Born to Be Good: The Science of a Meaningful Life

In the small groups in which we evolved, there were few walls that separated kin from non-kin. All were likely engaged in the sharing of caretaking behavior, cooperation in gathering resources, defense against predation. Our success at these tasks hinged critically upon a sense of trust in others, on the emergence of a love of humanity. Evolution responded with a deeply rooted set of behaviors related to love and trust—feelings of devotion, the urge to sacrifice, a sense of the beauty and goodness of others, affectionate touch, oxytocin, activation in the reward circuitry of the brain, the shutting down of the threat circuitry of the brain (the amygdala), mutual smiles and head tilts, open-handed gestures and posture, a soft, affectionate tone in the voice. These in their earliest forms were most evident in the early attachment dynamics of parent and child and in the quiet, isolated moments of intimacy between reproductive partners. These patterns of behavior were readily spread to non-kin, in rituals like dance and feast, serving as the basis for friendships. They spread informally, through the contagious power of these emotions. Passing a young, bundled-up baby from mother to friend, in a common exchange of caretaking, might bring about shared coos, smiles, and cradling of the child, and so much more—a sense of community.

BACK TO THE BIRDS AND THE BEES

 

If I could have taken another shot at helping my daughters understand the realm of love in the wake of the elephant seal disaster, I might have tried to walk them through the figure below. This figure portrays what social science has found about the varieties of love across a human’s life. Perhaps I would have started with the story of the Wild Boy of Aveyron, and the corresponding science showing that in humans, loving relationships (of any kind) lead to less depression and anxiety, greater happiness, more ruddy health, a more robust nervous system, and greater resistance to disease (not to mention it just feels good). I would have told Natalie and Serafina that as they age, and as the end nears, psychologist Laura Carstensen has found time and time again, loving relations get more important, and love all the sweeter. So why not start now?

I would have told them that the love between parent and child (the dark solid line) fluctuates; it dips necessarily during adolescence when they themselves (or their children, some twenty years from now) will be throwing themselves into romantic relations of their own. They shouldn’t be alarmed when this happens to them (although I’m certain I will be more than alarmed); the love of caretakers and those we take care of returns and branches into the delightful love of grandparents for grandchildren. The circle expands.

I would have told them of the delights of that most intense of loves, passionate love (the dark dotted line), and of its head-spinning, heart-pounding delirium, but that we mustn’t be tricked for too long by its celestial charms. When passionate desire dips postchild-birth, in particular between year one and four into life with young children, researchers find, romantic relations become vulnerable. As it declines through the life course, as much as we (or the multi-billion-dollar beauty industry) might think otherwise, other forms of love become so much sweeter.

I might have cautioned that after the golden period of romantic love (the gray solid line), which they are too soon to head into, romantic love dips during the early years of raising children, overshadowed by demands such as spit-up, phone tag over playdates, and temper tantrums. I would remind them of the love that reemerges in the empty nest. I would ask them to read Stephanie Coontz’s History of Marriage, where she suggests the one mistake we make today in marriage is to put too much of a burden on romantic love; that we need more diverse kinds of love. I would refer to the new science of relationships, which suggests that romantic love does not live on passion alone. It requires many other positive emotions—laughter, play, a sense of wonder, kindness, forgiveness—to arrive at that magic ratio of five positive feelings for every toxic negative one that enables marriages, in John Gottman’s wisdom, to endure.

 

And I would have tried to describe the love of humanity, agape, really a love of all sentient beings (the gray dotted line). This feeling is the central discovery—the heart, so to speak, of ethical systems ranging from Tibetan Buddhism to major strands of Christianity. It is a love that generates trust, generosity, and stable communities. It is the ether in the air of peaceful playgrounds, Sunday strolls in the park, quiet reverence in museums and churches. It may be the clue toward beating things like global warming. It is a kelson of creation in Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass: