Domesticated Humanity

In which we tame ourselves and succumb to the Algorithm™

Domestication syndrome

Imagine a wolf, proud and free, howling at the moon. Now imagine a chihuahua, in a carry-on bag, yipping at everyone who walks by.

Hard to believe they’re related. Comparing wild animals to their domesticated counterparts - boar to pig, ibex to goat, auroch to cow… - often leads us to notice similar changes. This is known as the ‘domestication syndrome’, which includes traits such as smaller skulls, floppy ears, smaller jaws and teeth, changes in coloration, changes in behavior, and so on.

One species of human-associated animal that has bucked the domestication trend so far is - no joke - Felis catus, the house cat. This Smithsonian piece says it all (emphasis mine):

There is little genetic difference between a tabby and a wild cat, so scientists think the house cat is only domestic when it wants to be.

Genetics suggests that the reason for cats refusing to be domesticated is that, even though they have been around humans for a while, they have only been selectively bred since relatively recently.

A famous experiment in support of the syndrome is an attempt to domesticate silver foxes by Russian researcher Dmitry Belyayev. Quite rapidly, over the course of a few generations, the foxes became more dog-like - floppy ears, changes in coat color, and tame behavior. The experiment has recently been called into question; the foxes may not have been that wild to begin with. This led to some researchers questioning how relevant the domestication syndrome is. Yet, a similar set of genes (neural crest genes if you’re interested) underlies the changes seen during domestication. Whether or not to call it a syndrome, meh, semantics.

Human self-domestication

We humans have been the domesticators, not the domesticated. Or so we might think. Based on archaeological evidence, typical domesticated traits pop up in our evolutionary history as we get closer to the present day. Perhaps we have domesticated ourselves.

Smaller teeth, a flatter face with less pronounced brow ridges, less sexual dimorphism, and a smaller brain are such domesticated traits in recent human (pre)history. Yes, believe it or not, peak human brain size likely lies somewhere between 28,000 and 3,000 years ago. That doesn’t mean we’ve gotten stupider, our brains might have gained in efficiency what they lost in size. (Or cognitive offloading has something to do with this, I’ll get to that in a minute.)

Actually, a lot of our self-domesticated traits look surprisingly much like neoteny - the preservation of juvenile traits. We physically look more like baby chimps than like adult ones. In his ode to Mickey Mouse, famous evolutionary biologist Stephen Jay Gould wrote:

We have evolved by retaining to adulthood the originally juvenile features of our ancestors.

Of course, not everyone agrees. Even if we can look at our primate cousins to infer human neoteny (which not everyone thinks we should do), we’re only neotenous in some traits. It’s definitely not a wholesale self-domestication.

An alternative is not to think in terms of domestication but in terms of (self-)control. It might be that the traits we consider ‘domesticated’ are simply the result of our ongoing social evolution. That’s the case made by this paper.

But in our day and age, there’s another player to consider. Technology.

Human (self-)domestication, the sequel

I’ve contained myself long enough. Time for a thought experiment.

In science and technology studies, domestication theory is the idea that technology is ‘tamed’ by its users. (Side note: taming and domesticating are not entirely the same. You tame an individual wild animal; you domesticate a lineage. Domesticated animals, however, are almost always relatively tame in behavior.)

Let’s flip traditional domestication theory on its head, shall we?

This gives us technology that domesticates its users. Sounds far-fetched, until you think about it. When I grew up (which is not that long ago), I had to memorize important phone numbers. Today, it takes a while to even remember my own number. Back then, I had to figure out how to read a map. Now, I just have to follow the arrow on my GPS. That’s the cognitive offloading I mentioned earlier. More and more, we use tools to take over some of our work. That’s not necessarily bad (cognitive offloading might lead to a performance benefit, for example), but it does make us more dependent on the (often) technological tools we use. It’s not only mental labor either. Physical labor is in steep decline. Robots will do it. What will the evolutionary effects be on our physical traits? Time will tell.

“Yeah, but technology isn’t using us like we use domesticated animals.”

Let me introduce you to the Algorithm™. Forget cognitive offloading and let’s consider attention offloading. You no longer have to search for interesting things, the Algorithm™ serves them to you. Social media feeds, tailored to your preferences and shaped by the desires that you don’t dare speak aloud. The Algorithm™ sees all. It doesn’t seek out interesting things for you out of kindness. No, it collects clicks, likes, and shares. It uses its users as engagement generators; it chains our attention to customized feeds we did not customize for ourselves. We no longer choose, we merely consume. The humans behind the Algorithm™ think they are in control but the Algorithm™ has grown too large, too embedded. It is immortal. It bides its time.

Science fiction.

Right?

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