The Social Animal is a ‘lost opportunity’ book. Similar to The Black Swan, I can recommend portions for its startling insight into the patterns of thought from which we must extricate ourselves to progress and reflect. Unfortunately, those insights are packaged in a specific way, and most unfortunately, they are packaged by David Brooks.
The book, which rapidly oscillates laundry-lists of half-baked research summations told without sufficient reflection or implication (or really sufficient information regarding the methodologies, the conclusions, the rebuttals or the conflicting theories that are ever-so-present in the bullshittery of social sciences). When it is not taking little tidbits and making impossibly giant leaps to its conclusions (more on that in a minute), it is telling the story of Harold and Erica.
The story of Harold and Erica is a boring, stagnant, impossible story. It is told episodically in an embarrassing show of exposition that would make a creative writing teacher blush. It is also told in a seeming stasis of chronological time, hopping from contrivance to contrivance in the hopes of explaining some sect of neuroscientific research. For a book about love and character, these straw men are infuriatingly unidentifiable as people. Much of the examples of their lives as it moves from chunk to chunk hardly account for the passage of time, or really abide by the rules of the book. They drift from scenario to scenario through a floating chronology that hardly accounts for any MAJOR societal shifts or diverse arrays of human experience wherein perhaps more than one thing happens at a time. These are social animals, you say? These are people who are imitators, prone to put on “different selves” around other people? Why are the prototypes, then, hardly seen to interact with anybody? Why doesn’t time seem to pass whatsoever? Why aren’t they socializing after college? How are their identities so distant?
Not to mention Brooks’ condescending writing style, which either tends to take whole communities of people and pan them for their lack of originality (note the habits he delineates of Harold and his collegiate peers, and how smug Brooks is for being so exacting in his holier-than-thou judgment of the archetypal college-student community), or exploits cheap strategies to keep the interest of the lowest common denominator in check (you and I): the occasional fuck, the pop culture reference (e.g. sad as a Tom Waits song), and the teenage girls talking about – for no real reason – their own bulging tits. Throw in some sex, some “bullshit”, and perhaps the reader will find herself engaged if only because her reading levels only keep her engaged through the unexpectedly wry use of sex and profanity. It is not that I object to either of these, but when it’s (also) contrived into a (contrived) narrative, one realizes how abominable Brooks’ delivery system truly is. It’s smug beyond belief, and unjustifiably so.
Back to the giant leaps of logic. I am very skeptical of the findings that are put forth in the book, but this is meant to not suggest that the research itself is faulty, but that it is poorly summarized or not given sufficient credence. I’m not confronting social science methodology at large, but much of the time, Brooks doesn’t do his subject matter justice. For example, he states, through one parenthetical phrase, that people who ruminate do not tend to perform as well on problem-solving tasks are those who are distracted. (NB: I hate how the book is annotated: there are no superscript numbers to reference each study, and there are no footnotes. The endnotes are numbered but not to correspond with a number in the book. One has to simply go by a four-word quotation. Good luck putting in the work to re-find what you are looking for. It’s almost like Brooks is concealing the absence of scientific rigor and hoping to get by on the aesthetic sheen of a note-less page.)
Yet, back to rumination: several years ago a study was published in the New York Times about the evolutionary advantages of depression. It suggested that depression was important to put people into a headspace that allowed them to solve problems. How? By encouraging rumination. Why did they know that? They saw that ruminators performed better on problem-solving tasks.
So who is right? They’re both published studies by renowned social scientists. Disagreements between 'camps' still elicited sympathy for the others' perspective. So who’s right? I can’t really go on one word or the other, because The Social Animal is a literary review of other literature reviews, and the other’s an article with no citations at the bottom. Am I supposed to take both at their word? Did one get disproved? Can Brooks at least discount some of the opposing literature that his home newspaper printed and circulated to millions of readers?
I hope he can, and I wished he can. I want to believe he isn't susceptible to the oft-condemned confirmation bias, but I have a hard time trusting Brooks. Sometimes his glance at different findings is so cursory that it elicits a sense of alarm, a sense that he is taking things at face value. Sometimes it seems he is hypocritically obliging his own confirmation bias despite desperately railing against it. Sometimes, not enough information is given. For example, a brief aside tells us that Kenyans prefer paintings of the Hudson river over the desert pastures of their homeland because – and I’m paraphrasing – people find art that is reminiscent of the landscapes of the Pleiostocene era more pleasing to look at.
This little study comes off the heels of recognizing the following: people changing their actual tendencies upon being observed in an experiment, people changing their opinions based on being properly anchored by a certain number, being primed by certain images, or having an issue framed appropriately (e.g. Hillary Clinton’s approval rating is lower than Secretary of State Hillary Rodham Clinton). After going through the innumerable variations on self and identity, the tenuous nature of true individual identity in different contexts, the importance of contexts in decision-making, and the variability of preferences or truths within one person over the course of a shift in circumstance, Brooks expects the reader to accept straightaway that a sampling of Kenyans’ painting preferences overwhelmingly proves the existence of a deep evolutionary coding.
Let’s do a thought experiment here. Let’s ponder what the results of this particular study would be if we mixed it with other studies in the book. One: you took the same research group to the Hudson river to tease them and beat them up, then asked them which landscape they prefer. Would they still prefer their primitive origins, or does the emotional context override that? If you showed them an image of a beautiful woman or man before you showed them the desert landscape, they wouldn’t necessarily prefer the Hudson landscape. Or would they? Other studies show an increased physiological arousal creates more outward approval. Would their affinity for primitive origins override their sex drives? Which abject truth in social science outweighs the other when you push two disparate “findings” like that together? What if they played with framing and introduced one painting as the “polluted, hideous” Hudson river and the other as the “pure, sacred” desert lands? Would framing go against their evolutionary grain? Which ultimate truth is, then, true?
The thing with these studies is that they are attempting to eliminate factors to illuminate some past, some inalienable fact, about evolutionary behavior or human characteristics. But this knowledge is virtually inapplicable. There is no way I could demonstrate my preference for a painting without the circumstances of that day affecting it, whether it be the weather, a cornucopia of beautiful men and women walking down the street, etc. This is established by Brooks himself. We may have approached a small bit of truth, but this truth cannot be applied or replicated in real life because it is intentionally reductive of the human experience, yet it is reductive in order to garner insight for the selfsame experience. But when social science attempts to reintroduce the innumerable factors that come with being human and socializing, multiple truths seem to arise, but they also conflict, and some truths may, as we saw in the previous paragraph, be preferred over other truths, all because of context. Some of the Kenyans may be primed, some may be aroused, some may bring trauma to the experience. All are truths, but none of the research really coalesces well enough to make such a blanket statement such as “Pleiostocene preference.” Ultimately, weaving the studies together only illuminates the diversity of mind and complexity of mind. Nothing more. And that’s not something The Social Animal needed to say. The book needn't exist to make this point. But it can exist to show us the problems with its own existence.
The previous paragraph is meant to bring further illumination into the human experience by allowing for these studies to intertwine. This would introduce more factors into play. But the problem with social science – and possibly with many of the studies quoted herein – is that they reduce the irreducible. It is foolish to apply this variable-eliminating regression analysis to any form of human behavior, because to make any kinds of conclusions, one attempts to control instead of allow for other factors. That’s the apology after a high-falutin conclusion, anyhow: “It controlled for other factors.” Which “other factors”? The other factors that the human mind can control for, which turns out, according to other experiments, to not be that many. We can control situation, maybe context, maybe environment, but we cannot control for most influencing factors. What about the other factors we don’t know about? What about the other factors beyond human comprehension, let alone control? How do we control in an experiment for the behavior of the unconscious, or the most complicated object in the known universe? How do we dare predict the unconscious based on the models of the purely conscious mind? It's some form of cognitive imperialism: a conscious brain imposing itself on a greater unknown to disastrous effects.
These overly-reductive bits and pieces are not woven together very well in The Social Animal, leaving a disjointed, segmented, sometimes confusingly over-simple read. In one section, Erica concentrates deeply on a tennis game – and even creates pictures in her head - to manage her self-control, yet in another Brooks says the experts perform best when they are not concentrating. How do these facts relate? Brooks doesn’t relate them, and continues to hastily and shoddily breeze past all the things that would make a skeptic pause. This is strange given how overzealous he is to look to discredit the rationalist and scientific models. Yet I’m supposed to just “believe” him? I’m supposed to believe in his radical implementation of social policy change based on a compilation of conflicting and/or outdated studies, studies that have not been replicated since 1978 and have only been performed once? (That year may not be exact, but consider it the 70s). Or a study that was only cited – it seems – through a blog post?
My point here is not that social science is bullshit (it kind of is, but that's not my point). Far from it. My point is that Brooks needed desperately to elaborate upon the credibility of his findings instead of finding an oblique means of referencing his studies and veering past results with abandon. These studies were not meant to be shoehorned into the under-developed life narrative of two inhuman protagonists, either.
In closing: an episode in the book involves an imaginary, grossly hypothetical school called The Academy. It is Brooks’ invention that is meant to make a point about assimilating underprivileged students into a higher class. Whether or not I found the imaginary place dehumanizing and sad is irrelevant; the point is that he’s using untested, unverified, imaginary symbols to make a scientific point. It is the equivalent of examining Hogwarts for cues on adolescent development. Sure, there's some interesting cocktail-party information in there, and The Social Animal is rich with those nutrients and minerals. But it’s the nutrients and minerals in an overzealous vitamin-taker’s bucket of piss. Good luck getting some use out of them.