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violence and destruction. Not all of these are directed at fellow humans. In How We Know What Isn’t So , 12 Thomas Gilovich offers a distressing list of animal species whose numbers have been needlessly decimated because of erroneous and superstitious belief systems involving medical cures and aphrodisiacs. More widely publicized acts of violence have been directed against fellow humans. In the first quarter of the twenty-first century, this point needs little amplification. But the issue of “violence in the name of religious differences” is hardly unique to the twenty-first century. The real philosophical question is whether we need to wait until more such violence occurs in order to condemn the underlying thinking. If we believe that violence and mistreatment are inevitable consequences of religious distinctions and xenophobia, then encouraging mental upgrades makes sound philosophical sense even before the next terrorist attack rules the headlines.
    Another reason for abandoning Caveman Logic is essentially a philosophical argument about human potential. Consider a beautifully constructed automobile or airplane, capable of navigating as no such vehicle has done before. Precision turns, higher altitudes, speed changes: all these possibilities and more lie within the capability of this machine. However, for reasons of practicality, the equipment is delivered with an autopilot setting locked in place. This allows the automobile or plane to navigate in unexceptional and generally competent ways. You’ll get to the supermarket safely or fly from Dallas to Denver on time, but the trip will be boring and safe and just like most trips before it.
    The thing is, time and effort have been spent on this engine, only for its new owner to fail to use the majority of its potential. In fact, many drivers or pilots have actually forgotten that the autopilot setting is locked in place. They’ve never experienced the thrill (or the risk) of taking control of all those high-end features that were part of the package. When someone even suggests that an autopilot setting might be limiting his potential as a driver or a pilot, the owners become defensive. Some will argue (getting back to caveman logic), “If we’re so primitive and deluded, how come we can . . .” Here they offer a litany of man’s technical accomplishments, perhaps including building the Large Hadron Collider (to address questions about how the universe began), or the medical advances of our age, or our daily use of computers and satellite transmission to process data and bridge the miles. Collectively, these works seem to call into question any suggestion that human intelligence is compromised or bounded.
    So what do we make of this? How can we be so clever and so primitive at the same time? Are there two separate species of humans? The intellectually gifted and those who grovel at the feet of idols, talk to ghosts, or go to creationist theme parks?
    No, there aren’t. And that’s just the point. If there were two separate species, this book would be wholly unnecessary. Improvement would be out of the question. We’d be facing a real “us versus them” divide: the rocket scientists and the grilled cheese sandwich worshipers. I might as well write a book about the limited intelligence of zebras. All they ever do is graze and make more zebras. Why can’t they be more like us and design spaceships and write books?
    That’s not the case here. The problems I describe in this book are species-wide. Anatomically, there are not two classes of Homo sapiens . The spectacular accomplishments of some of us define the potential of all of us. With training and social support, we can all work around the lure of Caveman Logic. The impulses and perceptions that arise in us all do not have to be honored. Carl Sagan offers a very moving narrative in his book The Demon-Haunted World 13 (itself, a forceful polemic against Caveman Logic). Sagan describes how deeply he missed his