Competition versus Achievement

Some look at life as a competition. Others see it as a journey. One of the things that both Bow and I are missing in our lives is the competition. We're not missing the journey.

At this point in our existence, much of the stress that is normal to the average social being-- the stress of competing with peers -- is completely absent. We are not in the race, and nobody is breathing down our neck.

Is it normal to lead a life with suspended competition? Is competition the thing that Bow is really missing? Would he like it better if for every morsel of food he ate, he would have to compete with others, who could bully him out of it? Is he actually trying to goad us into violent encounters, because he misses the chance to try out his strength in a fight for life and death with a conspecific? It really does seem sometimes that there just isn't enough drama here for him. Lawrence and Tracey won't fight each other for dominance. He can't manipulate Sword and me into a fight. And nobody wants to fight him over anything. Is this too boring? Is the thing that is lacking the excitement of hand to hand combat?

About five years ago, when Bow was three, and I was at my wits' end trying unsuccessfully to potty train him, I wrote a letter to a famous ethologist asking for advice about dealing with Bow's lying. He claimed he didn't need to go when he did. He claimed he did need to go, when he didn't. It was clear he understood the rules, and he was using his lexigrams in an attempt to outwit us at the "game". To him, we were in competition. What I was trying to solicit was cooperation.

The famous ethologist did not deign to answer. But I got a letter from an assistant of his, a young whipper snapper many years my junior and who had less experience with chimpanzees than I did. He wrote that what Bow would really enjoy was the chance to compete for the position of Alpha male. He suggested that I should send him off right away to a sanctuary, so he could start competing.

I thought that was pretty stupid. Bow was still a little boy. Without a mother to protect him, he had a very good chance of being killed, if sent to live with a strange group of chimpanzees. Even the best male specimens, with mothers high on the dominance hierarchy, have years of bullying at the hands of older males before they have the chance to become competitive. Some don't make it.

But what the older ethologist had done to me, by sending a young, less educated, less experienced underling to answer my letter was also a form of bullying -- human style. He wanted to let me know that I did not count, and that I didn't deserve a considerate, thoughtful answer. He also wanted me to know that I had no chance with my human peers at landing even a foothold in the dominance hierarchy among primatologists.

There is an upside to all of this. Not being in constant competition frees a person -- whether that person is a chimp or a human -- to explore the reality of life outside the social sphere. It promotes introspection and even a more cooperative style of living.

Bow still gets to wrestle. Lawrence and he spend hours wrestling, sometimes. But the moment it stops being fun for Bow and he starts to feel a little afraid, Lawrence lets up. In this way, Bow has a lot more control over his life than the average chimpanzee. And I have a lot more control over my life, than the average primatologist!