28 May 1998 10:25:57 -0500
 ================= EH.RES POSTING ================= EH.NET BOOK REVIEW
Published by EH.NET  (May 1998)
Jared  Diamond,  _Guns, Germs and Steel: The Fates of Human Societies_. New York: W.
W. Norton, 1997.  480 pp.  $27.50 (cloth), ISBN: 0-393-31755-2.
Reviewed  for  EH.NET by  Joel Mokyr, Departments of Economics and History,
Northwestern University.  <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
 Jared  Diamond  is a physiologist and evolutionary biologist with a passion for
archaeology  and linguistics. That, by itself, should seem to make him irrelevant
to  economic  history.  Yet  his widely read and admired recent book,  honored  last
month  with  a  Pulitzer  Prize,  is  one of the more important  contributions  to
long-term  economic  history  and  is  simply mandatory  to  anyone  who  purports
to engage Big Questions in the area of long-term  global  history.  He  starts  off
his account with what he calls "Yali's question."  Yali is a New Guinea notable, who
one day poses to the author  the  question  why  white  people  have  so  much
'cargo' (western manufactured  goods  desired  by  New Guineans), but New Guinea
produces no cargo that Westerners are interested in.
Indeed,  the  question  of  questions.  Diamond  joins such heavyweights in economic
history   as  Eric  Jones,  Douglass North, Nathan Rosenberg, and recently  David
Landes  in  asking  why "we" are so rich and "they" are so poor.  Is  it
institutions? Culture? Technology? Religion? Diamond does not reject  any  of  these
answers altogether, but instead formulates models in which  they become endogenous
variables.  The real exogenous variable, when all  is  said  and  done,  is
geography.  Diamond, to put it bluntly, is a geographical  determinist.  The  shape
and  location of continents, flora, fauna,  microbes,  water,  climate,  topography,
all are truly exogenous to history. The rest is endogenous.
Geography  has  of  course  a terrible reputation. David Landes, in _Wealth  and
Poverty of Nations_ (New York, 1998) starts off by recounting how  geography
departments  were closed around the country without a tear, and   notes   that  "no
other  discipline  has  been  so  depreciated  and disparaged."  Simple  models
that  submit  that "Britain had an Industrial Revolution  because  it  had  coal"
have long been abandoned. Yet before we dismiss  this  as  another  simplistic
model, we have to face the fact that Diamond knows his stuff inside out, to the
point where any thought of using the adjective "crude" (traditionally preceding
"determinist") evaporates as we  turn  the  pages. Diamond fires off a barrage of
facts and observations based  on  half  a  dozen disciplines most economic
historians this side of Eric   Jones   are   unschooled   in:   archaeology,
botany,  linguistics, anthropology among them. The story he tells is one of a
trajectory in which the  world's  population  bifurcated  for  geographical
reasons.  Once  on different  paths,  Africa,  America,  and  "Eurasia" diverged
more and more through  positive feedback effects, in which geography fed into
technology, technology  fed  into  power  structures  and  culture,  feeding  back
into technology  and  growth  until we got a world of Western economic hegemony.
Such "autocatalytic" models which view economic history as a disequilibrium process
once were shunned by the neoclassical cliometric orthodoxy. Today, thanks  to  the
efforts  of scholars as diverse as Douglass North and Paul David,  we  are  getting
used  to  them,  and  the  intellectual gains are substantial.
What, then, are the geographical factors that Diamond thinks determined the course
of economic history? Above all, it is that human wealth and success depends  on
interaction with the environment. Economic history in his view is  a  game  against
nature,  not primarily a social process. Production-- especially  in  agriculture--
depends on the geographical hand we have been dealt.  Yet  Diamond's emphasis is not
on soil fertility and minerals as in the  writings  of  most  geographers, but on
the ability of homo sapiens to domesticate plants and animals. His view is that all
societies and cultures have  approximately  similar  abilities  to  manipulate
nature, but the raw materials with which they had to work were different. Diamond
points out in his witty prose that domestic animals are much like Tolstoy's view of
happy marriages:  all  happy  marriages  are  the  same, each unhappy marriage is
different  in its own way. Domesticable animals are all domesticable in the same
way,  but  recalcitrant  animals  are all different. To exploit large animals for
food, energy, or other services, domesticable wild animals need to  exist,  a
condition that did not obtain in Precolumbian America (where the  arrival  of  homo
sapiens 13,000 years ago had led apparently to their extinction).  But  even  if
they  existed,  they  needed  to  satisfy some conditions  such as being able to
breed in captivity, safe for children and other  living beings, and so on. He
argues, with great conviction, that the hippos and giraffes of Africa, the jaguars
of the Amazon, and the kangaroos of  Australia  did  not  meet  those  conditions.
The domesticated llamas, turkeys,  and dogs of America could not pull it off either.
Eurasia, on the other  hand,  was  lucky enough to have had the wild animals from
which our cows,  sheep,  horses  and  chickens could be bred. This gave the
Europeans huge  advantages,  not only in terms of the development of technology
(e.g. mixed  farming and wheeled transport) but also in providing them eventually
with  immunity against infectious diseases caused by the proximity of these animals.
When they then established sudden contact with non-Europeans, the "Plagues and
Peoples" effect simply overwhelmed the unprepared victims.
A  similar  and  perhaps  less  well-known  effect occurred with respect to
domesticable  plants.  Eurasia  was  simply  lucky  in that its environment provided
a   much   larger  stock  of  plants  that  lent  themselves  to domestication, and
plants that had better quality in terms of the nutrients supplied,  resistance  to
disease, ease of cultivation and so on. Botanical wealth, constrained by the local
flora, determined agriculture, agriculture determined everything else, says Diamond.
Eurasia won because the supply of wild  plants that provided the gene pool for
domesticated crops was larger, richer,  and  better.  If  you feel that this is a
bit simplistic, read his chapters  on  "How  to  Make  an  Almond" and "Apples and
Indians." It is a serious,  informed, and well-thought out argument, and if in the
end we are not  wholly convinced, thinking of how to refute Diamond will make us
wiser and better informed.
Diamond's  argument  makes  serious use of counterfactuals, to the point of
wondering  in  the  last chapter what would have happened if a German truck driver
in  1930 would have hit his brakes a second later and killed Hitler in  a head-on
collision. But in the chapters on agriculture his imagination abandons  him.  How
much  of  the  performance of non-Europeans was really constrained  by  their
environment  and  how  much  their  own  making? In Diamond's  view, the answer is
"all and nothing." Yet one can imagine crops that   were   manipulated  and
selected  to  produce  crops  that  are  as unimaginable to us as poodles and sweet
corn would have seemed 10,000 years ago.  Take  one example: among the disadvantages
that the indigenous plants of  what  is now the Eastern U.S. suffered from is a lack
of founder crops. Yet  he  does  concede  that  some  of  them on the surface could
have done nicely,  such as a flower named sumpweed, "a nutritionist's ultimate
dream" with 32 percent protein. Sumpweed, Diamond explains, did not make it to the
rank  of corn, potatoes, and rye because it causes hayfever, does not smell good,
and  handling  it  can cause skin irritation (p. 151). Are we really sure  that
these vices could not have been bred out of them? After all, all domesticated plants
had originally undesirable characteristics, but through deliberate  and  lucky
selection mechanisms they eventually got over them. Wheat,  rye,  and maize, which
feed much of the world's population, all had humble  beginnings.  Diamond points out
that much of our ability to improve plants  depended  on  whether  certain
characteristics  were the result of epistatic  effects,  that  is,  caused  by more
than one gene. People could select  for  a particular trait as long as it was caused
by one of very few genes;  if  it  was  controlled  by  many  genes,  breeding
specimens that displayed  the  traits  would  be unlikely to fix it in the
population. But apart  from  a  few examples, Diamond does not persuade us that this
lay at the heart of the geographically challenged societies.
A  somewhat  similar problem exists with Diamond's view of technology. In a chapter
cleverly named "Necessity's Mother" he notes the many links between geographical
constraints and technical options. Why would a society produce wheels if it had no
horses or oxen to pull them? Wheelbarrows and rickshaws might  have  been  an
option,  but maybe draft animals came first. Not all questions  can be answered that
way: some indigenous populations in America might  have built seaworthy ships, or
managed to develop some technology we cannot  imagine  today.  If  they  did  not,
is this because they tried but failed, or because they never tried?
Yet  Diamond  points  out  two  elements  that  suggest  that links between
geography  and  technological  progress  may  be  significant.  One is that
geography  constrains  mobility of knowledge. Assume, somewhat implausibly, that
the idea of a wheelbarrow only occurred to one person in history, but that  it
spread  to people seeing their neighbors use. If this happened in Central  Asia,  it
may  well have reached China, France and Yemen in a few centuries,  but  before
1500  it  would never get to America or Australia. Agricultural  technology,  he
notes, also diffuses easier from East to West than  from  North  to South, as
changing longitude has a stronger effect on climate   and  seasonality  than
changing  latitude--  giving  Eurasia  an advantage over America and Africa.
Furthermore, Diamond resurrects the late Julian  Simon's  argument  that
technological success depends on population density  and  the  ability  of  a
society  to  produce  a  surplus  beyond subsistence,  so  that  there  are
resources  available  for  thinking and experimenting.  Maximum  population  density
was largely a function of the ability  of  the environment to feed the population.
Writing, for instance, required   large   and   dense   settlements   with   complex
hierarchical institutions, much different from hunting and gathering tribes.
The  notion  that  much economic history is a game against nature, in which people
form  certain  views  about  its  regularities  and  use  these  to manipulate them
to improve material conditions is a powerful one. Diamond's insight  is  that
nature  differs  from  place  to  place and that certain environments  are  easier
to manipulate than others. The economic historian must  add  two  qualifications  to
this.  One  is that environments can be manipulated  or  abandoned.  While Diamond
describes in detail pre-historic population  movements  (which he deduces from
linguistic evidence), he does not  realize  that he tells the story of regions, not
necessarily of people who  always  had  the  option to move to a more generous and
flexible area. Secondly, it could be argued that much technology emerges precisely
because the  environment is not generous and requires hard work and ingenuity. What
is  the  partial  derivative  of  technological  creativity with respect to initial
geographical  endowment?  In  the  final  analysis,  this is still unknown.
The book is full of other clever arguments about writing, language, path dependence
and so on. It is brimming with wisdom and knowledge, and it is the kind of knowledge
economic historian have always loved and admired. If you teach economic history, any
kind of economic history, go read this book. Or else you are taking a serious risk
that a clever undergraduate who has read it will ask you a question you don't know
the answer to. Nothing worse is imaginable, short of organizing a world conference
and canceling at the last moment.
Joel Mokyr Departments of Economics and History Northwestern University
Joel Mokyr is author of _The Lever of Riches: Technological Creativity and Economic
Progress_ (Oxford University Press, 1990).
Copyright (c) 1998 by EH.NET and H-Net.  All rights reserved.  This work may be
copied for non-profit educational uses if proper credit is given to the author and
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