Saturday, November 30, 2013

On the pace of change in human technology

Lately, I've been listening to the BBC podcast of A History of the World in 100 Objects.  The program is full of all sorts of illuminating information about the history of humanity, but I want to focus here on three of the eariler objects
At first glance, these seem pretty similar.  They're pieces of hard stone that have had pieces knocked off of them to make tools.  The hand axe and the spear point have the same general form, though the spear point is considerably smaller.  If you had to guess what kind of creature made each object, you might well think that the hand axe and the spear point were made by the same creature, or at least similar, while the chopping tool was made by something much less sophisticated.  But that's not quite the case.

All three objects were made by members of our genus, Homo.  That is, they were made by primates that walked upright like us and, at least by comparison with other primates, had skulls and teeth more or less like ours, and so on.  However, the humanoids who made the chopping tool were definitely not modern humans.

Why not?  First, they didn't look like us, even if they looked more like us than like other apes.  The chopping tool is found with the bones of Homo habilis, which, while it walked upright, had longer arms than us and a smaller skull, was considerably smaller overall, and showed a greater size difference between male and female than humans do.  If we'd seen a group of habilis out walking around, we would probably have thought "Those are interesting-looking apes.  Almost human, even." and not "Those people look weird."

Second, Homo habilis doesn't seem to have been able to make much else out of stone.  Yes, several other kinds of tools are found at the same site, but not many kinds, and all made basically the same way: Take a more-or-less hand-sized rock and knock a small number of chips off it.  The end result looks much like the original piece of stone.  In fact, it's also possible that what we see as a chopping tool is actually just the leftover and it's the sharp flakes that the makers were after.  Or they could have used both.  In any case, the formula is simple: Knock one rock with another, use what you end up with.

Despite appearances, it's also quite clear that the makers of the Archeulean hand axe were not human.  From skeletal remains, they were Homo ergaster (or African Homo erectus, depending on your classification).  To be sure, the tools found with them are the result of a more elaborate process than habilis's chopping tools.  After hammering the core stone with another stone to flake parts of it off, the stone is then worked with bone, wood or antler to refine the shape.  This gives longer, sharper edges than Oldowan tools have, and the hand axe is much more symmetrical than the chopper, but again, there are only a few basic tools in the toolkit, and this toolkit remains the same for hundreds of thousands of years.  [As one would expect from an area of active inquiry, there has been some new information about hand-axes and such since I first wrote this, but the basic picture is still a small repertoire of tools with little or no change for thousands of generations.  I may return to this topic ... --D.H. 15 Oct 2014]

The simplest explanation for the the Oldowan and Acheulean toolkits is that they were the product of instinct, not some general tool-making ability.

I think, if we weren't talking about human ancestry here, this would be an open-and-shut case.  Since we are, I suppose I should elaborate on that a bit.  Because the chopping tool and hand axe are being presented as early human tools, it's natural to look at them and think, especially in the case of the hand axe, "Of course.  They're too complex and sophisticated to be the result of instinct, and they were clearly meant to be used as tools.  That implies a mind capable of intention and forethought."

It's natural to think that, but all kinds of natural, common-sense conclusions turn out not to be true.  This is most likely one of them.

First, consider complexity.  It's hard to say how an Archeulean hand axe is any more complex than, say, a weaver bird nest, beehive or pufferfish circle, to take a few examples.  You could argue that weaving a nest, or making a beehive or circular pattern in the sand is merely a matter of performing a simple behavior repeatedly according to a predetermined recipe -- leaving aside how "simple" that might actually be -- but so too is hitting one rock with another in a symmetrical pattern.

Fair enough, but a hand axe is not just a passive structure.  It is a tool built to be used to help manipulate the environment to a particular purpose.  But other animals do this, too, without any evident abstract forethought.  While there are not a lot of examples of this, there are several well-known ones: a capuchin monkey using a stick to get at termites, for instance, or an otter using rocks to break open a shellfish.

There are even a few known cases of other animals making tools to be used.  Elephants will strip the bark off of branches to make a better switch for swatting flies.  Chimps will do likewise with termite-fetching sticks.  For that matter, building a nest or burrow is no better or worse an argument for forethought.  Both are built for future use.  This is not the same as building a particle accelerator, or even a well-fletched arrow, but it's clearly something.

And yet, there is no particular reason to think that a bird building a nest is consciously thinking "I will build this nest so that I can sleep and brood eggs here."  It's not out of the question, but it doesn't seem at all necessary to assume intent in order to explain the behavior.

In that light, the chopping tool and hand axe look like just another example of animal tool use, perhaps unique in the particular combination of making and using the tool, but not a huge leap from other animal examples.

Let me be clear that I'm not arguing that the Oldowan and Archeulean tools are the product of instinct because they are in some way "simple".  Modern archeologists have learned the "knapping" technique used to produce these tools, and it's harder than it might look.  Rather, I'm arguing that instinctive behavior is not necessarily simple, other animals do similarly complex things instinctively, and in both cases the behavior carries on, essentially unchanged, for generation after generation.

But hold on.  Couldn't we just as well say that the Clovis spear point is the product of instinct?  Sure, we know that we make tools intentionally, but maybe the Clovis people didn't.  The Clovis tool kit is remarkably uniform over the Americas, and most (but not all) finds comprise a handful of different designs of tools made by the same stone-knapping techniques as the hand axe and the chopping tool.

However, there are two big clues that this is not the case, and one even has to do with the title of this post.

First, the Clovis people came along well after humans began to disperse from Africa.  People alive today share a large number of common characteristics unique to humans, such as language with pronouns and other heavy linguistic machinery, music, art, jewelry and, of course, tool-making as we know it.  The most recent common ancestor of all people alive today lived somewhere in the vicinity of 50,000 years ago.

Genetic studies of modern Native Americans in North America show that they share a common ancestor at least as far back as the Clovis people and, of course, belong to the same family tree as everyone else.  There is no plausible way that the Clovis people were not ancestors of people alive today, and no plausible way that those ancestors are not descendants of the original human population.

Why would the Clovis artifacts seem to closely resemble those of habilis and ergaster, then?  Why no Clovis art, beyond a few markings on bone?  Why no evidence of jewelry, or other kinds of artifact found in European sites from thousands of years earlier?

A survey paper by Ryan Ellsworth of the University of Missouri puts forth a plausible explanation:  The Clovis people spread very quickly, over a period of a few hundred years, over a previously uninhabited area, which would explain the uniformity.  They were nomadic, and tended to camp at the kill sites of the megafauna (mastodons and such) that they brought down.  They would not have built permanent dwellings, much less villages or cities, would have had no reason to carry anything bulky and non-functional with them, and probably preferred easy-to-work but more perishable materials for any art or jewelry they did carry.  This is not too far from hunter-gatherer societies encountered in modern times [Much of this type of narrative has been called into serious question, but that'll have to go in a different post -- D.H Jan 2022].

There is still a lot to be learned about the Clovis culture, and there are several competing theories as to who arrived when and did what, but Ellsworth's hypothesis fits the known evidence and is in line with a fair bit of other work.  Even if that particular account doesn't turn out to be the definitive answer, there's no need to reach too far to explain why a population of behaviorally modern humans might leave traces such as we find for the Clovis people.

Which brings me to the second big clue, and the title: Clovis culture is succeeded immediately by a number of other cultures which show a steady development of tools, regional variations and, eventually, the full array of human artifacts, from cities with huge monuments to houses to carved beads.  This happens over a period of thousands of years, much, much too quickly to be explained by genetic change.  Even if some disaster had wiped out humanity in the Americas before Europeans arrived, we would know that these later artifacts were made by people, and the early ones by their ancestors.

In short, the rate of change by itself is enough to make it clear that a generalist tool-user was at work.

This still leaves plenty of questions unanswered.  What happened between Homo ergaster and Homo sapiens [and our cousins such as Denisovans and Neanderthals] to make that shift from instinctive behavior to cultural behavior, learned and passed down from generation to generation?  Why is it that, while other animals can learn new behavior, and to some extent transmit it, we only see this sort of ratcheting effect, of each generation building on the last, in our species?  How did civilization and technology develop in several branches of the human family tree independently, but not to any significant extent in others?  Why does the pace of technological change appear to be accelerating?  Will this continue?

All interesting questions, and I may get to them some time.  Or back to them.  I've had a couple of stabs at some of them already.




Tuesday, November 19, 2013

The crux of the biscuit ...

... is, of course, the apostrophe.

What's an apostrophe?  With that ph in the middle, it's got to be Greek, and so it is. As a rhetorical device, it means "turning away", as when Hamlet turns to address that skull (we're never sure just whose), and in general when a speaker switches from addressing those present to address someone or something not.

So how do we get from there to signs that say "Employee's only" and the eternal confusion between its and it's?  Let's start with the second item first.

For whatever reason, what stuck in my mind coming out of grade school was that the apostrophe was the way you formed possessives.  Finnegan's Wake.  Hobson's Choice.  David's blog.  That kind of thing.  And, by the way, it was also used for contractions.  Let's dance.  I'd've preferred not to.  But actually, I had it backwards.

In fact, the original use of the apostrophe is to indicate left-out letters.  If you squint just right, that makes the connection to "turning away".  Thus you'll see 'd all over the place in Elizabethan literature, a good clue that a past tense is going to be pronounced as we do now, without making a syllable of the -ed -- a consummation / Devoutly to be wish'd, as opposed to Of unimproved mettle hot and full, where the -ed gets its own syllable, as the meter dictates.  You'll also often see the -ed spelled out but not pronounced, so that's not a sure indication, but if it's not spelled out, you can be pretty sure it's not pronounced, either.

Written Elizabethan English uses this a lot more than we do, and not just for particular suffixes
  • O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown!
  • My lord, you played once i' the university, you say?
  • Use every man after his desert, and who should 'scape whipping?
The 's for possessives is just one more example of this.  Chaucer, living a couple of centuries before Shakespeare, would write -es, to be pronounced as a syllable:

  • And in a glas he hadde pigges bones (again, the meter dictates that both the e in hadde and the es in pigges are pronounced)

We would write And in a glass he had pig's bones (never mind why).

The apostrophe seems to have more to do with pronunciation than omitting letters per se.  Where Chaucer wrote

  • And specially from every shires ende

we would write, and Shakespeare would have written

  • And specially from every shire's end

The e is still there, but silent, to make the i in shire long, and the two-syllable shires has become the one-syllable shire's.

Thus the apostrophe in the possessive is no different from any other apostrophe, at least etymologically.  The mystery, actually, is why we don't use it in plurals (except when we do -- more on that in a bit).  Chaucer's English uses -es for the plural as well as the possessive, giving it a full syllable

  • Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote

By Shakespeare's time, it's both spelled and pronounced without the e, and with no apostrophe

  • When April with its sweet showers

Why, exactly?  I don't know, and I can't be bothered to look it up.

Which brings us back to its.  The possessive pronouns my, our, your, his, her and their have been around in various forms as their own words forever (or at least, before people started using apostrophes in writing).  In Chaucer's writing, though, the possessive of it is his, as in the quote above.  The usage its only comes along later, by analogy with the other possessive pronouns.  As there was never any extra syllable to leave out, we have its from the start, and not ittes becoming itt's or it's.

If you buy that, it's not hard to see how we got to the present-day standard of apostrophe use
  • Contractions, such as he'd and would've, but only a limited list.  The Apostrophe is no longer productive (meaning usable in new ways -- except when it is …)
  • Possessives, like a dog's breakfast or Joe's garage.
  • But not the possessive pronouns my, our, your, his, her, its and their

But how did we get from that to today's non-standard apostrophe use, particularly in forming the plural, as with the Employee's only sign (which I have actually seen)?  I really don't know, but my guess is that it started out in constructions where it's a bit odd to write a normal ending, as with 86'd.  You could well write 86ed, and people have, but presently it's much less common.  Probably spelling it out, 86ed, makes it harder to read, both because of the numbers and letters jumbled together, and perhaps because there's a little hesitation over whether to pronounce the e.

That makes the apostrophe a convenient way to break up number-letter combinations, and we get the 60's instead of (or as well as) the 60s.  Run into that enough, and it's easy to write employee's for employees.   Interesting, but is there any evidence?  Maybe …

Googling the sixty's gets you results for the sixties, with a link if you really want the sixty's, and sure enough there are more hits for the sixties.  But not a huge amount more.  Generally when there are two forms for a term, one gets many more hits than the other.  100:1 is not uncommon.  In this case, it's not quite that -- 29 million to 4 million.  Google hits are a fairly crude measure of how prevalent a term is, but good enough for our purposes here.  We're helped a bit here in that the sixty is not something you'd expect to possess anything, so most of those hits for the sixty's probably really are plurals.

On the other hand, "two babies" (I used "two" so that the baby's form is unlikely to be a possessive) gets around a million, while "two baby's" gets around 16,000.  I wouldn't read too much into two data points, but this at least suggests that constructions like the 60's are prototypical and constructions like two baby's are built from them by analogy, but not as readily.

I'm not condoning any of these usages, though I've been known to use constructions like 86'd and the 60's (and for that matter it's for its, but not so much after reading Eats, shoots and leaves).  You wouldn't want to advertise your skill's on your resume, but employee's on a handwritten sign somewhere is not a big deal.  My point, rather, is that non-standard usage is not a completely haphazard affair, any more than anything else to do with usage.  There is generally a reason, even if it's not likely to convince an English teacher or proofreader.

And don't even get me started on quotation marks.