You're on a lunch break among peers who are furiously critiquing the administration's handling of the Iraq war. Unbeknownst to your co-workers, you're staunchly against "cutting and running." But rather than declare your position, you bite your tongue.
In this moment, your need to fit in is stronger than your need to articulate your views, even though you're pained by the choice to clam up. We evolved not to be tireless defenders of the "truth" (however hawkish we perceive it to be), but to fit into the prevailing group. That is one reason we experience such piercing discomfort at the prospect of being ostracized.
There was a time when ostracism meant grave danger. Today it probably only means a grave hassle. But we unconsciously conflate the two because we are possessed by a powerful drive to conform at almost any cost.
The reason this urge is strong is that for most of human history the group was our meal ticket and primary means of survival. Then, as population and mobility increased, our ancestors encountered an ever-expanding circle of family, kin, clan, and band.
Today that circle encompasses teeming cities of anonymous people who have formed subgroups such as Democrats, plutocrats, Ivy Leagues, bowling leagues, and, of course, co-workers. Far too often, we erroneously invest these loose social networks with powers better suited to a congress that really does determine survival.
Everyone has ancestors, but not everyone leaves descendants. Those who did were almost certainly members of a functioning group or tribe. Charles Darwin himself observed, "A tribe including many members who... were always ready to aid one another, and to sacrifice themselves for the common good, would be victorious over most other tribes; and this would be natural selection." Darwin showed that the survival of the individual was responsible for evolution but recognized the key role of cooperation in this very survival.
Social anxiety and concern for status are the emotional checks that keep our cooperative, conformist behavior on track. We often tacitly believe, "I must fit in, or the effects will be terrible." Or, "If I don't fit in here, I won't fit in anywhere."
However, getting fired from your job or cold-shouldered by a group of acquaintances hardly means getting thrown down a volcano. Still, the need to be accepted among peers is so powerful that anxiety kicks in even under wholly non-life-threatening circumstances, such as showing up solo at a cocktail party or being called on to speak in public.
We want to prove our loyalty to a group, but loyalty carries its own hazards: In our zeal to avoid banishment, we might commit too deeply or for too long. Often we are so keen on fitting in that we fail to ask whether we really benefit from an affiliation in the first place.
An extrinsically motivated employee may be so focused on pleasing a demanding boss or organization that he loses sight of his own best interests, as Scooter Libby might well attest. Those who join cults or other exclusive groups often cannot backpedal even when they want to; instead, they discover the radical asymmetry between the cost of adhering and the benefits of membership.
But you don't have to be a cult leader (or campus fraternity president) to capitalize on the human willingness to make sacrifices in order to commit to a group. Groups often make it hard to fit in: Exorbitant membership fees win you 365-day access to elite clubs; burdensome rituals signal your adherence to a religion; and trial by fire is the price of admission to many a workplace.
Commitment is a difficult thing to fake. Often, one proves allegiance for allegiance's sake. "SuicideGirls" (modern hippie chicks who sport piercings and tattoos), bikers, and rock musicians all send signals that are believable. No other group would accept this get-up, so you guys are stuck with me, and me with you. Nuns and monks take a vow of celibacy, perhaps the starkest proof of group allegiance winning out over individual interest, at least from a Darwinian viewpoint.
Once we're safely ensconced in a group, we face a new dilemma: the need to distinguish ourselves. In other words, we want to fit in, but once accepted, we wish to stand out. An individual who shines or stands apart often reaps personal benefits, but there's also a benefit to the group. Dissenters and contrarians make for a stronger organization (up to a point). Cooperation does not mean homogeneity. Groups are stronger with a wide variety of talents serving a similar end. The Beatles did their best work after butting heads. Research scientists who furiously debate the causes of global warming outperform those who refuse to acknowledge conflicting data. Michael Moore and Ann Coulter each believe that they epitomize the patriotic American, and a political system that allows for such shrill extremes is more vibrant than a nation that squelches them, no matter how reviled each is by their respective out-group.
Of course, most people couldn't stomach the idea of being hated by half of America—the pull of conformity is just too strong. The rewards of group acceptance include the sense that we're doing well by doing right by others. In contrast, getting frozen out can foster intense pain, unless we properly understand how we needlessly contribute to that pain today. Namely, we're endorsing a Neanderthink legacy: "I absolutely must be accepted by this group," a premise that for hundreds of generations promoted group cohesion.
Tags:
ancestors,
bowling leagues,
Charles Darwin,
clam,
co workers,
descendants,
fitting in,
human history,
identity,
key role,
meal ticket,
neanderthink,
social anxiety,
social networks,
tribe
