By Steven Pinker. (Aquí en español).
Questions about Definitions
How do you define
“violence”?
I don’t. I use the term in
its standard sense, more or less the one you’d find in a dictionary (such
as The American Heritage Dictionary
Fifth Edition: “Behavior or treatment in
which physical force is exerted for the purpose of causing damage or injury.”)
In particular, I focus on violence against sentient beings: homicide, assault,
rape, robbery, and kidnapping, whether committed by individuals, groups, or
institutions. Violence by institutions naturally includes war, genocide,
corporal and capital punishment, and deliberate famines.
What about metaphorical
violence, like verbal aggression?
No, physical violence is a
big enough topic for one book (as the length of Better Angels makes clear). Just as a
book on cancer needn’t have a chapter on metaphorical cancer, a coherent book
on violence can’t lump together genocide with catty remarks as if they were a
single phenomenon.
Isn’t economic inequality a
form of violence?
No; the fact that Bill
Gates has a bigger house than I do may be deplorable, but to lump it together
with rape and genocide is to confuse moralization with understanding. Ditto for
underpaying workers, undermining cultural traditions, polluting the ecosystem,
and other practices that moralists want to stigmatize by metaphorically
extending the term violence to them. It’s not that these aren’t bad things, but you can’t
write a coherent book on the topic of “bad things.”
Questions about the Origins of the Book
What led you to write a book
on violence?
As I explain in the
Preface, it was an interest in human nature and its moral and political
implications, carried over from my earlier books. In How the Mind Works (518–519) and The Blank Slate (166–169, 320, 330–336), I
presented several kinds of evidence that violence had declined over time. Then
in 2007, through a quirky chain of events, I was contacted by scholars in a
number of fields who informed me there was far more evidence for a decline in
violence than I had realized. Their data convinced me that the decline of
violence deserved a book of its own.
You’re a linguist. What made
you think you could write a work of history?
Actually, I’m an experimental
psychologist. Better Angels concentrates on quantitative history: studies based on datasets that
allow one to plot a graph over time. This involves the everyday statistical and
methodological tools of social science, which I’ve used since I was an
undergraduate—concepts such as sampling, distributions, time series, multiple
regression, and distinguishing correlation from causation.
Does this book represent a
change in your politics? After all, a commitment to human nature has
traditionally been associated with a conservative fatalism about violence and
skepticism about progressive change. But Better Angels says many nice things about
progressive movements such as nonviolence, feminism, and gay rights.
No, the whole point
of The Blank Slate was that the equation between a belief in human nature and fatalism
about the human condition was spurious. Human nature is a complex system with
many components. It comprises mental faculties that lead us to violence,
but it also faculties that pull us away from violence, such as empathy,
self-control, and a sense of fairness. It also comes equipped with open-ended
combinatorial faculties for language and reasoning, which allow us to reflect
on our condition and figure out better ways to live our lives. This vision of
psychology, together with a commitment to secular humanism, has been a constant
in my books, though it has become clearer to me in recent years.
How and why has it become
clearer?
Though I have always had a
vague sense that a scientific understanding of human nature was compatible with
a robust secular morality, it was only through the intellectual influence of my
wife, the philosopher and novelist Rebecca Newberger Goldstein, that I
understood the logic connecting them. She explained to me how morality can be
grounded in rationality, and how secular humanism is just a modern term for the
world view that grew out of the Age of Reason and the Enlightenment (in
particular, she argues, from the ideas of Spinoza). To the extent that the
decline of violence has been driven by ideas, it’s this set of ideas, which I
call Enlightenment humanism (pp. 180–183), which has driven it, and it offers
the closest thing we have to a unified theory of the decline of violence (pp.
694–696).
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