No Contest (3 page)

The more closely I have examined the topic, the more firmly I have become convinced that competition is an inherently undesirable arrangement, that the phrase
healthy competition
is actually a contradiction in terms. This is nothing short of heresy because only two positions on the question are normally recognized: enthusiastic support and qualified support. Broadly speaking, the former can be called the conservative position and the latter, liberal. Conservatives champion competition of all kinds, often coming close to Lombardi's dictum about winning's being the only thing. Liberals are typically more restrained, granting that
excessive
competition is to be avoided and lamenting that our culture now encourages winning at all costs. Competition itself, however, if it is kept in its “proper perspective,” can be productive, enjoyable, stimulating, and so on.

The latter is the view of most of the critics of competition whom I will be quoting throughout this book. It seems to me, however, that they are unwilling to see their intuitions—and, in some cases, their data—through to their logical conclusion. Perhaps this is because these writers assume that they would lose all credibility if they took the extreme position that competition simply makes no sense, and thus they feel compelled to say that the problem is not with competition, per se, but only with the
way
we compete or the
extent
of our competitiveness. Despite the fact that such moderation confers respectability, my conviction that the problem lies with competition itself (and that the extent of this problem is in direct proportion to the degree of competitiveness in a given activity) has been strengthened as I have looked at each of the spheres where it appears. I believe the case against competition is so compelling that parenthetical qualifications to the effect that competing can sometimes be constructive would be incongruous and unwarranted.

What follows is an elaboration of this radical critique. After addressing the four central myths of competition—that it is inevitable, more productive, more enjoyable, and likely to build character—I examine its interpersonal consequences in chapter 6. This is followed in chapter 7 by a discussion of whether such ugly things as cheating and violence represent the corruption of true competition or its very consummation. Chapter 8 considers the current movement on the part of many women toward becoming competitive in the same way men are, chapter 9 reviews the prospects for replacing competition with cooperative alternatives, and the final chapter, new to this edition, focuses on one particularly promising such alternative that allows schoolchildren to learn with each other instead of against or apart from each other. Finally, in an afterword added in 1992, I describe how this book has been received and offer some reflections on signs of change (and of stasis) in our culture since the first edition was published.

2

THE “HUMAN NATURE” MYTH

 

Of all the vulgar modes of escaping from the consideration of the effect of social and moral influence on the human mind, the most vulgar is that of attributing the diversities of conduct and character to inherent natural differences.

—John Stuart Mill,
Principles of Political Economy

 

PLAYING THE “HUMAN NATURE” CARD

 

Those who argue most vigorously that competition is desirable are often the same people who assert that it is part of human nature: it is not only good that we try to best each other; it is inevitable. Strictly speaking, of course, the second contention cancels out the first. There is little point to debating whether we should be what we unavoidably are. From the perspective of a critic of competition, though, it is necessary to demonstrate that we do not
have
to be competitive before showing why we
ought
not to be.

This chapter's task, then, is to scrutinize the widely accepted but rarely defended claim that competition is inevitable. In doing so, it makes sense to begin with the larger issue of inevitability itself. What is involved in the claim that a given attribute is part of “human nature”? Can such a claim be substantiated? Who benefits from this position? After addressing these questions, we can go on to consider the particular issue of competition.

There are two versions of the human nature argument. The first claims that differences among particular groups of humans are innate. For instance, if women and men (or whites and nonwhites) are treated differently in a particular society, this is said to be a function of biology. This position purports to show that various findings in evolutionary biology and genetics prove that sexist and racist practices are unavoidable if not positively adaptive.

The second kind of human nature argument—the one with which this chapter is concerned—says that particular characteristics are an unavoidable part of being human. These characteristics are said to be inborn rather than learned, part of “nature” rather than “nurture.” This debate has been going on for some time, and in each generation a new crop of scientists arises to carry the torch for biological determinism. A generation ago, Cyril Burt offered “proof” that intelligence was chiefly a function of genes. His evidence turned out to be fabricated, but it is interesting to note how long he was able to get away with his claims and how many of his conclusions continue to be accepted long after his data were proved worthless.
¹
Today, biological determinism is championed primarily by certain neurobiologists and psychiatrists on the one hand, and by the school of sociobiology that has grown up around Edward O. Wilson, on the other.

Most often, though, “human nature” is invoked in a casual way to account for various behaviors we encounter. Almost anything that we regularly come across is assumed with a shrug to describe the human condition. Interestingly, the characteristics that we explain away in this fashion are almost always unsavory; an act of generosity is rarely dismissed on the grounds that it is “just human nature.”
^*
Apart from the empirical grounds for defending such claims, though, it is important to remember that the burden of proof falls heavily on someone who asserts that a given characteristic is part of our nature. It is he or she who must provide compelling evidence to substantiate such a belief, and not the rest of us who must prove it is not so. Anyone who offers an assertion for our consideration has such a burden, but it is that much more formidable when the claim is absolute: to say that a given characteristic is in our nature is to assert that it is a feature of all human beings, across all cultures and throughout human history. Moreover, it is to propose its inescapability for all humans in the future.

Has the human nature argument actually been proved? It is hard to tell because there
is
no single argument. “Human nature” really is an expression of commonality among many different schools of thought as applied to many different characteristics. It is a full-time undertaking to determine whether even a single attribute is an inescapable feature of human life. It would appear that the empirical evidence does not begin to support most such claims, but I cannot hope to rehearse this evidence here. Fortunately, others have done so and have shown the weaknesses of biological determinism in its many incarnations.
²

In fact, it is difficult to know how one could
ever
prove decisively that something is part of human nature, given the theoretical complexity of such disputes. Many of us assume that all questions to which scientists address themselves admit of a definitive answer once the evidence has been assembled. If we want to know whether schizophrenia has a genetic basis, for example, we assume we can simply collect the data, see what they say, and move on to the next question. This commonsense view of how science works probably comes from high school science courses, which represent the field about as well as civics courses represent what actually goes on in politics. We were never taught about controversies over how a scientific dispute is to be framed, the various uses to which certain terms are put, the debates over the applicability and significance of particular findings. Data are not simply collected but interpreted, and how they are interpreted depends on what is counted as evidence as well as one's positions on other theoretical questions.

If in contemporary physics—the hardest of sciences—one rarely settles a question to everyone's satisfaction by performing an experiment, this is all the more true when humans are the subject matter. Even the sociobiologists admit that the idea that there are certain genes which determine our behavior is merely fanciful speculation at this point. (Critics ask whether such genes in principle could ever be found; if human behavior results from a complicated interrelationship among genes—and then again between genes and social forces—the enterprise of sociobiology is misconceived from the start.)
^*
Let us say, for example, that someone sought to demonstrate that it is “human nature” to be aggressive.
⁴
How could this be done? Providing evidence that aggression is universal would be a necessary, but not sufficient, step in such a proof. Even here, moreover, people of good faith might well disagree about what constitutes aggression and whether it really exists in a given culture.

These considerations have to do with the truth or falsity of claims about human nature. But we should not ignore the uses to which such claims are put. It is true that an empirical dispute is not resolved by illuminating the functions served by one argument or the other. Still, it is altogether appropriate to ask of any argument:
Cui bono?
(Who benefits?)

Arguments to the effect that something is unavoidable—and claims about human nature, in particular—are typically offered in defense of the status quo.
^*
Now one may question whether advocates of biological inevitability
intend
to retard change; one may even question whether findings in support of this position enjoy acceptance largely because of their political implications. What is beyond dispute, however, is the practical consequence of such a perspective. Who benefits from the belief that unregulated capitalism is “natural”—or the belief that
any
feature of the status quo follows from something intrinsic to our make-up? Clearly it is those who are well served by that status quo.

The human nature argument has the effect of blunting change and it is played for all its rhetorical advantages. Ideals and reforms are opposed on the ground that they are impossible to attain, that they fly in the face of the “givens” of life. “Your idea is charming, but unfortunately It's Just Human Nature To Be greedy/aggressive/competitive/territorial/lazy/stubborn, so it hasn't much chance to succeed.” While undesirability (a matter of value) is debatable, impossibility (a matter of fact) is not. In the name of realism, uncounted ideas have been dismissed and their creators along with them—a phenomenon that we will consider again in the last chapter.

Finally, I should observe that the human nature position is also an appealing one for psychological reasons. When we are criticized for an attitude we hold, it is tempting to respond, “Look, this is the way I was brought up.” This is sometimes an appeal to cultural relativism, whose subtext is: “Who are you to judge?” but it is more often an appeal to determinism that argues, “I cannot choose to believe otherwise.” If I cannot change, there is no point in arguing that I should.
⁵
There is no shortage of putative causes for our behavior (or values) that can be used to deflect criticism. The almost limitless range of behaviors currently being tied to neurotransmitters offers a new set of excuses to supplant those provided by psychoanalysis. “[People] used to say: ‘It's not my fault. My parents did it to me . . .' Now they say: ‘It's not me. It's a biochemical disorder in my brain.'”
⁶
Far more attractive than such rationalizations, however, is the claim that
no human
could be expected to act otherwise.

Even when we are not directly challenged to defend our behavior, the prospect that our actions or attitudes may be inevitable is attractive. Freedom can be unsettling if not positively terrifying
⁷
—and scientific determinisms are, psychologically speaking, the contemporary counterpart to theological doctrines of predestination. To be relieved of responsibility can, paradoxically, be experienced as freeing. Finally, the discomfort contemporary Americans have with value judgments can create a strong incentive to resort to arguments that certain things
must
be. In several respects, then, the human nature argument—which is virtually impossible to substantiate—is very seductive indeed: it fortifies social arrangements, offers a rhetorical advantage in disputes, and makes life easier psychologically. These are considerations well worth keeping in mind as we proceed to consider the specific issue of competition.

 

ON ARGUMENTS FOR THE INEVITABILITY OF COMPETITION

 

Competition is cited as part of “human nature” as often as any other characteristic, so one might expect that there is quite a bit of argument and evidence to substantiate this claim. Amazingly, a careful examination of the literature turns up virtually nothing. The inevitability of competition is either tacitly assumed or simply asserted as if it were obvious. I want to examine these assertions in the writings of people who are favorably inclined toward competition before going on to review the evidence against its inevitability.

Among those thinkers who believe competition is unavoidable are the authors of two of the classic works on play: Roger Caillois and Johan Huizinga. Both take it for granted that we are unavoidably competitive creatures. “Games discipline instincts and institutionalize them,” Caillois wrote;
⁸
that these competitive tendencies merit the status of instincts he did not bother to defend. For his part, Huizinga treated play and competition as virtually interchangeable. The possibility of noncompetitive play literally would not occur to someone who believes competition is part of our nature.