ISSUE IV

24 SIENNA SOLSTICE
too will soon smell of freshly cut grass.
The buzz of a honeybee brings to
mind their complex social structure. There
are numerous rankings and jobs within a
hive, the most basic division being into
female queen, female workers, and male
drones. But even deeper, workers have
countless jobs, from raising young bees
to doting on the queen to cleaning the
hive. All members are geared, or at least
all the female workers, towards protecting
the queen and the longevity of the
hive. This makes sense if you look at their
genetic makeup. Unfertilized eggs, only
one gamete, develop as males. These
drones have two goals: eat and mate. On
the other hand, fertilized eggs develop
as females. Worker females, sister bees,
share far more genetic material with one
another than biological human siblings.
Sister bees are 75% related, to our 50%,
so they are even more inclined to protect
one another.
Scientists rigorously debate if altruism
exists. Like sister honeybees, nearby
blades of grass are closely related, so it
makes sense that they would try to warn
their cousins. If I can’t survive, maybe you
can, and you will carry on our common
genes. Of course, grass does not have
a brain. No blade has ever thought this
through. It’s simply that those historic
grass blades who warned their cousins,
passed on their genes. Bees do have
brains, but I highly doubt they run a probability
calculation when feeding their
queen. This is all merely a statistical game
for scientists to play. Many scientists assert
that there is no such thing as true
altruism, that all acts of care stem from
this game of still trying to ensure the longevity
of your own genes. Whether bees
or grass or humans, it is a selfish act. We
must expect an act of care in return. I help
you, you help me. But I don’t buy this for a
minute. Maybe we are sometimes unconsciously
helping blood relatives for this
reason, but that can’t be the only reason.
And help transcends families, species
even. Dolphins have been known to circle
and protect human swimmers from nearby
sharks. Surely, our genetic relationship
to dolphins is distant enough that it’s just
out of compassion. I will even settle for it
being curiosity. What could the dolphins
possibly expect in return? Even among
organisms less developed neurologically,
care must be innate.
Sometimes in science we are inclined
to remove loveliness from the
world. We can lose the forest for the trees,
so to speak, and see only trees trying to
ensure their genetic survival. Or only the
species diversity makeup of a forest. Or
only the chemical structure of a yellowing,
fall leaf. Science is lovely though. The
unwavering presence of Demodex mites
on my skin provides an odd form of reassurance:
I am never alone. There will always
be a mite munching on me, helping
recycle the cells I shed, probably until the
day I die. I merely give the mites food and
a warm home. They give me a constant.
Isn’t that just a more obscure form of altruism?
Maybe only to a poet.