Wolf Wars—Part 2

OK, so we are waking up to the benefits of a healthy wolf population. Yet many of us can't shake our built-in anti-wolf bias. It seems to be deep within our DNA. How did it get there? I believe a basic reason is that we've been in competition with wolves from long ago. Dogs were smart enough to tame themselves tens of thousands of years ago, when they saw it would be advantageous to partner with us on the hunt. Humans and dogs both profited from the collaboration. The wolf, however, stayed wild. Since it preyed on many of the same game animals that humans did, we became adversaries. It's like two guys wooing the same gal, who thus become arch enemies.

When humans evolved from hunter-gatherers to farmers, over ten thousand years ago, wolves really became hostile for us. As we settled down, we domesticated sheep and cows—transforming them into docile, dumb livestock that idly consumed vegetation. It was as if humans had generously offered easy meals to wolves. Why put effort into chasing down a fleet-footed deer, when a tasty meal just stood there—waiting to be consumed? Those human tribes who tended their flocks especially came to see wolves as an enemy.

And any enemy is a being to fear. Put another way, any critter that we fear tends to become an enemy. We put distance between us and them, which makes it easier to regard them as the “other,” and hence to sanction violence against them. We see this being played out today, as those in power stoke fears of immigrants—encouraging citizens to become frightened of how they might distort our society.

There have been many opportunities in the past to feel fearful of wolves. In medieval times humans clustered in small, rural groups that had cleared a few trees for farming. Surrounding these clusters of small communities were primeval forests, filled with wild creatures who seemed terrifying. Many tales described the dreadful happenings of those who ventured into the woods. All sorts of terrifying beasts lurked out there.

The Middle Ages further filled the heads of people with fears of wolves. We came to imagine that wolves were bad. Horrible events like the Black Plague stoked those fears, as wolves fed on the stacks of corpses. We further magnified our terror, into images of what they might do, if we didn't stop them. The howling of wolves at night brought dread to our soul.

Some of our hatred of wolves stemmed from a kind of transference of our own violence onto them. Religion played its role in this process, as Christians viewed the wilderness as ungodlike. We humans did not have dominion over the wild animals. Dante put the wolf in hell, as a symbol of greed. Unfortunate humans who were labeled as werewolves were burned at the stake, in the Middle Ages.

Thus wolves found themselves as the blackguards in many stories... Little Red Riding Hood being just one example. Aesop's Fables—dating back to the sixth century BCE—cast wolves as evil beings. Plays and songs have long portrayed wolves as lurking, threatening beasts.

Fairy tales were written by adults, to provide entertainment and moral lessons for children. With each passing generation a new wave of offspring were inculcated with the propagandistic dogma that wolves are depraved. The second definition in the American Oxford Dictionary of wolf is “the name used in similes and metaphors to refer to a rapacious, ferocious, or voracious person or thing... a man who habitually seduces women.” Even Sigmund Freud and Erich Fromm weighed in on the sexual and violent images of wolves!

After centuries of framing wolves as vile creatures, some of us are beginning to appreciate their role in a stable ecosystem. It's an uphill battle, however, to change public opinion in their favor. Maybe we need a few movies and fairy tales that cast wolves as the caring social, cooperating, playful creatures they are; who play a vital role in Mother Nature's plan.

Wolf Wars—Part 1

I am currently enrolled in an online course on fairy tales; which is exploring their origins, their sometimes subtle messages, their moral themes, and their deeper psychological revelations about what makes us human and how these viewpoints vary across cultures. The first fairy tale considered in the course is “Little Red Riding Hood.” Most of us who grew up in Western cultures are familiar with the story of this sweet, innocent, naive little girl. She is off on a walk through the dark forest, to take some nourishing provisions to her infirm grandmother, who dwells alone in a cottage in the woods. Along the way, Little Red encounters a wolf, who is up to no good, as is the habitual way of wolves.

There are various versions of Red's tale, due to it being an old story told orally and later written down, over the last several centuries. In some versions the wolf triumphs and delights in a monumental meal of both grandma and the cute little girl. In other versions the wolf is thwarted and dispatched by a passing hunter or wood chopper. In every version of “Little Red Riding Hood” the wolf is cast as the villain. He (and it's always a male) is the nasty beast who threatens the virtuous, sweet little girl and her frail grandmother.

As students in my online class exchange thoughts and reactions about the deeper emotions and feelings of this fairy tale, I began to wonder why they seem to have accepted, without question, the nefarious behavior of the wolf. Why is it that we read these tales of wolves' dreadful conduct and rarely question their veracity? How is it that the wolf is always cast as the evil one, and we willingly accept that depiction? The “big bad wolf” appears in countless stories. They are unquestionably depraved beasts. You can't trust them. The only good wolf is a dead wolf, etc.

It's interesting that the dog—descended from the wolf—is often regarded as “man's best friend,” while the wolf is cast as a perpetual enemy. A predatory male human is often depicted as a wolf, especially when he emits a wolf whistle or attempts to seduce an innocent lass. Werewolves in folklore are people who transform into wolves, especially at full moon, and commit various kinds of mayhem. There are countless movies, plays, and songs that demonize wolves—including other fairy tales such as “The Three Little Pigs.” Wolves don't get much sympathy, when they are perpetually preying on innocent little girls, helpless old ladies, and sweet, small swine.

Thankfully, we modern humans have begun to change the story, as some of us have come to value the role played by wolves in the ecosystem. In those locales where wolves have been largely eradicated, their prey have become overabundant and are damaging the environment. Deer, elk, and other large herbivores have been consuming valuable plants and saplings, causing erosion and allowing weeds and other invasive species to proliferate. In attempts to rebalance nature, wolves have been reintroduced into rural areas where they once ruled. As a result, in Yellowstone National Park, for example, introduced wolves are reducing the number of elk—which is permitting aspen groves to recover and streams to flow clear, as erosion is curtailed.

More on wolves next time...

Our Best Friends

Numerous scientific studies have unequivocally shown that dogs—considered by many people to be “man's best friend”—descended from the wolves. This result comes from DNA studies of wolves and dogs. The estimated date of when dogs became our buddies is as yet a little hazy: anywhere from about 13 thousand years ago to as long ago as 30 thousand years. The relationship between wolves and dogs is also demonstrated in their scientific names: Canis lupus (for wolves) and Canis lupus familairis (for dogs). We certainly are more familiar with dogs.

A tougher question about the evolution of wolves to dogs is: How did the first dogs transform from wolves? By what process did those pioneer wolves come in from the wild and buddy-up to our ancestors? The answer to questions like these cannot be investigated by DNA experiments in the laboratory, nor are there any historical documents waiting to be discovered (since no human was able to write at the time). Nonetheless, recent research is offering some insights to understand how dogs evolved from wolves.

A common belief for many years has been that dogs evolved when an enterprising hunter-gatherer encountered some cute wolf puppies and carried a couple of them home to the cave to adopt. In time the little wolves became tame and the rest of the story is history. That tale has been debunked. The lifestyle of our hunter-gatherer ancestors was too nomadic to allow them to carry out such a lengthy process. In addition, modern studies of wolves have shown that, although wolves can be socialized and even tamed, they retain a large degree of wildness, that keeps them from connecting with people as deeply as dogs do. Finally, what sane hunger-gatherer parent would allow a wild wolf to get cozy with their kids?

Research has shown instead that humans did not domesticate wolves... wolves did it themselves. Dogs are thus self-domesticated wolves. They chose us. Why? How? Very recent studies have shown that dogs are a rare type of critter who possess a kind of intelligence that allows them to interpret our intentions. They read our behavior and body language and perceive what we literally are thinking. In humans this ability is called “theory of mind.” Here's how it works: I know that I have a mind, I assume that other people do, and further, I assume that how I respond to things is similar to how other people do.

Dogs do not have this level of cognitive ability, but they do have a remarkable ability to read our intentions. It is a capability that allowed them to domesticate themselves and learn to live with us, long ago. They were clever enough to perceive that life would be much easier if they became our buddies. We would be their source of food (our leftover garbage) and rather than compete with us in hunting down animals (as have their wolf cousins), they could partner with us and benefit from our skills (and vice versa).

As an example, the dog is unique among animals in understanding that when we point at something, we are drawing their attention to it. Wolves can't do it. Even our closest relatives, the chimpanzees and bonobos, can't do it. This ability allows dogs to make inferences about our intentions and to flexibly and creatively solve new problems for themselves—things that neither wolves nor apes can do.

So we humans have more in common with dogs than we've previously thought. When we evolved from apes into Homo sapiens, we later developed the theory of mind, which has allowed us to develop a unique form of communication and to cooperate to achieve impressive things. When dogs evolved from wolves (on their own initiative) they developed a similar ability, that gives us and them a unique form of communication and cooperation. Does that not make them our best friends?

Doggone Good Cooperation

Who'd a thunk that our ancient alliance with wolves (who we quickly bred into tame puppy dogs) would be related to how our ancient European ancestors (Cro-Magnon man) out-competed the Neanderthals? It's been known for a long time that we humans domesticated wolves tens of thousands of years ago, and also that we outlived our Neanderthals cousins, who disappeared some 40 thousand years ago. But the link between these two events was only recently identified by a researcher at Penn State University. How was this connection realized?

Neanderthals had inhabited Europe some 200,000 years before Cro-Magnon man even entered the scene. Neanderthals were accomplished hunters of large herbivores such as mammoths and elk, but they also had fierce competition from European lions, leopards, hyenas, as well as wolves. It was very challenging and dangerous to bring down a mammoth or bison by spears. Once you managed to kill one, lions and hyenas would harass you and try to steal your prized meat. So Neanderthals may have lasted a long time, but they were not all that dominant—their population stayed modest.

Then about 45 thousand years ago, modern humans entered Europe. Now the Neanderthals had yet one more competitor for the hunt. Humans, however, had an ace up their hairy sleeve: they domesticated the wolf. It was a great example of a complementary relationship—two potential competitors (humans and wolves, both of whom loved to dine on mammoth meat) joined forces to make their partnership far more effective than either one could do alone.

Those early wolf-dogs had the job of tracking and harassing big game until their prey tired, but then they didn't have to close in for the kill—which could become very dangerous when they faced a cornered and aroused adversary. Instead, humans appeared on the scene and dispatched the prey with spears from a safe distance. Having cooperated for the kill, dogs and humans then shared the treasure. Together, they could also successfully fend off other carnivores who might show up. Thus was born the human and hunting-dog team... which proved to be a deadly combination.

In the meantime, the Neanderthals—having been around far longer, but who left no evidence that they ever partnered with wolves—were at a serious disadvantage. Before long, they disappeared—followed a few millennia later by European mammoths, bison, and giant elk. The human-dog team was lethally efficient.

This is just one more example of how species that managed to evolve cooperation have fared better than those who couldn't. Yes, Darwin's insight into the power of survival of the fittest shoes how evolution competitively plays out, but it's not all about the fiercest competitor always becoming triumphant. Strategic alliance have also favored the prospering of species.