1 Creative Primates I was under the immense banyan tree in the central plaza of the Padangtegal monkey forest in Bali, Indonesia. I'd been here for months watching a few groups of macaque monkeys, immersing myself in their society. A small group of macaque monkeys sprinted up into the trees and the terraced hillside above the main temple. The dominant troop meandered in to take their place. Teardrop, an adult female so named for a white birthmark in the shape of a tear just below her left eye, trailed by about thirty feet from any other monkey. She always traveled apart from the rest of the group. I didn't give her much thought. My attention switched to Arnold, the dominant male, and Short-tail, the alpha female, who teamed up to take a cluster of papaya leaves and a prized half coconut from two low-ranking males. I looked down and again noticed Teardrop, who now sat only ten feet away from me, staring at a leaf on the ground and nonchalantly scratching her side. I turned to scan the plaza to get an idea of the groups' spread; the males, females, and young formed small clusters like little families. I felt a gentle pressure on my right leg. Teardrop was now right next to me, her left hand on my thigh. Over the next few minutes she calmly leaned into me. We did not look at each other, nor did we move, for about ten minutes. Then she got up, looked around, cast a sideways glance at me, and walked away. I discovered in time that Teardrop was unable to have offspring, and as such she was never able to work herself into any of the clusters of females and young that made up the social core of the macaque group. But she did, on occasion, sidle up next to humans and lean into them. Teardrop, like all monkeys, needed physical and social contact to live, and like all monkeys she occasionally got socially creative to satisfy those needs. After all, there were plenty of these other large-bodied, relatively hairless, seemingly willing primates with whom to score a bit of contact time. She had a problem, and she figured out a novel way to solve it. Teardrop is a primate and so are we. As such we share the trait of social creativity-a prime component of our evolutionary success. In order to understand the human story, the grand narrative of our creative journey, we need to recognize that we (humans, that is) are mammals and members of a specific mammalian order (Primates). We are also members of a specific subset of primates called anthropoids (monkeys, apes, and humans), as well as a specific subset of anthropoids called hominoids (apes and humans). Humans are members of a specific subset of the hominoids called the hominins, which are humans, our ancestors, and a set of extinct humanlike beings. Envision the history of life on this planet as a gigantic branching bush with millions of branches, twigs, and leaves. Those leaves and twigs closest to one another are close evolutionary relatives. As such, we do share a branch with Teardrop, but our respective twigs split off in different directions 25 to 30 million years ago. So, whatever commonalities we have with all monkeys are shared traits that were present in the original branch from which both of our lines (the twigs) arose. If we look to our closest primate relatives, the African apes (gorillas and chimpanzees), our lineages split off from a common ancestor about 7 to 10 million years ago, so we might expect even more similarities between us and the apes than between us and the monkeys. In any case, before getting to what is distinctive about humans, we need to know what it is about us that's not distinctively human, but rather distinctively primate. As Teardrop, in her way, demonstrated for me, social relationships are at the heart of monkey and ape societies. Getting along, touching, and spending time with their relatives, friends, and potential mates are the main things these primates do. Sound familiar? The social landscape is the key factor in any primate society. It is made up more or less of hierarchal relationships, friendships, aggressive behavior, and sex. Imagine yourself in the midst of one of the groups of macaque monkeys in the Padangtegal monkey forest in Bali, but this time we are watching the female named Short-tail, so named because she had only the nub of a tail. For a species called long-tailed macaques, one might think not having a tail would be a problem, even a disability. It wasn't. Short-tail was the highest-ranked female in a troop of nearly eighty monkeys-the opposite of Teardrop. She would swagger through the forest and temple grounds surrounded by her daughters, granddaughters, and even great-granddaughters. Other females would move out of her way or grimace in submission when she came near. Her favorite daughters and their friends would hand her their infants to hold and groom, she had access to the best foods, and she always took center stage when fights between her group and other groups in the area broke out. She often even led the charge, outpacing the big males in her tenacity for defending the group's space. Male long-tailed macaques are 50 percent larger than females, with huge fangs (canine teeth, to be exact) that can shred flesh very effectively, so in most cases these males easily dominate females in any one-on-one conflict. But the females that make it to high rank are never in one-on-one contexts-they are savvier than that. Short-tail had a whole cohort of relatives nearby and ready to defend her. This meant that the high-ranking males, instead of trying to dominate her, would seek her out and groom her and hang out with her, especially when they needed a favor. Social Hierarchies Aren't Hierarchies Throw a banana on the ground between two monkeys, and nine times out of ten they won't both charge for it. Rather, one will look quickly at the other and back away, ceding the banana without a fight. Understanding where you fit in the hierarchy, who is more or less dominant than you, helps primates navigate their daily lives. In a group with a set of well-defined dominant relationships, there's little doubt about who gets access to the better food, sleeping sites, grooming partners, potential mates, and so on. When relations are less well-defined, there might be one or two "top dogs" (or top monkeys), and most in the group are on more or less equal footing. In any case, primate hierarchies are neither strict nor static-dominance relationships are negotiated with friends and foes. Mostly it takes only a quick look at the other to determine who is in the more powerful position. This flexibility reflects a primate knack for creative social solutions. Primates change dominance ranks and roles throughout their lives, and each primate species has a different pattern through which individuals gain dominance or compete for resources. Young individuals have to learn these patterns as they mature. These patterns develop via direct fights, accumulating supporters, and manipulating one's opponents. Once dominance relationships are developed in this way, they gain some stability but nevertheless remain mutable. The local Balinese called one particularly vicious and aggressive male macaque Saddam, a reference to the Iraqi dictator (this was back in the late 1990s). My colleagues and I called him M1. He was the sole fully adult male in the smallest of the three groups at Padangtegal, made up of him, a few nearly adult males, six females, and about ten youngsters. One could easily recognize a female from M1's group, as she always had patches of hair missing and/or scars on her back from M1's sharp canines. He dominated every individual in the group with an iron fist. In fact, he even dominated many humans in the vicinity, often chasing them and/or biting them when he wanted to displace them or steal their food. He was a merciless dictator-until everything changed. M1 had a fall and broke his leg. He could still get around, but he was slower and less capable of chasing or attacking other monkeys and people. Two of the young males in his group, who previously cowered anytime he got within ten feet, took advantage and got creative. They began pushing him, tentatively at first, then more frequently. At the same time, they stuck next to, groomed, and curried the favor of Ma, the largest female macaque around and the oldest in M1's group. That did the trick, the social tide shifted, and they made their move. M1 lost his rank and eventually left the group. Dominance is not a biological characteristic of an individual; it's a social position. Individuals can move through different dominance ranks across their lives. You may identify some of these aspects of primate dominance in your own life, but it's a lot more complicated for humans. We are multifaceted in how we build relationships and how we alter or destroy them. Still, the ways in which monkeys and other primates creatively navigate their social worlds serve as a guide to how the spark of primate creativity became the five-alarm inferno of human creativity. When we think about other animals, especially primates, we often think about aggression and violence, but social creativity is about much more than that. As with many primates, long-tailed macaque males have those fangs. One good bite could open an eight-inch gash two inches deep in a person's thigh. If they made a habit of aggressively using their teeth, we'd see massive injuries on a regular basis, but we don't. Most aggression in primates is limited to low-key threats and chases, with real physical fighting being far less frequent. And when aggression does occur, the resulting wounds are less grievous than one might expect. Primates check their violence, usually devising creative solutions to meet the challenges of social life. After being evicted from his group, M1 hung out in the general area, sticking by himself for almost four months. Then, gradually, he began hanging around the central group (Short-tail's group), but only on the outskirts. Next, he approached a few low-ranking females and their offspring and did something that really surprised all of us watching him: He made nice. He would offer to groom these females and even play with their young. At first the females were wary; they'd seen him from afar in his previous group and knew he was not the warm-and-cuddly type. But as he persisted they gradually changed their tune. After a few more months, M1 was in the middle of the group, playing with five or six young, lounging with a cluster of females, and looking downright mellow. When the resident males came around, he showed signs of submission and they left him more or less alone. Shortly thereafter he started having sex-lots of it-with the females: His calm demeanor and frequent grooming and playing with the young had placed him in good favor. Even after a few years this pattern remained the same, M1 seemed like a totally different primate. But he wasn't; he was just doing what primates do so well-living a complex and dynamic social life and coming up with a creative solution when new circumstances demanded it. The hierarchy didn't govern his life; it was simply something to work with. This ability is easy to overlook and to undervalue, but, again, it is what sets the stage for the emergence of a particular kind of creativity, the spark that sets our lineage on fire. What Can Happen in a Soap Opera Living organisms change and adapt, or they fail to and suffer the consequences. Animals have to respond to the pressures of the world to survive. But unlike a hermit crab that employs a dead snail's shell to make itself a home, or an earthworm that through digestion changes the chemical makeup of soil to make it livable, primates respond to the pressure from the world around them not just by physically reacting to the environment, but also by constructing a network of peaceful and aggressive relationships with the other monkeys around them-a social niche. So while all the socializing, fighting, making up, and jockeying for social position that goes on in primates' lives might resemble a soap opera, these behaviors reflect a suite of successful responses to life's pressures. This gives primates a buffer most other species don't have. If primates successfully use this buffer against life's pressures, they can carve out more space in their lives to innovate-just like the macaques at Padangtegal. These Balinese macaques have it pretty good. They get food from the surrounding forest as well as from the temple staff and tourists. They are healthy, they don't have to go far to find food, and the food that they do get is very high in nutrition and easy to consume. This scenario results in something that scientists call an "ecological release." It's not that the macaques don't have to respond to pressures in their environment; it's just that the pressures they face are not particularly harsh. These macaques have a good deal of free time. Time enough for, say, new hobbies. At Padangtegal, young and old, male and female, monkeys spend time playing with rocks. They rub them on the ground, in circles, and in puddles of water. They stack them carefully, knock them down, and restack them. They wrap the small rocks in leaves or bits of paper and roll them back and forth across the ground. Every now and then they even use a rock as a tool, to pound a piece of food or to scratch an itch. Aside from being entertaining to watch (for humans) and fun to do (for the macaques), there is no apparent purpose to this behavior, and that is the point. In their leisure time these macaques combine their penchant for manipulating objects and their curiosity (both usually associated with getting food) into a behavior that is quite new. It is not sufficient that they have free time for this kind of play. They must be creative. The Padangtegal monkeys are not alone in this interesting behavior. This same species of macaque, in Thailand and Burma, also uses stones and shells as tools. The researcher Michael Gumert and his colleagues describe the use of stones to break open shellfish by the macaques. He also reports that the monkeys grab one type of sharp, spiral snail shell off rocks on the beach and use it to pry open one of their favorite foods: mussels. Researchers across Africa have studied chimpanzees using rocks to crack open nuts, twigs to fish for termites, and leaves to drink water at numerous locations for more than fifty years. Investigators in Costa Rica report the use of stones and sticks by capuchin monkeys as well. Humans are not the only tool-using primates, nor are primates the only tool-using animals. It's not only the use of rocks, sticks, and shells that reflects the primate spark of creativity; it's the variety of ways distinct groups use them. Excerpted from The Creative Spark: How Imagination Made Humans Exceptional by Agustín Fuentes All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
