    9

    machi

    ne operates by turning up the pace of elements that are needed,

    and shutting down the speed of those that aren't.

    People are also woven together in a superorganismic web.  And

    our mood swings, like those of the bees, give that web part of its

    problem-solving power.  Frederick Erickson, a socio-linguistic

    micro-analyst at the University of Pennsylvania,11 points out that

    humans constantly exchange bee-like signals.  We give our

    conversational partners cues, nodding our heads, smiling,  grunting in

    the affirmative, gesturing with our bodies, frowning.12  The average

    mortal knows from personal experience what the impact of those cues

    can be.  If we run into a gathering of friends, spring a tantalizing bit of

    information on one of them, and everybody else edges over to hear it,

    we feel invigorated.  Energized by mild euphoria, we may prattle on

    with additional details about the topic that's just drawn all this

    attention.  If, on the other hand, we spring a piece of gossip that, to us,

    seems irresistible, and the people near us immediately march away, we

    become discouraged and are less likely to continue that particular line

    of conversation.  Like the bee arriving with unwelcome food, we aren't

    motivated to deliver more of a tidbit no one seems to want.

    The power of social cues to switch our moods on and off has an

    enormous impact on the movement of information through the social

    system.   An idea everyone is hungry for will flow rapidly through the

    human network, as the individuals propounding it are encouraged to

    repeat it in ever more excited tones.  The idea no one cares for is likely

    to wither away, as its adherents grow discouraged and morose.

    At its most extreme, those who feel their contribution is

    unwanted will do more than simply wilt for a few hours.  When the

    Revolution of 1917 bore down inexorably on Russia, it eventually

    became clear to the followers of the czar that all was lost.  Protopopov,

    the czar's iron-fisted interior minister, looked like a man transformed.

    He appeared shrunken, beaten, and so prematurely aged that he was

    virtually unrecognizable.  When Protopopov was at last forced to

    resign, he said, "Now there is nothing left to me but to shoot myself."

    Likewise, as it became clear that the czar's political power had slipped

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