The Power of the Herd (23 page)

Oxytocin's continuously positive effect on the herd, not just the individual, prompted the Swedish scientist to emphasize that
we “need calm and connection not only to avoid illness
, but also to enjoy life, to feel curious, optimistic, creative. These qualities are hard to measure scientifically. What research does show, however, is that concentration and learning are also improved by a peaceful environment and nurturing relationships. Children under stress have a harder time learning than those who are calm and secure.”

Research into oxytocin's benefits — along with the outrageous physical transformations of foxes selected for tamability in Belyaev's work — has made it clear that evolution does not promote an aggressive, fear-producing survival-of-the-fittest mentality. Rather, nature continually softens this most basic protective instinct behaviorally and biochemically through a preference for sociability and mutual aid.

Kropotkin's work stood alone in its recognition of this factor almost a century before it could be bolstered scientifically. But even while riding horses through the Siberian outback, the Russian prince seemed only vaguely conscious of
interspecies
relationships as the ultimate endorsement of his own theory. Here's where a growing number of modern researchers effectively come to
his
aid.

In
Made for Each Other,
Meg Daley Olmert explores the history, biology, and myriad benefits of the human-animal bond. Her groundbreaking 2009 book was the first to depict oxytocin as a crucial biochemical factor in domestication. Olmert's wide-ranging, multidisciplinary research also makes a strong case for the hormone's continued influence on pet owners and on people helped through animal-assisted therapy. Most significant is a 2003 South African study led by Johannes Odendaal and R. A. Meintjes showing that
“when eighteen men and women interacted with their dogs
(talking to them and gently stroking them) the owners' blood levels of oxytocin almost
doubled
— and their dogs were also twice as enriched with oxytocin!” Along with this rise in the hormone came a significant decrease in blood pressure and the stress hormone cortisol, as well as an increase in beta endorphins and dopamine.

Olmert has been in contact with Uvnäs Moberg over the years, and both of these women have deeply enriched my understanding of equine-facilitated therapeutic and educational practices that work, in part, by releasing oxytocin into the system. But there's another hormone that adds a bit more spice to the story, particularly in the context of leadership development. In
The Oxytocin Factor,
Uvnäs Moberg compares the “calm and connect” effect in rats with the effect of a similar substance, vasopressin, which differs by only two amino acids. This behavior-altering hormone also encourages pair bonding, especially during sexual activity, but in a wider social context it promotes a decidedly macho approach. Vasopressin, she says,

instills courage by making the individual feel aggressive
and fearless. The rat, male or female, is prepared to attack, mark territory, and vigorously defend itself. Oxytocin instead fosters courage by diminishing the feeling of danger and conveying the sense that there is less to be afraid of. Animal studies appear to show that oxytocin has a special ability to make animals “nice.” Physiologically, therefore, a substance related to strength and readiness (vasopressin) is a close relative to one that produces friendliness and caring (oxytocin). They function in different ways, and we need them both. As the popular Swedish fictional character Pippi Longstocking says, “The one who is powerfully strong must also be powerfully nice.”

Nowhere is this paradoxical combination exercised more dramatically than in traditional pastoral cultures. Here, the predatory side of human nature protects and culls the herd, while the nonpredatory side nurtures the herd. Cattle, sheep, goats, camels, horses, and other animals are treated not as slaves or commodities but as valued members of an interspecies society. Herders exhibit
tremendous pride in and affection for their animals, who in turn trust their two-legged companions to lead them to greener pastures, oversee their mating, assist their births, and milk them — the ultimate oxytocin-producing activity.

Meat composes a surprisingly modest part of the pastoral diet. Modern tribes mix grains, roots, fruits, and vegetables (gathered, traded, or planted and reaped during seasonal migrations) with lots of dairy products, everything from butter and cheese to fermented mood-altering drinks like koumiss, which Mongolia's nomadic horse tribes make from mare's milk. Some cultures, such as Africa's cattle-oriented Masai and Siberia's reindeer-based Even people, occasionally consume blood from living members of the herd, though milk remains the staple. Moving with the animals keeps these people physically fit — electrocardiogram tests applied to four hundred young adult male Masai found no evidence of heart disease, abnormalities, or malfunction. Despite significant dairy consumption, their cholesterol levels were about 50 percent of the level of the average American.

Close interaction with powerful, nonpredatory animals also promotes mental, emotional, relational, and spiritual balance — as well as a form of empowerment that deftly combines fierceness and sensitivity. It is, after all, much more dangerous to herd, ride, or milk a large herbivore, even a domesticated one, than it is to hunt it from a distance. Interspecies affinity, attention to nonverbal cues, mutual respect, and mutual trust are literally survival skills for herding cultures.

The human element also coordinates, thoughtfully and compassionately, with the realities of the ecosystem. Mongolia's highly successful pastoralists, who raise horses, sheep, goats, camels, and cattle, cull animals in the fall that aren't likely to survive the harsh winter ahead, drying the meat to sustain the herders' families until spring. In
Living with Herds: Human-Animal Coexistence in Mongolia,
Natasha Fijn effectively illustrates how deeply these cultures care for their animals. Oxytocin's social recognition circuits cross species lines, creating, as Fijn discovered, a nature-based philosophy of equality. The Mongolian pastoralists she encountered knew every animal by name. This, however, didn't affect their ability to make tough decisions.
Rather, it reinforced “an egalitarian outlook
, without favouritism or treating the animal as the equivalent of a pet. Likewise the attitude within Mongolian herding society is to take care of everyone within the herding community, not just singling out individuals for special treatment. Nonetheless, contingencies such as extreme weather conditions,
parental survival, and other factors do require that some animals have differential treatment from others,” particularly in the case of orphan foals, calves, or lambs who are brought into the tent, bottle-fed, then released back into the larger herd when strong.

Yet while Mongolian pastoralists are loving and nurturing, they're perfectly capable of standing up to an ornery bull, feisty colt, or rearing stallion. And they're fierce yet reverent in culling the herd. The human role effectively combines parent, leader, and predator through a sacred trust, ensuring that all the herders' animals have an opportunity to live a full life and, when the time comes, to die quickly, humanely, and meaningfully, as opposed to enduring extended suffering from weakness and starvation. Even so,
“Mongolians do not eat animals that are under
one year of age,” she emphasizes. When she told one of the tribe members about the Western practice of consuming lamb and veal, tears welled up in the woman's eyes as she quietly said, “We love our young animals, so we couldn't eat them.”

“She must have thought it a strange practice,” Fijn concludes, “as she was being so careful to nurture some weak lambs that were sleeping beside the hearth in front of her. It would be counterintuitive for a herder to kill them and eat them before they had produced any young of their own, when the animals had not yet lived a full life. If a young lamb dies from weakness or illness, the herder then utilizes the hide but does not eat the meat.” This reluctance to consume what our culture considers a delicacy shows how deeply bonded Mongolian herders become through the oxytocin-boosting activities of nursing and caring for the tribe's four-legged children.

Adults are also treated with reverence in death, but in a different way. Strict traditions ensure that individuals are killed humanely and quietly, away from the herd, the women, and the children. It's disrespectful to waste any part of an older animal. Only the bones, which Mongolians believe house the souls of all living creatures, are left untouched, so that the spirits of cherished herd members can be released according to their own timing, to be reincarnated. This means that dogs are prevented from chewing on bones. The Buddhist-influenced tribes that Fijn studied also believe that people sometimes reincarnate as “one of the five animals” (as horses, sheep, goats, camels, or cattle) and vice versa, lending an even deeper sense of sacrifice and communion to this symbiotic pact.

The close interspecies relationships that herding cultures develop, regardless of differing beliefs about the afterlife, can also be glimpsed throughout the Bible. The kosher code of the Jewish faith, in which a holy man actively blesses each creature before the slaughter, is the only remnant of this impulse
that modern Western society has retained. Orthodox tradition strictly forbids cruelty to animals, outlining the specific procedures, prayers, and spiritual mind-set for mediating such a sacrifice. Interestingly, kosher laws also forbid the ingestion of blood on the grounds that this would commingle animal with human life streams. (When Christ offered his blood as well as his flesh at the Last Supper, this powerful gesture would have been readily understood as the act of merging his life stream with those of his followers.) The Even people of Siberia, who believe they are half human, half reindeer, do in fact ingest the blood of their animals, as do the Mongolian pastoralists, who are perfectly comfortable with the idea of humans and animals reincarnating across species lines.

The close association between two-legged and four-legged members of these tribes further explains why Jesus easily moved back and forth between metaphors in which he was depicted as a shepherd and a lamb. In fact, once you reconnect with Christianity's nomadic pastoral roots, the ritual of communion becomes a
multidimensional
symbolic act, designed not only to bring individuals closer to God but to keep Abel's perspective alive whenever and wherever city dwellers try to subjugate man and nature in support of a disconnected, materialistic cult of owner-masters. In this sense, Christ's paradigm-altering efforts to include non-Jewish people in the sacrament he created could also be seen as an attempt to balance the predation running amok in the Greco-Roman world, offering a potent transfusion of nonpredatory wisdom in the wake of increasing violence.

Extreme carnage wasn't just tolerated in Jesus's era; it was cultivated. The vast Roman Empire was managed by force and intimidation, reinforced by sadistic “games” at the Coliseum: gladiator exhibitions, public executions, and “beast hunts” (in which thousands of animals were slaughtered “with the right degree of cruelty”). The Roman historian Cicero praised this brutal style of entertainment for its ability to desensitize people to horrific acts, preparing them for battle. The fact that we now use our stadiums for football rather than blood sport is a testament to Christianity's effectiveness as an early form of social activism.

Whether or not you're moved to join the religion Jesus inspired, his life is historically and culturally significant, especially when you consider the wisdom of the pastoralist's perspective. Jesus actively reinforced a nomadic, nonpredatory philosophy at one of the most brutal times in history: He was born in a stable and laid in a manger. He encouraged people to give up their possessions and wander the earth, letting God through nature take care of their needs. He abhorred violence, even for self-preservation, yet he faced tragedy with a fierceness capable of challenging injustice without sacrificing compassion. Ultimately,
his method of influence came, not through force, control, or even convincing intellectual arguments, but through communion — an act so intimate it was symbolized by the human consumption of his flesh and blood. These surprisingly effective gestures challenged the basis of Greco-Roman civilization, allowing Christ to turn the tide of increasing violence with a mere thirty-three years of earthly existence. If he and his followers had only accomplished the eradication of Roman blood sport, that in itself would have been an admirable achievement.

However, as Christianity was adopted by the sedentary, hierarchical culture Jesus felt called to change, the powerful movement he started began to lose something important, succumbing to “Cain's forgetfulness” as the religion was adopted by Romans, Greeks, and Europeans who had never experienced the pastoral lifestyle. Even so, the early Catholic Church was adamant that the Bible should be preserved as originally written, as the indisputable “Word of God,” ensuring (perhaps inadvertently) that its deeper meaning remained accessible to anyone with “eyes to see and ears to hear.”

Putting the Bible back into its psycho-social-historical context releases all kinds of information hidden from a predatory, conquest-oriented mind-set. Actually spending time with nonpredatory animals leads to further insight. With the resurrection of this ancient wisdom comes a host of sophisticated lessons on leadership, cocreation, and authentic community building — pastoral skills that are surprisingly progressive compared to the two-dimensional command-control model we inherited from early city dwellers. In the meantime, those old dominance-submission habits still hold sway over us, thwarting, daily, our attempts to realize anything close to a functional democracy, let alone a truly free society with liberty and justice for all. Cain's technical feats are brilliant and seductive, to be sure, but they remain disconnected, dangerous, and at times simply meaningless without Abel's fluidity, compassion, and earthy interpersonal genius. It's high time we wrest that long-suppressed knowledge from its current state of arrested development and, well, evolve, for God's sake.