Physical anthropologist Wilton Krogman wrote a classic
article in 1951 for Scientific American
called “The Scars of Human Evolution,” back when you could actually make sense
of the stuff in Scientific American. It addressed
half of human evolution: bipedalism.
Hard as it may be to believe, the evolution of our other most
basic adaptation is under-theorized. I
refer to our symbolic mode of communication, language. Language,
which is coterminous with symbolic thought – if you can think it, you can say
it – was an unusual and apparently very good evolutionary innovation. It was so good, indeed, that it created
physical problems that the human body had to solve secondarily in order to make
it work, and to some extent never did solve fully.
First, it expanded our heads. Symbolic communication requires a big brain,
as well as an extended period of immaturity in order to learn how to do it
properly. It is so difficult that we
hardly even appreciate how difficult it is.
From the bottom up, we learn what sounds make sense. Are “s” and “sh” variants of the same sound,
or different sounds? What about “l” and
r”? Or “r” and “rr”? Or the “Ch” in “Chanukah”
or the “Zs” in “Zsa-Zsa”? Are they their
own sounds, or some weird variants of “Hanukah” and “Cha-Cha”? We also learn how to combine those sounds,
and use them to refer to objects, or acts, or states. We could call those combinations of sounds “lexemes,”
but for the sake of simplicity, let’s just call them “words”. We also learn how to combine those words in
meaningful ways – to state, inquire, praise, predict, recall, using any of the myriad
grammatical forms at our disposal. And
on top of all that, we learn intonation, sarcasm, and bodily gestures to go
along with the rules of sounds, their correspondences, and combinations. The price for all of this was a brain inside
a baby’s skull that hardly fits through the birth canal. And the solution to that problem was to make
birthing social. Where an ape squats and
delivers, a human almost always needs to have someone else around.
Second, language reorganized our throats. To make all of those sounds, our larynx is
positioned lower down in the throat than it is in apes and babies, who cannot
make those sounds. The price we pay is that
the passage of air into our lungs and of food into our bellies now criss-cross,
which they do not in apes, which means that we can choke on our food far more
readily than a chimpanzee can. The
solution is: Don’t eat so fast, and try not to breathe while you are
swallowing.
Third, language not only worked over our throats and brains,
but our teeth as well. Catarrhine
primates often have large, sexually dimorphic canine teeth, which they use as
social threats and in the occasional actual fight. Classic sexual selection theory holds that in
species in which males actively compete for mates, they do so using their
canine teeth. In species where there is less competition for
mates, because males and females pair off, the males and females have equal-sized
canine teeth, as in the monogamous gibbons.
This is often invoked as evidence that sexual selection has been reduced
in the human species, which may well be true.
The problem is that those gibbon canines, which are non-dimorphic, are
also actually quite large. Ours are
non-dimorphic, but small. Why? Because it is really hard to speak
intelligibly through large, interlocking canine teeth. Ask any vampire (and see if you can
understand their response). The price
for the reduction of the canine teeth was that our canine teeth are not going
to intimidate other members of our own species, nor defend us against member of
other species. Good thing we started
using tools.
And fourth, in addition to reshaping our brains, throats,
and teeth, language also reshaped our tongue.
To make the sounds we do, our
tongue became more muscular, rounded, and enervated than an ape’s tongue. For this the cost was quite severe. An ape dissipates heat, as most mammals do,
by panting. But to use your tongue
primarily for talking, it will require that your body produce another way of
dissipating heat. Our ancestors did that
by loading up our skin with sweat glands, for evaporative cooling. But evaporative cooling only works efficiently
with bare skin; so our body hair had to get shorter and wispier than that of an
ape.
Walking and talking are what are most fundamentally human,
and it is quite extraordinary that they rhyme. So the next time you choke, sweat, scream for
an epidural, or reach for a weapon to protect yourself because you lack
confidence in your teeth to protect you, reflect on the fact that our body
parts are interconnected, and that language was such a good way to communicate
that it screwed you up in so many other ways.
I didn’t mention it, but there is
a fifth price as well for language:
having to listen to people who don’t know when to shut the fuck up.