Born to Be Good: The Science of a Meaningful Life

Why such a lack of bird decorum? Is the male peacock relying on the rump presentation as a sexual stimulant, as many primate species do, the most dramatic example being the baboon? Not so, reason Amotz and Avishag Zahavi, in their wonderful The Handicap Principle. These ornithologists suggest that the male peacock is simply testing the peahen. He is teasing and provoking her to gather information about her sexual interest. If the female, facing her consort’s derrière, circles around to face the male with alacrity and earnest intent, the male knows that she is interested, and not just playing the field or stopping by for a casual exchange of clucks and coos. If she fails to appear, or does so after a few additional milliseconds of dillydallying, he has acquired critical information about her lack of commitment. He can factor this information into his decision about whom to mate with and whom not.

Lest you think that humans have evolved beyond the need to provoke and tease in intimate affairs, consider this exchange between two of literature’s great lovers, Beatrice and Benedick from Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing. This revealing exchange is their first declaration of their affection for one another.

       

BENEDICK        

And, I pray thee now tell me, for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?        

BEATRICE        

For them all together, which maintain’d so politic a state of evil that they will not admit any good part to intermingle with them. But for which of my good parts did you first suffer love for me?        

BENEDICK        

Suffer love! A good epithet! I do suffer love indeed, for I love thee against my will.        

BEATRICE        

In spite of your heart, I think. Alas, poor heart, if you spite it for my sake, I will spite it for yours, for I will never love that which my friend hates.        

BENEDICK        

Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.

The importance of provocation and teasing in our social evolution is suggested by how pervasive teasing is in the animal world. Chimpanzees dangle their tails, tickling noses and eyes, to provoke response in slumbering or distracted chimps nearby. African hunting dogs and dwarf mongooses jump all over each other in piles of playful provocation prior to a hunt, much like pad-slapping football players moments before the kickoff, provoking readiness to attack and defend. In humans, mothers will pull their breast away from weaning babes as they pucker up for a drink. Adults will play hide the face, peekaboo games to stir a sulking child. Teenage girls and boys resort to hostile nicknames and outlandishly gendered imitations to assess the romantic leanings and sexual experiences of their friends. Sexual insults are as reliable an occurrence in human social life as food sharing, greeting gestures, patterns of comfort, flirtation, and the expression of gratitude.

Teasing has long occupied a problematic place in Western culture. In Roman times, law prohibited mala carmina—abusive songs and poems that centered upon ritualized insult. Today teasing is often prohibited on the grammar-school playground and in the workplace. It is regulated by speech codes on college campuses. Irony, a relative of teasing, is not enjoying the most sterling of reputations. In the circles of literary criticism, a widely read treatise, “Regulations for Literary Criticism in the 1990s,” lists Regulation VII as “no irony.” The accompanying rationale is that “great literature demands of us a high seriousness of purpose—not disrespectful laughter and clowning around.” In For Common Things, Jedediah Purdy, fresh from his undergraduate days at Yale, issued a clarion call for sincerity and a move away from the derisive irony that fills the air during the swilling of cocktails at Ivy League parties.