inanimate. Organic substances usually associated with living things are constantly being synthesised from inorganic ones, and natural systems such as viruses have characteristics both of living and of non-living things at different stages during their life-cycles. Thirdly, the vitalist thesis conveys very little information. The mysterious force postulated to differentiate men from other animals is so mysterious that it cannot be explained in terms of the variables of any vaguely scientific model of behaviour. As Rapoport 110 writes:

“The objection of the anti-vitalist against the vitalist’s notion of ‘life-force’ or the like is not so much on the grounds that this supposed principle does not fit in with the known laws governing the behaviour of matter (it would be foolhardy to assume that we know all such laws); but on the ground that the proposed ‘life force’ is not a ‘principle’. It explains nothing. It is only a name for a supposed principle and will remain a name until the vitalist says more about how this life force is supposed to operate.”

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The Freedom of the Will

Among the many attributes of man that are supposed to distinguish him from less privileged animals is the possession of a ‘free will’. This concept has important theological and legal implications, since, if the will is not ‘free’, then man is not capable, by his own efforts, of modifying his lot. The latter must be predetermined by some mysterious force, thereby freeing him from any responsibility for his sins or crimes.

What does this freedom of the will imply? To answer this, let us first see what is meant by ‘free’ and ‘will’. The ‘will’ is meant to be the mechanism issuing those instructions in terms of which our behaviour pattern can be explained. We have seen, however, that the latter is mediated by a hierarchical organisation of behavioural centres. Is the will then just another word for this organisation? I doubt it, since such an organisation can be found determining the behaviour of natural systems at all levels of complexity. It is present in dogs, frogs, amoebas, microbes, viruses, and undoubtedly even in atoms. What, then, is the will? I think it will be found that it is normally associated with conscious behaviour. Man, it is thought, is conscious of what he does and must therefore be capable of choice. We have seen that only those instructions mediated by the centres in the upper strata of cybernismic organisation can be regarded as ‘conscious’. Psychoanalysis, hypnosis and motivation research reveal only too plainly that nearly all our behaviour is mediated unconsciously. It is probably more precise to say that we are in fact conscious of the particularities of decisions whose generalities are determined unconsciously.

If the ‘will’ is taken to be the ‘conscious’ part of the organisation of behavioural centres, it can be shown that it is responsible for the most trivial and superficial instructions, and not for the general or important ones. This does not correspond to one’s notion of the will.

Let us now turn our attention to the use of the word ‘free’. In what sense can either a behaviour pattern, or part of one, be ‘free’? We have seen that one of the essential features of order is limitation of choice. If this does not obtain, behaviour is random, disorderly, and unpredictable. Limitation of choice is ensured accumulatively. At each stage of development, a system acquires new instructions, which will further limit the range of subsequent behavioural possibilities. Indeed, if freedom is taken as freedom from constraints, such a situation can only exist in a state of total disorder, or entropy. As order develops, constraints build up and freedom is thereby reduced. In the case of human behaviour, decisions taken consciously are limited by a number of more general decisions, taken unconsciously at different neurological levels. The whole pattern of ‘decisions’ made by an individual is itself limited by ‘decisions’ that have been taken onto genetically, which in turn are limited by decisions made phylogenetically, while all of these decisions will be subject to social, ecological, biological, chemical and physical constraints, whose observance enables the individual to fulfil his role within the biosphere. Our behaviour is in fact limited by a whole hierarchy of constraints and the notion of freedom is largely illusory.

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The Mind

The mind is yet another postulate whose possession is supposed to distinguish man from other animals. Held to be of a spiritual or non-material nature, its interaction with the crude world of matter is clearly very puzzling, at least for those who insist on maintaining a dualism of this sort.

To explain this apparent paradox, philosophers have worked out various theories, the best known of which are the theory of psycho-physical parallelism, where the twin domains run side by side without actually interfering with each other; the theory of interaction, whereby there is constant interaction between them, as the name implies; and, thirdly, that of identity, whereby we assume that both refer to a third and ultimate reality.

The concept of ‘mind’ is of use in a scientific context to the extent that it can serve as a variable of an objective model. We have seen that behaviour is explicable in terms of a control mechanism interacting with its environment (internal and external). If the term ‘mind’ is to be made use of as a variable in a scientific model of behaviour, I think it can best be regarded as a particular type of cybernism, and to be understood must be seen in the light of cybernisms in general, such as the nucleus that mediates the behaviour of a cell, or the genes that control the ontogenetic process. As soon as we use the term ‘mind’ in this way, the dichotomy between mind and matter automatically disappears. To begin with, the environment, which is in interaction with the cybernism, is itself made up of a hierarchical organisation of sub-cybernisms. More specifically, the body is made up of units such as cells, molecules, atoms, each of which has its own little ‘mind’, in which information is also organised, from which instructions are also transmitted, and which also provides a model of its specific system.

In fact, the relationship between the mind and the body can be regarded as a form of transduction. Information expressed in the medium of the cybernism is transduced into the medium of the sub-system. This is very much the same as saying that the environment is organised in accordance with instructions transmitted by and contained in the cybernism. Regarding it in this way also emphasises the essential fact that information is organised in the cybernism in that way which will most favour the mediation of the optimum behaviour pattern.

This point is perhaps best illustrated by the process of protein synthesis, involving the transduction of the information expressed in the medium of the genes into those enzymes that will determine the growth of the sub-system during ontogenesis.

This process was first described by Quick, Griffiths and Orgel.112 An enzyme is a very large protein molecule. It consists of hundreds of amino-acid units arranged in a chain in a very specific order. This does not occur haphazardly, but must be determined by a corresponding set of instructions. The latter are transmitted by the genes.

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Instinct and Intelligence

Among those features of man that are supposed to differentiate him from other animals is the intelligence. For a long time, this was considered to be a special faculty, which only men possessed, whereas the behaviour of other animals could be explained in terms of blind instinct. Even Fabre, 113 who spent his life in minutely observing the nuances of insect behaviour, refused to accept that the many instances of discriminatory behaviour that he recorded could be classified as intelligent. Since they could not be attributed to the workings of ‘blind instinct’, he found it necessary to coin the term ‘discernment’.

With the development of the discipline of ethology, intelligence has been grudgingly accepted as characterising, to some degree at least, the behaviour of non-human primates, and even animals of less exalted status. In spite of this, the dichotomy between intelligence and instinctive behaviour persists in the minds of all save the most enlightened, and is still a weapon in the armoury of those who wish to perpetuate the dualism between man and other animals. Let us examine the meaning of these terms.

Whether a behavioural response is said to constitute a tropism, a reflex, an instinctive act, or an intelligent one, it must be mediated by a hierarchical organisation of instructions, and differentiated at each step in accordance with environmental requirements. It is clear that these different types of behaviour differ from each other, but they do so in ‘degree’ rather than in ‘kind’. As behaviour develops, the system involved becomes capable of reacting more and more adaptatively to increasingly more improbable environmental situations. This requires the development of a cybernism displaying ever greater complexity. Thus simple forms of life such as the dionaea flytrap or the sitaris beetle are only capable of the most rudimentary discrimination between the various constituents of their respective environments, and have a correspondingly low capacity for individual survival. The stickleback is capable of more discriminatory behaviour. Yet, during the mating season, the female will respond sexually to any red object, including the male stickleback, who adopts this colour at such a period, but also including such things as red balls or red lollipops.114 A dog’s powers of discrimination are very much higher than those of the stickleback, yet the animal will only be able to distinguish between legitimate visitors to its master’s house, such as a delivery man, and less legitimate ones, such as a cat-burglar, after repeated experiences. Needless to say, man’s discriminatory abilities are the highest of all, and his chances of individual survival are thereby maximised. The corresponding development of cybernismic organisation is confirmed neurophysiologically. At each stage in the phylogenetic process, the nervous system becomes progressively more centralised; the brain grows larger and larger, and more and more of the animal’s actions become dependent on it. Thus, if one extracts the brain of a frog, it is still capable of a number of adaptive responses. It can move its leg, for instance, if pricked with a pin. A cat, however, after its brain has been extracted, is quite immobilised, and does not survive very long, whereas a man dies almost immediately.

Is there any radical jump in the course of this process that can be regarded as a frontier between distinct forms of behaviour? The answer is undoubtedly no. There is no reason to suppose that the human nervous system differs from that of its closest relations in the animal world in any radical manner. All that one can say is that the process of encephalisation and, in particular, encorticalisation, are more advanced.

The ratio of brain size to body size was considered very important in determining the relative ‘intelligence’ of different forms of life. Undoubtedly, the number of connections between neurons or groups of neurons is theoretically more significant, but, nevertheless, the former criterion provides a good indication of intellectual ability. If we apply it, we find that man does indeed obtain a higher rating than his nearest rivals, the ratio being four times higher in the case of a man than in that of a gorilla. On the other hand, it is roughly twenty times higher in the case of a gorilla than it is in that of a bird.114 This fact is also indicative of the impossibility of establishing a frontier between man and other forms of life on the basis of intelligence.

If learning ability be regarded as a criterion of intelligence, then this conclusion is further confirmed. As Harlow 115 writes:

“The existing scientific data indicate a greater degree of intellectual communality among primates, and probably a greater communality among all animals, than has been commonly recognised. There is no scientific evidence of a break in learning capabilities between primate and non-primate forms. Emergence from the ocean to the land produced no sudden expansion of learning ability. Indeed, there is no evidence that any sharp break ever appeared in the evolutionary development of the learning process.

“That this is probably true should surprise no one. Indeed, the fundamental unity of learning and the continuity of its developing complexity throughout phylogenesis, or at least within the development of many major branches of the evolutionary tree, would seem to be in keeping with modern genetic theory.”

In functional terms, one can consider that man is still in possession of that hierarchical organisation of instructions that we may refer to as his ‘instincts’, and that once determined the behaviour of our remote proto-hominid ancestors. All that has happened is that, as the result of the development of the brain, and in particular of the cerebral cortex, these instructions can now be applied with greater precision and can thereby give rise to behaviour displaying a very much higher degree of stability.

To conclude: the intelligence is not a new cybernismic mechanism that replaces, in any way, those that were previously operative, it is merely the ability of the latter to operate in a more discriminatory manner and hence give rise to behaviour displaying higher stability.

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The Ability to Transform the Environment

It is often maintained that humans can be distinguished from other animals by their ability to transform their environment to suit their purposes. However, a little reflection will show that this faculty is by no means peculiar to humans; on the contrary, it is a feature of all organisms at whatever level of complexity. Indeed, among animal societies there are instances of this phenomenon which are just as impressive as those accomplished by human societies.

For instance, a termite’s nest is a greater feat of engineering than is a sky-scraper in Manhattan, if the criterion used is the relative size of the builder and the building. The same can probably be said of the dams and canals built by beavers.

Among yet simpler animals, perhaps the most impressive example is the building of coral atolls in the tropical seas by minute polyps. The former often attain a very considerable size, as in the case of the Island of Zanzibar.

In direct contrast to the radical way in which such animal societies have modified their environment is the failure of certain primitive human societies such as those of the Australian aborigines to affect their environment in any way whatever. Stanner 116 writes:

“There are, of course, nomads, hunters and foragers who grow nothing, build nothing and stay nowhere long. Even in areas which are so inhabited it takes a knowledgeable eye to detect their recent presence. Within a matter of weeks, the roughly cleared camp sites may be erased by sun, rain and wind. After a year or two there may be nothing to suggest that the country was ever inhabited. Until one stumbles on a few old flint tools, a stone quarry, a shell midden, a rock painting, or something of the kind, one may think the land had never known the touch of man. They neither dominate their environment nor seek to change it.”

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Social Behaviour Patterns

Human societies appear unique with respect to the elaborate and specialised societies they have evolved to adapt to the extraordinarily varied environments to which they have been submitted.

However, a glance at the adaptive capacity of ant societies reveals that this uniqueness is illusory. The nomadic and pillaging hordes of the Eurasian Steppe, such as the Huns and the Mongols, find their counterpart in the soldier or driver ants organised in hordes of 100,000 to 150,000 strong, who march out in perfect formation from their temporary bivouacs leaving a trail of destruction in their wake.117

Pastoral societies such as the Masai and the Navaho have their counterparts in those of the yellow lawn ants, who, in underground galleries, milk their herds of large aphid flies for the rich honey dew that they secrete.

The pygmies, who have adapted to life in the thick tropical forests, have their counterpart in the primitive and stunted Ponerine ants, who, driven by more successful species, eke out a precarious livelihood beneath the surface of the soil.

The agricultural societies out of which our modern world has evolved have their counterparts in those of the famous grain-harvesting ants of the genus Messor, who meticulously collect millet or wheat, which is laid out in the sun to dry, the outer husk being split by the soldiers who then store it in well-drained chambers; or by the even more scientific ants, Atta, who cultivate (Rhozite) mushrooms that would normally grow to a gigantic size but which, by repeated cropping and replanting in carefully fertilized plantations, are never allowed to grow beyond the requisite height.

The hunting and food-gathering societies of the Australian Aborigines or the Bushmen have their counterpart in the carnivorous Stigmatomma Pallipes, who set out to track down underground game which they kill with the aid of their powerful sting.

Militarists such as the Assyrians and the Spartans find their counterpart in the blood-red slave-making ant, formica sanguinea, whose assaults on neighbouring nests for the purpose of seizing larvae to be brought up as salves, involve veritable military sieges with the despatch of reconnaissance parties, followed by a perfect blockade of all possible exits and a fierce direct onslaught via the most vulnerable approaches.

Medieval feudal society finds its counterpart in that of the slave-making ant, Polyergus, whose fierce sickle-jaws are so ill adapted to doing anything but crush the heads of his victims that he is no longer even able to feed himself. His military expeditions to capture his now indispensable slaves involve massive concerted attacks in which the whole army will charge as one unit on their unhappy victims.

The decadent societies of the Ottoman Sultanate and the Abbasid Caliphate have their counterpart in those of the slave-maker, Strogyalanthus Huberi, who is not only economically sustained by a large slave population, but also uses slaves as soldiers to conduct his wars. This parasitical ant is as vulnerable as was his human counterpart, for, as the result of many millenia of disuse, the muscles of his proud mandibles have atrophied, rendering them useless save as symbols of past glories, with which this pathetic figure, as helpless as he is awesome, can still hope to intimidate his gullible victims.118

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A persistent myth among reductionist scientists is that human cultural behaviour is of a totally different nature from any other type of behaviour, and cannot be subjected to scientific examination.

Indeed, the idea that writing symphonies, listening to string quartets, going to art exhibitions, indulging in small talk at cocktail parties, displaying kindness to one’s neighbours, contributing to charities, etc., can be explained in terms of the same general behavioural model that also describes digestion, respiration and locomotion, and, even worse, the behaviour of lower forms of life such as fiddler crabs and dung beetles, is totally incompatible with man’s elevated view of himself, and even the most enlightened thinkers of recent times have found it impossible to accept this fact. An example is von Bertalanffy,119 who writes:

“Life and behaviour are not simply utilitarian, trying to come to a so-called equilibrium with minimum expense of physical and psychic energy. This is not even true of organic evolution, which often produces fantastic formations, behaviour patterns, colours, and what not, far exceeding mere survival and economic principles of adaptation. It is even less true of man, where, not by the wildest flight of fancy, can the creativity of an artist, musician or scientist be reduced to psychological and social adjustments, nor can the self-sacrifice of a martyr be reduced to the principle of utility. The whole human culture, whether Greek tragedy, Renaissance art or German music, simply has nothing to do with biological values of maintenance, survival, adjustment, or homeostasis. So far as the idea of any necessary progress of humanity is concerned (the human analogue to the biological concept of evolution), any criticism in our time of atomic warfare and a return to medieval techniques of statecraft would be an anachronism. In fact, the answer to our quest is very simple. Man, as the old saying goes, is a denizen of two worlds. He is a biological organism with the physical equipment, drives, instincts, and limitations of his species. At the same time, he creates, uses, dominates, and is dominated by, a higher world which, without theological and philosophical implications and in behavioural terms, can best be defined as the universe or universes of symbols. This is what we call human culture; and values, esthetic, scientific, ethical, religious—are one part of this symbolic universe. This is what man tries to achieve beyond satisfaction of his biological needs and drives; in turn, it governs and controls his behaviour.”

Von Bertalanffy is in fact saying that cultural behaviour cannot be explained in objective terms. He is establishing a rigid dualism between this type of behaviour and all others, and this we know to be quite unjustified.

Let us look a little more closely into this particular form of the dualistic fallacy.

It is customary to regard cultural behaviour as behaviour that is ‘learnt’, as opposed to ‘innate’. We might perhaps ask, what do we mean by ‘learnt’? To this, Pringle 120 provides the best answer I have seen so far:

“Learning is the name given to the general class of processes by which the behaviour of an animal comes to depend not only on the environmental changes immediately preceding it in time, but also on events which have occurred in the related parts of the environment in the more remote past. Students of animal behaviour distinguish this past into two parts: that period of past time during which the animal has existed as an independent organism, and the rest of past time during which its ancestors have existed. The modification of present behaviour by past events is called learning when those events have occurred during the lifetime of the individual, and instinct when the events have occurred outside this period of time. In the former case, the past events are supposed to have left some trace in the animal (usually in the nervous system), whereas in the latter case the organisation of the animal responsible for the observed response is supposed to be innate; that is, to be contained fully in the material substance of its inheritance . . .”

If the word ‘learning’ is to have any meaning, it cannot be limited to one particular set of modifications, to the exclusion of all others. From this it must follow that cultural behaviour, in the sense of behaviour ‘learnt’ neurogenetically cannot be regarded apart from that which was learnt phylogenetically and ontogenetically, and if the former are functional and adaptive, and hence can be studied scientifically, then so must the latter. I have shown that development, rather than constitute a continuous process, proceeds by a series of jumps, which occur as successive levels of complexity are reached. Each time, new principles are required to explain the new type of organisation that thereby comes into being. We have seen that behaviour is cumulative. These principles, therefore, do not replace those operative at the previous level, but merely supplement them. Thus a biological organism is explicable in terms of biology, but also continues to observe the laws of chemistry and physics, etc.

There is no reason to suppose that when we reach the level of complexity of the human society the jump involved is of a different nature from the previous ones, nor that the new discipline that thereby comes into being is distinguished from those that it complements in any radical manner.

Thus a society is explicable in terms of the laws slowly being evolved by sociologists and anthropologists, but nevertheless continues to obey those of biology, chemistry and physics, and all such disciplines have in common the fact that they are instances of the application of objective method to explaining behaviour at different levels of complexity.

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Cultural Adaptation in Non-Human Animals

The question might also be asked whether man is alone capable of cultural behaviour? Undoubtedly not. One can argue teleonomically from the fact that in many species, animals are subjected to a reasonably long period of parental tutelage to the hypothesis that cultural and not just genetic information must be transmitted from generation to generation. Thus Haldane 121 remarks that whereas the blackbird (turdis merula) has no cultural tradition, since males brought up in isolation will sing a perfect song, the skylark and chaffinch, on the other hand, must learn theirs. Reared in isolation, the skylark’s song is apparently unrecognisable, and that of the chaffinch very imperfect. Thorpe has even noted different dialects among chaffinches. He found that he could recognise five different local chaffinch dialects in Great Britain. The chaffinches of the Azores, on the other hand: “. . . sing a dialect differing from any of the British dialects far more than they differ from one another.”122

If their song is learned, as it appears to be, and if different groups use different dialects, it is clear that we can talk quite legitimately of the transmission of cultural matter from one generation to the next. Haldane also points out that there are examples among animal societies of the transmission of material objects from one generation to another. A good example is that of the agricultural ant, atta, who “. . . transmits pieces of the fungus ‘rhozites’ which they cultivate. Each piece is carried in a special cavity near the mouth and deposited in the new fungus garden.”121

Other behavioural elements are also transmitted in the same manner. Haldane cites Kuo 123, whose experiments showed that cats would not generally kill mice or rats unless taught to do so by their parents. That this is so among lions and tigers is well documented.

There is a growing literature on the subject of social deprivation, among the higher animals in particular, which tends to confirm the thesis that its victims are thereby rendered incapable of fulfilling many of the necessary functions that make up their behavioural patterns.

Cultural innovation also appears to be a feature of non-human animal societies. Haskins 124 shows how the Argentine ant, iridiomyrmex humilis, abandoned an agricultural culture in favour of one permitting it to exploit the vast food potential of human habitations.

Haldane refers to the ‘invention’ among the great tits (parus major) of opening milk bottles that have been left on human doorsteps, which, having become common in England, has now spread to Holland; whether, as Haldane remarks: “. . . by cultural diffusion or by independent invention we know not.”121

Indeed, though culture plays a greater role in the behaviour of man than in that of non-human animals, it is by no means a negligible factor in the latter and cannot constitute a barrier to their representation by the same general behavioural model.

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110. Anatol Rapoport. ‘An Essay on Mind’ General Systems Yearbook Vol. VII, 1962.

111. See Eddison, The Logic of Modern Physics, Macmillan, New York, 1961.

112. Norman H. Horowitz, ‘The gene’ Scientific American October, 1956.

113. J.H. Fabre, Souvenirs Entomoligiques Series IX, Delagrave, Pans 1879-1909.

114. N. Tinbgergen, Social Behaviour in Animals Methuen, London, 1953.

115. H.F. Harlow, ‘The Evolution of Learning’ in Behaviour and Evolution (A. Roe and G.G. Simpson eds.) Yale University Press, 1964.

116. W.E.H. Stanner, ‘Dreaming, an Australian Worldview’ Cultural and Social Anthropology (P.B. Hammond ed.), Macmillan Co., New York, 1964.

117. A.W. Morley, The Ant World Penguin Books, London.

118. Caryl P. Haskins, Of Ants and Men Prentice Hall, New York, 1939.

119. L. von Bertalanffy, ‘The World of Science & The World of Value’ Teachers College Record Vol. 65, No. 6, March, 1964.

120. J.W.S. Pringle ‘On the Parallel between Learning and Evolution’ General Systems Yearbook Vol. 1, 1956.

121. J.B.S. Haldane, ‘The Argument from Animal to Men: an examination of its validity for anthropology’ in Culture and the Evolution of Man, (M.F. Ashley Montague ed), Oxford University Press, 1962.

122. W.H. Thorpe, ‘The Language of Birds’ Scientific American October, 1956.

123. Z.Y. Kuo, ‘Further Study on the Behaviour of the Cat towards the Rat’ Journal of Comparative Psychology, No. 25, 1938.

124. C.P. Haskins, Of Ants and Men George Allen and Unwin, London, 1974.

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