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o rganization to take care of these suckling clusters of mammal mamas
and kids.
All this demanded that a few additions be built onto the old
reptilian brain.  Nature complied by constructing an envelope of new
neural tissue.  That tissue surrounded the reptile brain like a peach's
juicy fruit enveloping the pit.  MacLean called the add-on the
mammalian brain.  The mammalian brain guided play, maternal
behavior, and a host of other emotions.  It kept our furry ancestors
knitted together in nurturing gangs.
Far down the winding path of time, a few of our fuzzy pro-
genitors tried something new.  They stood on their hind legs, looked
around them, and applied their minds and hands to the exploitation of
the world.  These were the early humans.  But proto-human aspirations
were impractical without the construction of another set of add-ons to
the brain.  Nature complied, wrapping a thin layer of fresh neural
substance around the two old cortical standbys--the reptilian and
mammalian brains.  The new structure, stretched around the old ones
like a peach's skin, was the neo-cortex--the primate brain.
The primate brain--including the human brain--had some
awesome powers.  It could envision the future.  It could weigh a
possible action and imagine the consequences.  It could support the
development of language, reason and culture.9  But the neo-cortex had
a drawback.  It was merely a thin veneer on the two ancient brains.
And those oldsters were as active as ever, measuring every bit of input
from the eyes and ears, and issuing fresh orders.
The thinking human, no matter how exalted his sentiments, was
still listening to the voices of a demanding reptile and a chattering
ancient mammal.  Both were speaking to him from the depths of his
own skull.
Richard Leakey, the eminent paleoanthropologist, says war
didn't exist until men invented agriculture and began to acquire
possessions.  In the back of Leakey's mind, one hears a wistful prayer
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