Only the Pronoid Survive

Management goes bankrupt. You can't change behavior; it's hardwired. You can only change structures or environments, which will make recessive behavior more prominent.

Strategy is a badly flawed approach to problems. "The problem with strategy," says Nicholas Humphrey of the London School of Economics, "is that you have to think first. In a fast-moving game, you want to make the behavior seamless with the being, so that pause and thought are not necessary."

The science of leadership looks false. Visions don't come from on high. Change comes from the ground up, from genes and subtle shifts in nature. But you can't alter these -- you can only respond, and respond quickly.

And if new-economy businesspeople seek to adapt their behavior and practices to the new Darwinism, what kinds of changes would then be called for?

Understand how cooperation pays. The more cooperation there is, the more it pays. Altruism, generosity, and loyalty are at the heart of the famous prisoners' dilemma -- which is, itself, a test of which version of Darwinism you choose to practice. It works like this: Put two prisoners under an investigator's bright light. If each rats on the other, both remain jailed. If neither rats, both stand a chance of going free. "The more a tit-for-tat strategy is successful, the more likely people will be able to reap the rewards of mutual cooperation," says Cronin. "Out of selfishness comes altruism."

Put renewed emphasis on policy. "The more we understand how altruism evolves, the more we will be able to feed it into our policies," Cronin says. "And the more we will be able to understand things that are either odd or downright paradoxical to the standard economic models that make the world run very well. Simple things like neighborliness or being trusting without paying guards to create a sense of safety. The belief that financial rewards are what attracts people is not only false, it destroys a lot of goodwill."

Show respect for marginal examples. "There have been some experiments that don't fit the standard economists' models, and they are pushed aside," Cronin says. "The more we seek to understand them, the more they can be brought into the center, and the more we can run societies based on them. And that will serve to induce more altruism in people.

"For example, a professor of economics in Zurich asked people whether they would be prepared to have a nuclear-waste dump near their homes, given that it was socially necessary. When it was thought to be a public good and also safe, 50% said they would agree to have this dump nearby. The professor then changed the conditions: People would be paid money to have the dump near their homes. The percentage of people who agreed then dropped to 25%. People agreed in the first scenario because they felt the dump was for the public good. As soon as it became a matter of money changing hands, having the dump nearby became a different sort of act. People then believed, 'Well, maybe I'm not getting enough for it.' With money, a whole new area of transaction comes into play."

Don't romanticize competition. This may be Cronin's most compelling argument -- and the hardest for traditional business players to accept: Competition is not mortal or moral combat. In the animal kingdom, it's simply an opportunity to show off. To make the point, Cronin undertakes a little anthropological fieldwork.

In a prettified British pub -- one of those new pink-tablecloth joints in Tony Blair's kinder, hipper Britain -- Cronin is talking about the irrational, primal choices economic creatures consistently make. Her voice is constantly drowned out. Upstairs, a party of shouting British businessmen is celebrating some fresh triumph in the market-place. They are mighty frisky, thumping tables, stamping on the floor, yelling, laughing, toasting.

This, says Cronin, is how the successful typically compete: "They're lekking. 'Lek' from the Swedish, meaning to sport or to mate," she explains. "It means, to play. In the animal kingdom, once a year males get together and lek. They strut around. During mating season, for example, the grouse compete for certain areas. They have to go to special clearings. The females come and look at them and choose a mate. The definition of 'sad' is lekking that has no female viewers."

Understanding that most competition is a display feeds into the argument for the ultimate triumph of altruism. Most people believe that animals do only what they must to survive: eat, sleep, ward off predators, and reproduce. But studying the peacock's tail, as Cronin has done, reveals how animals favor looking good themselves. Cronin invites a deeper consideration of the simple version of competition as a battle for survival: When the race goes to the fastest, then how do we explain peacocks' tails -- extravagant, over the top, grossly inefficient adaptations?