Our species is unique in that our social structures are highly varied and complex. Sometimes we can see remnants of our primate ancestors in how we organise ourselves: a military platoon might resemble a roaming band of male chimpanzees, or a hippie commune might resemble a bonobo social group, yet although we have many similarities with the other great apes, our ability to live in very large communities, such as cities, is vastly different. No other primate can do so. Our ability to engage in large scale cooperation is a miracle of evolution. The only other species that are capable of such social structures are specialised “eusocial” insects, i.e. bees, ants, and wasps, and even then, most of the insects are related to each other.
So how did we become the only primate that can cooperate, build communities, and ultimately build cities? Where did this capacity come from? Haidt’s hypothesis, drawing on Durkheim, is that it comes from our ability to bind together into social groups which have a shared vision–a shared morality. Imagine early humans dancing around a fire after a successful hunt. Or German pagans sitting beneath a fir tree to celebrate the winter solstice. Circling around a sacred object, early humans formed the bonds of trust that allowed them to trust each other, putting their welfare in the hands of one another, allowing for the development of the specialisation and division of labour that comes later to be known as civilisation.
Long before the birth of Christ, pagans in Europe used trees in their festivals to mark the end of the first half of winter. The winter solstice marked a turning point. After the shortest day of the year had passed, it meant that the days would start to become progressively longer, and winter darkness would soon be replaced by light.
Right up until the 16th century, the first months of winter were a time of famine in northern Europe. Cattle were slaughtered so they didn’t have to be fed, and so fresh meat was available to be eaten. Wine that had been fermenting through the year became available. While the months were tough and cold, the people found ways to get through it: by coming together to feast and drink in the celebration of a rebirth. After the longest night, the sun would be coming up again. And it always did.
Similar to the mid-winter feasting of the German pagans, the ancient Roman festival of Saturnalia involved a sacrifice at the Temple of Saturn, a public banquet and private gift-giving. The Roman poet Catullus described Saturnalia as “the best of days.”
We should try by all means to be as grateful as possible. For gratitude is a good thing for ourselves, in a sense in which justice, that is commonly supposed to concern other persons, is not; gratitude returns in large measure unto itself. There is not a man who, when he has benefited his neighbour, has not benefited himself, — I do not mean for the reason that he whom you have aided will desire to aid you, or that he whom you have defended will desire to protect you, or that an example of good conduct returns in a circle to benefit the doer, just as examples of bad conduct recoil upon their authors, and as men find no pity if they suffer wrongs which they themselves have demonstrated the possibility of committing; but that the reward for all the virtues lies in the virtues themselves. For they are not practised with a view to recompense; the wages of a good deed is to have done it. I am grateful, not in order that my neighbour, provoked by the earlier act of kindness, may be more ready to benefit me, but simply in order that I may perform a most pleasant and beautiful act; I feel grateful, not because it profits me, but because it pleases me.