Culture of being rude A group of biologists suggests that disease ultimately determines much of who we are and how we behave.

Monalyn Gracia / Corbis

The Culture of Being Rude

A new biological theory states that cultural behavior is not just a regional quirk, but a defense against the spread of disease

  • By Rob Dunn
  • Smithsonian.com, August 03, 2009

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    Every Living Thing: Man's Obsessive Quest to Catalog Life, from Nanobacteria to New Monkeys

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    HarperCollins Publishers

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    I have a confession. When I first moved to New England from Michigan, I said hi to everyone. I waved at police officers. I asked gas station attendants about the weather and talked to or greeted whomever I bumped into. Eventually though, I started to notice that such cordialities were not always returned. Sometimes I got a stare. It wasn’t quite a dirty look, but a kind of squirrel-faced wondering about whether I wasn't from “around here” or was just slow.

    Cultures differ in all sorts of ways—their greetings, clothing, expectations about how children should behave, coming-of-age rituals, expressions of sexuality, numbers of husbands or wives, beliefs in god, gods, or lack thereof. People celebrate but also wage wars about these differences. Usually such variety is attributed to the vagaries of history and chance. Some things, like religious expression and differences or, say, the fleeting popularity of tube socks, seem simply beyond the realm of explanation. And yet haven’t you ever wondered whether there is some reason we are all so different, some underlying cause to our great cultural diversity?

    Recently a group of biologists has offered a theory that they say explains, if not tube socks, then nearly everything else. In a series of high-profile papers, Corey Fincher and Randy Thornhill, both at the University of New Mexico, and Mark Schaller and Damian Murray of the University of British Columbia argue that one factor, disease, ultimately determines much of who we are and how we behave.

    Their theory is simple. Where diseases are common, individuals are mean to strangers. Strangers may carry new diseases and so one would do best to avoid them. When people avoid strangers—those outside the tribe—communication among tribes breaks down. That breakdown allows peoples, through time, to become more different.

    Differences accumulate until in places with more diseases, for example Nigeria or Brazil, there are more cultures and languages. Sweden, for example, has few diseases and only 15 languages; Ghana, which is a similar size, has many diseases and 89 languages. Cultural diversity is, in this view, a consequence of disease.

    Then Fincher and colleagues go even further. Where people are more xenophobic and cultures more differentiated from one another, wars are more likely. Democratic governments are less likely because the tribe or group comes first; the nation and individuals in other tribes within the nation come second. And finally, poverty becomes nearly inevitable as a consequence of poor governance, hostility between groups, and the factor that triggered this cascade in the first place—disease.

    Other researchers have seen links between disease and culture; for example, prohibitions against consuming pork would have protected early societies from swine-borne diseases like trichinosis. But Fincher’s scope is broader. In the story of disease, Fincher sees no less than the sweeping story of humanity.

    As a rule, it is good to be skeptical of biologists who, like Fincher and Thornhill, propose to explain a whole bunch of things with one simple theory. More so when those biologists are dabbling in questions long reserved for cultural anthropologists, who devote their careers to documenting and understanding differences among cultures and their great richness of particulars. Biologists, and I am no exception, seem to have a willingness–or even need—to see generalities in particulars. Fincher’s new theory would offer an example of these desires (and a little hubris) run amok, of biologists seeing the entire history of human culture through one narrow lens. It would offer such an example, if it didn’t also seem, quite possibly, right.

    Fincher and colleagues tested their theories by simply looking at whether there were consistent patterns in how cultural practices vary among regions of the world, and whether the prevalence of disease varies in a similar way. Are the places with the most diseases also the most xenophobic? Yes, they found.

    I have a confession. When I first moved to New England from Michigan, I said hi to everyone. I waved at police officers. I asked gas station attendants about the weather and talked to or greeted whomever I bumped into. Eventually though, I started to notice that such cordialities were not always returned. Sometimes I got a stare. It wasn’t quite a dirty look, but a kind of squirrel-faced wondering about whether I wasn't from “around here” or was just slow.

    Cultures differ in all sorts of ways—their greetings, clothing, expectations about how children should behave, coming-of-age rituals, expressions of sexuality, numbers of husbands or wives, beliefs in god, gods, or lack thereof. People celebrate but also wage wars about these differences. Usually such variety is attributed to the vagaries of history and chance. Some things, like religious expression and differences or, say, the fleeting popularity of tube socks, seem simply beyond the realm of explanation. And yet haven’t you ever wondered whether there is some reason we are all so different, some underlying cause to our great cultural diversity?

    Recently a group of biologists has offered a theory that they say explains, if not tube socks, then nearly everything else. In a series of high-profile papers, Corey Fincher and Randy Thornhill, both at the University of New Mexico, and Mark Schaller and Damian Murray of the University of British Columbia argue that one factor, disease, ultimately determines much of who we are and how we behave.

    Their theory is simple. Where diseases are common, individuals are mean to strangers. Strangers may carry new diseases and so one would do best to avoid them. When people avoid strangers—those outside the tribe—communication among tribes breaks down. That breakdown allows peoples, through time, to become more different.

    Differences accumulate until in places with more diseases, for example Nigeria or Brazil, there are more cultures and languages. Sweden, for example, has few diseases and only 15 languages; Ghana, which is a similar size, has many diseases and 89 languages. Cultural diversity is, in this view, a consequence of disease.

    Then Fincher and colleagues go even further. Where people are more xenophobic and cultures more differentiated from one another, wars are more likely. Democratic governments are less likely because the tribe or group comes first; the nation and individuals in other tribes within the nation come second. And finally, poverty becomes nearly inevitable as a consequence of poor governance, hostility between groups, and the factor that triggered this cascade in the first place—disease.

    Other researchers have seen links between disease and culture; for example, prohibitions against consuming pork would have protected early societies from swine-borne diseases like trichinosis. But Fincher’s scope is broader. In the story of disease, Fincher sees no less than the sweeping story of humanity.

    As a rule, it is good to be skeptical of biologists who, like Fincher and Thornhill, propose to explain a whole bunch of things with one simple theory. More so when those biologists are dabbling in questions long reserved for cultural anthropologists, who devote their careers to documenting and understanding differences among cultures and their great richness of particulars. Biologists, and I am no exception, seem to have a willingness–or even need—to see generalities in particulars. Fincher’s new theory would offer an example of these desires (and a little hubris) run amok, of biologists seeing the entire history of human culture through one narrow lens. It would offer such an example, if it didn’t also seem, quite possibly, right.

    Fincher and colleagues tested their theories by simply looking at whether there were consistent patterns in how cultural practices vary among regions of the world, and whether the prevalence of disease varies in a similar way. Are the places with the most diseases also the most xenophobic? Yes, they found.

    Consistently, in regions where deadly diseases are more common, people are more xenophobic, more strongly focused on the welfare of their group, and less likely to be nice to strangers. Where diseases are more prevalent, individuals are less open to meeting strangers and to new experiences. Where diseases are more prevalent, cultures and languages differ more from one another. Sure enough, all of the scientists' predictions seem to hold, or at least to not be easily refuted. If you meet someone who is wary or even openly hostile to you, who bows or shake hands rather than kisses and in general keeps their distance, chances are they come from someplace with a terrible prevalence of disease.

    Could the prevalence of disease really impact people’s behaviors so completely and consistently? With a new hammer, sometimes every shiny thing looks like a nail. Then swine flu H1N1 emerged. When swine flu came, some people started shaking hands less, wearing masks and, pity the thought, even kissing less—all because of the potential of catching one disease. Handshakes were skipped at college commencements. Mexicans were urged to not kiss on the cheek. Churches stopped having parishioners drink out of a common, holy cup. Suddenly the idea that diseases affect our behaviors seemed less remote.

    So far, Fincher and Thornhill’s tests are really just correlations, the coincidence of certain aspects of culture and disease. Cultures are, for example, more diverse where there are more diseases—but many other factors are also different.

    For example, all the places with lots of disease are also places favorable for growing many kinds of food. Perhaps being able to grow more kinds of food historically allowed more cultures to coexist, without competing, as has been argued by the anthropologist Daniel Nettle.

    Some of the places with few diseases are also isolated. Perhaps, as Mike Gavin, at Victoria University in Wellington, New Zealand, has suggested, cultures that are more isolated are more likely to become different and a little wary of strangers.

    But whether or not disease has caused the pattern of cultural variation, the scientists' analyses show that the patterns in human behaviors and culture are not random. Whether disease or some other factor is responsible, we have less control of who we are and how we behave than we might like to think. Our language, our sexuality—even how we tend to greet each other—are influenced by forces far from our daily control.

    More research may tell whether Fincher and Thornhill’s models are general enough to be both useful and true. To date, Fincher told me, most of the e-mails he has received have been supportive. Some biologists have suggested the work is revolutionary. A few of the biologists who wrote to him were interested but cautious, and one or two disagreed with him completely. Somewhere, probably, a cultural anthropologist is writing and rewriting a thorough and vehement response.

    In the meantime, we go on living our lives, imagining that we decide for ourselves who we are and how to act. But when the flu comes back this fall, watch your neighbors. Watch to see if their actions change. If Fincher and Thornhill are right, wherever the flu strikes, people will become more wary of strangers. Hands once extended freely will search for pockets. Where the disease is worst, the changes will be most rapid and extreme. Whole countries may even shutter their borders. Because while it is very hard to predict the evolution of H1N1 and the deaths it will cause, at least to Fincher the changes in our own actions may be more foreseeable. We are like small boats, pushed and pulled in the tides of disease.

    Rob Dunn is a biologist at North Carolina State University and the author of "Every Living Thing: Man's Obsessive Quest to Catalog Life, from Nanobacteria to New Monkeys."


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    Comments

    In interesting article that from my point of view of living in an alpine valley would hold true. Here on the border between France and Italy the local population are very cautious of strangers. The valley has seen the passage of many cultures and has been the scene of many battles during the formation of Europe. This has lead to many attacks of plague and other diseases due to the passage of all the foreign armies and the subsequent famines caused by the destruction of agricultural land. The idea appears quite sound and would obviously be influenced by the bellicose nature of populations that pass through. Also in our valley there is at least 4 separate languages spoken. Italian, Piemontese, Occitano and French.

    Posted by Kent Benson on August 4,2009 | 08:02AM

    I have always wondered why I stayed away from Democrats!
    Thanks Jeff, I now know why, too bad others did not know sooner.

    Posted by Vic on August 5,2009 | 10:18AM

    Wouldn't this behavior eventually prove maladaptive? While disease-induced xenophobia might ensure a group's survival over the course of a few generations, wouldn't that group eventually become inbred if its members cannot curb their distrust of outsiders?

    Posted by Matthew Graybosch on August 5,2009 | 10:25AM

    Interesting. From other theories I've seen human behavior as more propituous circumstances being like topographcal peaks of dominance projecting aggression towards people in less propituous circumstances. Eventually the propituous environment is overwhelmed as humans adapt to each other instead of their circumstances, increase in numbers, and having to move "downhill" project waves of violence in directons seemingly predicted by Fincher and Thornhill. Thanks.

    Posted by Ryand on August 6,2009 | 08:16AM

    That's just an excuse for Northerners to justify their rude behavior. I don't think it has anything to do with diseases. I mean, if I seem someone coughing and sneezing, or a foreign person, I wouldn't be necessarily RUDE to them.. I would politely just make small talk maybe, not touch them, and then wash my hands.

    Sorry - I'm studying a concentration of biological science myself and I don't believe this is the answer to rude behavior. It's just bad upbringing and lack of manners in my opinion.

    Posted by Erica on August 7,2009 | 02:42PM

    Plus it would be better to try to develope an immunity to new diseases, which is why I don't mind sick people... it just makes me stronger. I rarely get sick now as an adult because I purposefully exposed myself to certain sicknesses so I could have a better immune system. So really.. their plan backfires.

    Posted by Erica on August 7,2009 | 02:44PM

    This is an interesting article. I have two comments. 1. I live in Denmark (right next to Sweden) where society comprises an almost tribe-like monoculture. It is a very peaceful place. And yet, many of the qualities described by the two biologists of areas where diseases all more prevalent apply to the way Danes, who do not know each other, interact. That is, Danes are more strongly focused on the welfare of their particular group of friends, and can be outright hostile to Danes they do not know. As a result, individuals here are less open to meeting strangers and to having new experiences and feel safer spending time with their friends. Bottom line: New York City seems incredibly friendly compared to Denmark. And this bucks the biologists theory. 2. As the author of this article mentions, what the biologists have found may be a simple correlation rather than a causation.

    Posted by Robin Elizabeth Herr on August 8,2009 | 01:20AM

    Thanks Erica,
    Bad upbringing and the lack of manners is the primary cause of the rude behaviour in our society. Also the immigrant who was brought up differently and has adapted to this type of behaviour needs a reality check.

    Posted by on August 12,2009 | 04:17PM

    Fascinating article, but the more I think about it, the more issues I have with the idea.

    One huge problem I have is that the linguistic evolution took place in an environment that did not have a germ theory of disease. Just to cite example (Sleeping with Cannibals, Smithsonian 2006), the Korowai believe that all non-warfare deaths are caused by the action of witches within their own tribes (and remember, the Korowai are in a linguistic hotspot, New Guinea). I'd postulate that most linguistic evolution took place in an environment where the witchcraft and environmental explanations of disease were more common. The only way this theory works is if the researchers can demonstrate that indigenous theories of death and disease act identically to the modern germ theory they are using in this model.

    2. Counterexamples. If this theory is right, California was, in precolumbian times, the most disease-ridden and xenophobic part of North America, because it has (I think) the highest diversity of native languages. I don't think that fits the anthropological evidence. Yes, there was a lot of linguistic diversity in California, but as in Papua, at least some tribe people were multilingual, and there was ready contact, trade, and even intermarriage between the tribes. For example, the Mojave would regularly journey four days from the Colorado River across the Mojave to get fish on the coast from the Chumash, even though they had to cross through the lands of several other tribes, and they belonged to totally different language groups.

    There are other areas of historical linguistic diversity that don't fit well, including Australia and the Caucasus.

    I don't think this theory is entirely wrong. However, that doesn't mean it's correct.

    Posted by heteromeles on August 15,2009 | 09:12AM

    In all my travels, I have developed an observation that, in general, people that live in wide open areas tend to be friendlier than those that live in congested cities or even in towns that are tightly surrounded by mountains. I have always attributed this to psychological impacts in that we might feel trapped and defensive in more physically congested areas. However, I am now considering the fact that most of these less friendly areas also happen to have poorer air quality for one reason or another. Big cities produce more smog and other air born toxins. Mountain encassed areas hold even small amounts of toxins in. Folks that live in both of these areas are also likely to be exposed to less sun due to the shadows of tall buildings and mountains. Sun, of course helps both the immune system and psychological welfare.

    Posted by Jane on August 15,2009 | 01:08PM

    Great thought-provoking article, so here are some of mine.

    Having many cultures (tribes) in one place does not necessarily mean that they will be 'rude' to each other. On the other hand, as a reader has commented above, having a monoculture does not mean that there will be a year-round Woodstock festival atmosphere.

    Having said this, the aspect of scale looked at seems like something that should be highlighted. Are we looking at city block vs city block, country vs country, village vs village, religion vs religion, or any other of the non-exclusive CSUs (culturally significant units).

    Much as we are an animal, our society is far more complex and our behavior is, biologically looking, often times irrational and likely governed by more than biological factors, at least as we understand them now (although they do provide neurological and hormonal framework).

    In light of this, this is an interesting theory that, I am sure, will have its zealots as well as opponents.It probably explains rude behavior in some places and/or times but not in other, just as all other biological theories tend to. A great thing about being a scientist (particularly an ecologist) is that our job is never done...

    Posted by Marko Pecarevic on August 16,2009 | 02:11AM

    A major controller of the spread of infectious disease is the degree of genetic homogeneity in a population, especially homogeneity of HLA antigens. These are commonly the site of pathogen cellular binding.

    In fact, mixing up HLA antigens to stay ahead of pathogen evolution may be the primary purpose of sex. Their relative HLA homogeneity is thought to primarily account for the high susceptibility of precolumbian native populations to European diseases.

    So a small, genetically-homogeneous population may have particular reason to fear stranger's diseases, since these may wipe them out. The way out of this trap is to outbreed. But this exposes you to more diseases.

    Posted by Peter H. Proctor on August 22,2009 | 03:33PM

    At the first glance this brand-new idea may seem plausible,yet the more I read about this article,the more I began to cast doubt on it.
    It oversimplified the human connection in a biological tone and wrongly distracted people's sights,without even mentioning what generalities had to do with situation in particulars.Although I concede that disease does affect cultural behavior,it does not play a vital role,and it must not.

    Posted by Sun Yuxun on September 8,2009 | 07:54AM

    As a New Englander transplanted from Michigan, myself, I understand the initial shock of the NE behavioral interactions with strangers. In their (our) defense, it is not intentional rudeness or deliberate hostility to strangers. It is simply a quicker and more abrupt interaction with an aloof standoffish-ness.

    Posted by R on September 23,2009 | 01:12PM

    This article is written from a science perspective, no? Why is the politicization of the data necessary?

    Posted by majii on September 27,2009 | 02:54PM

    I think this article brings up an interesting point. however, how a person is brought up is the greatest impact on how polite or rude they are, no disease can break through morals taught to a person.

    Posted by Emma on October 7,2009 | 06:37PM

    The article is very interesting.

    I too have moved from a medium city (1.5 mil) to a rural town (30,000) in the same state (USA). In the larger city the culture is more diverse and open to new and invigorating endeavors. The town of 30,000 is less diverse and is wary to the thought of new ideologies. Sickness does play a role in the perceptions and attitudes for each culture's behavior. The difference is how each culture's attitude for accepting the remedies for sicknesses play a role in the recovery of the culture and ultimately the individual. Reality is in the eye of the beholder.

    Posted by Healthynac on October 16,2009 | 09:20AM

    Your article is very interesting but I'm not sure I agree with your theories. I grew up an Army brat. We moved often and living this lifestyle you come across many people of different backgrounds, not restricted to those also in the military. We lived in Germany, Washington, California, Utah and now we reside in New Hampshire. Of all the places we've lived, I've never encountered a ruder group of people than those in New England. I don't feel as though there is a higher risk of disease here than anywhere else I've lived and there isn't much for cultural diversity.

    Unfortunately, a majority of New Englanders are brought up with no manners. I see it when I bring my daughter to the park. She's a very friendly girl and when she approaches other kids to play they give her a strange look and ignore her. It breaks my heart to witness this. If I try to start a friendly converstion with one of the parents there, they do the same thing.

    I think your wrong. People are brought up now with no manners it has nothing to do with the numbers of langages that are spoken, or how culturally diverse an area is. If that was the case, maybe the problem is more of a prejudice nature based on race or cultural background.

    Posted by Star on October 24,2009 | 07:40AM

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