PART I
Homo sapiens Conquers the World
What is the difference between humans and all other animals?
How did our species conquer the world?
Is Homo sapiens a superior life form, or just the local bully?
2
The Anthropocene
With regard to other animals, humans have long since become gods. We don’t
like to reflect on this too deeply, because we have not been particularly just or
merciful gods. If you watch the National Geographic channel, go to a Disney film
or read a book of fairy tales, you might easily get the impression that planet
Earth is populated mainly by lions, wolves and tigers who are an equal match for
us humans. Simba the lion king holds sway over the forest animals; Little Red
Riding Hood tries to evade the Big Bad Wolf; and little Mowgli bravely confronts
Shere Khan the tiger. But in reality, they are no longer there. Our televisions,
books, fantasies and nightmares are still full of them, but the Simbas, Shere
Khans and Big Bad Wolves of our planet are disappearing. The world is
populated mainly by humans and their domesticated animals.
How many wolves live today in Germany, the land of the Grimm brothers,
Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf? Less than a hundred. (And even
these are mostly Polish wolves that stole over the border in recent years.) In
contrast, Germany is home to 5 million domesticated dogs. Altogether about
200,000 wild wolves still roam the earth, but there are more than 400 million
domesticated dogs.
1
The world contains 40,000 lions compared to 600 million
house cats; 900,000 African buffalo versus 1.5 billion domesticated cows; 50
million penguins and 20 billion chickens.
2
Since 1970, despite growing
ecological awareness, wildlife populations have halved (not that they were
prospering in 1970).
3
In 1980 there were 2 billion wild birds in Europe. In 2009
only 1.6 billion were left. In the same year, Europeans raised 1.9 billion chickens
for meat and eggs.
4
At present, more than 90 per cent of the large animals of the
world (i.e. those weighing more than a few kilograms) are either humans or
domesticated animals.
Scientists divide the history of our planet into epochs such as the Pleistocene,
the Pliocene and the Miocene. Officially, we live in the Holocene epoch. Yet it
may be better to call the last 70,000 years the Anthropocene epoch: the epoch
of humanity. For during these millennia Homo sapiens became the single most
important agent of change in the global ecology.
5
This is an unprecedented phenomenon. Since the appearance of life, about 4
billion years ago, never has a single species changed the global ecology all by
itself. Though there had been no lack of ecological revolutions and mass-
extinction events, these were not caused by the actions of a particular lizard, bat
or fungus. Rather, they were caused by the workings of mighty natural forces
such as climate change, tectonic plate movement, volcanic eruptions and
asteroid collisions.
Pie chart of global biomass of large animals.
Some people fear that today we are again in mortal danger of massive
volcanic eruptions or colliding asteroids. Hollywood producers make billions out
of these anxieties. Yet in reality, the danger is slim. Mass extinctions occur once
every many millions of years. Yes, a big asteroid will probably hit our planet
sometime in the next 100 million years, but it is very unlikely to happen next
Tuesday. Instead of fearing asteroids, we should fear ourselves.
For Homo sapiens has rewritten the rules of the game. This single ape
species has managed within 70,000 years to change the global ecosystem in
radical and unprecedented ways. Our impact is already on a par with that of ice
ages and tectonic movements. Within a century, our impact may surpass that of
the asteroid that killed off the dinosaurs 65 million years ago.
That asteroid changed the trajectory of terrestrial evolution, but not its
fundamental rules, which have remained fixed since the appearance of the first
organisms 4 billion years ago. During all those aeons, whether you were a virus
or a dinosaur, you evolved according to the unchanging principles of natural
selection. In addition, no matter what strange and bizarre shapes life adopted, it
remained confined to the organic realm – whether a cactus or a whale, you were
made of organic compounds. Now humankind is poised to replace natural
selection with intelligent design, and to extend life from the organic realm into
the inorganic.
Even if we leave aside these future prospects and only look back on the last
70,000 years, it is evident that the Anthropocene has altered the world in
unprecedented ways. Asteroids, plate tectonics and climate change may have
impacted organisms all over the globe, but their influence differed from one area
to another. The planet never constituted a single ecosystem; rather, it was a
collection of many loosely connected ecosystems. When tectonic movements
joined North America with South America it led to the extinction of most South
American marsupials, but had no detrimental effect on the Australian kangaroo.
When the last ice age reached its peak 20,000 years ago, jellyfish in the Persian
Gulf and jellyfish in Tokyo Bay both had to adapt to the new climate. Yet since
there was no connection between the two populations, each reacted in a
different way, evolving in distinct directions.
In contrast, Sapiens broke the barriers that had separated the globe into
independent ecological zones. In the Anthropocene, the planet became for the
first time a single ecological unit. Australia, Europe and America continued to
have different climates and topographies, yet humans caused organisms from
throughout the world to mingle on a regular basis, irrespective of distance and
geography. What began as a trickle of wooden boats has turned into a torrent of
aeroplanes, oil tankers and giant cargo ships that criss-cross every ocean and
bind every island and continent. Consequently the ecology of, say, Australia can
no longer be understood without taking into account the European mammals or
American microorganisms that flood its shores and deserts. Sheep, wheat, rats
and flu viruses that humans brought to Australia during the last 300 years are
today far more important to its ecology than the native kangaroos and koalas.
But the Anthropocene isn’t a novel phenomenon of the last few centuries.
Already tens of thousands of years ago, when our Stone Age ancestors spread
from East Africa to the four corners of the earth, they changed the flora and
fauna of every continent and island on which they settled. They drove to
extinction all the other human species of the world, 90 per cent of the large
animals of Australia, 75 per cent of the large mammals of America and about 50
per cent of all the large land mammals of the planet – and all before they planted
the first wheat field, shaped the first metal tool, wrote the first text or struck the
first coin.
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Large animals were the main victims because they were relatively few, and
they bred slowly. Compare, for example, mammoths (which became extinct) to
rabbits (which survived). A troop of mammoths numbered no more than a few
dozen individuals, and bred at a rate of perhaps just two youngsters per year.
Hence if the local human tribe hunted just three mammoths a year, it would have
been enough for deaths to outstrip births, and within a few generations the
mammoths disappeared. Rabbits, in contrast, bred like rabbits. Even if humans
hunted hundreds of rabbits each year, it was not enough to drive them to
extinction.
Not that our ancestors planned on wiping out the mammoths; they were
simply unaware of the consequences of their actions. The extinction of the
mammoths and other large animals may have been swift on an evolutionary
timescale, but slow and gradual in human terms. People lived no more than
seventy or eighty years, whereas the extinction process took centuries. The
ancient Sapiens probably failed to notice any connection between the annual
mammoth hunt – in which no more than two or three mammoths were killed –
and the disappearance of these furry giants. At most, a nostalgic elder might
have told sceptical youngsters that ‘when I was young, mammoths were much
more plentiful than these days. And so were mastodons and giant elks. And, of
course, the tribal chiefs were honest, and children respected their elders.’
The Serpent’s Children
Anthropological and archaeological evidence indicates that archaic hunter-
gatherers were probably animists: they believed that there was no essential gap
separating humans from other animals. The world – i.e. the local valley and the
surrounding mountain chains – belonged to all its inhabitants, and everyone
followed a common set of rules. These rules involved ceaseless negotiation
between all concerned beings. People talked with animals, trees and stones, as
well as with fairies, demons and ghosts. Out of this web of communications
emerged the values and norms that were binding on humans, elephants, oak
trees and wraiths alike.
7
The animist world view still guides some hunter-gatherer communities that
have survived into the modern age. One of them is the Nayaka people, who live
in the tropical forests of south India. The anthropologist Danny Naveh, who
studied the Nayaka for several years, reports that when a Nayaka walking in the
jungle encounters a dangerous animal such as a tiger, snake or elephant, he or
she might address the animal and say: ‘You live in the forest. I too live here in
the forest. You came here to eat, and I too came here to gather roots and tubers.
I didn’t come to hurt you.’
A Nayaka was once killed by a male elephant they called ‘the elephant who
always walks alone’. The Nayakas refused to help officials from the Indian
forestry department capture him. They explained to Naveh that this elephant
used to be very close to another male elephant, with whom he always roamed.
One day the forestry department captured the second elephant, and since then
‘the elephant who always walks alone’ had become angry and violent. ‘How
would you have felt if your spouse had been taken away from you? This is
exactly how this elephant felt. These two elephants sometimes separated at
night, each walking its own path . . . but in the morning they always came
together again. On that day, the elephant saw his buddy falling, lying down. If
two are always together and then you shoot one – how would the other feel?’
8
Such an animistic attitude strikes many industrialised people as alien. Most of
us automatically see animals as essentially different and inferior. This is
because even our most ancient traditions were created thousands of years after
the end of the hunter-gatherer era. The Old Testament, for example, was written
down in the first millennium
BC
, and its oldest stories reflect the realities of the
second millennium
BC
. But in the Middle East the age of the hunter-gatherers
ended more than 7,000 years earlier. It is hardly surprising, therefore, that the
Bible rejects animistic beliefs and its only animistic story appears right at the
beginning, as a dire warning. The Bible is a long book, bursting with miracles,
wonders and marvels. Yet the only time an animal initiates a conversation with a
human is when the serpent tempts Eve to eat the forbidden fruit of knowledge
(Bil’am’s donkey also speaks a few words, but she is merely conveying to Bil’am
a message from God).
In the Garden of Eden, Adam and Eve lived as foragers. The expulsion from
Eden bears a striking resemblance to the Agricultural Revolution. Instead of
allowing Adam to keep gathering wild fruits, an angry God condemns him ‘to eat
bread by the sweat of your brow’. It might be no coincidence, then, that biblical
animals spoke with humans only in the pre-agricultural era of Eden. What
lessons does the Bible draw from the episode? That you shouldn’t listen to
snakes, and it is generally best to avoid talking with animals and plants. It leads
to nothing but disaster.
Yet the biblical story has deeper and more ancient layers of meaning. In most
Semitic languages, ‘Eve’ means ‘snake’ or even ‘female snake’. The name of
our ancestral biblical mother hides an archaic animist myth, according to which
snakes are not our enemies, but our ancestors.
9
Many animist cultures believed
that humans descended from animals, including from snakes and other reptiles.
Most Australian Aborigines believed that the Rainbow Serpent created the
world. The Aranda and Dieri people maintained that their particular tribes
originated from primordial lizards or snakes, which were transformed into
humans.
10
In fact, modern Westerners too think that they have evolved from
reptiles. The brain of each and every one of us is built around a reptilian core,
and the structure of our bodies is essentially that of modified reptiles.
Paradise lost (the Sistine Chapel). The serpent – who sports a human upper body – initiates the entire
chain of events. While the first two chapters of Genesis are dominated by divine monologues (‘and God
said . . . and God said . . . and God said . . .’), in the third chapter we finally get a dialogue – between Eve
and the serpent (‘and the serpent said unto the woman . . . and the woman said unto the serpent . . .’). This
unique conversation between a human and an animal leads to the fall of humanity and our expulsion from
Eden.
Detail from Michelangelo Buonarroti (1475–1564), the Sistine Chapel, Vatican City © Lessing Images.
The authors of the book of Genesis may have preserved a remnant of archaic
animist beliefs in Eve’s name, but they took great care to conceal all other
traces. Genesis says that, instead of descending from snakes, humans were
divinely created from inanimate matter. The snake is not our progenitor: he
seduces us to rebel against our heavenly Father. While animists saw humans as
just another kind of animal, the Bible argues that humans are a unique creation,
and any attempt to acknowledge the animal within us denies God’s power and
authority. Indeed, when modern humans discovered that they actually evolved
from reptiles, they rebelled against God and stopped listening to Him – or even
believing in His existence.
Ancestral Needs
The Bible, along with its belief in human distinctiveness, was one of the by-
products of the Agricultural Revolution, which initiated a new phase in human–
animal relations. The advent of farming produced new waves of mass
extinctions, but more importantly, it created a completely new life form on earth:
domesticated animals. Initially this development was of minor importance, since
humans managed to domesticate fewer than twenty species of mammals and
birds, compared to the countless thousands of species that remained ‘wild’. Yet
with the passing of the centuries, this novel life form became dominant. Today
more than 90 per cent of all large animals are domesticated.
Alas, domesticated species paid for their unparalleled collective success with
unprecedented individual suffering. Although the animal kingdom has known
many types of pain and misery for millions of years, the Agricultural Revolution
generated completely new kinds of suffering, that only became worse over time.
To the casual observer domesticated animals may seem much better off than
their wild cousins and ancestors. Wild boars spend their days searching for
food, water and shelter, and are constantly threatened by lions, parasites and
floods. Domesticated pigs, in contrast, enjoy food, water and shelter provided by
humans, who also treat their diseases and protect them against predators and
natural disasters. True, most pigs sooner or later find themselves in the
slaughterhouse. Yet does that make their fate any worse than the fate of wild
boars? Is it better to be devoured by a lion than slaughtered by a man? Are
crocodile teeth less deadly than steel blades?
What makes the fate of domesticated farm animals particularly harsh is not
just the way they die, but above all the way they live. Two competing factors
have shaped the living conditions of farm animals from ancient times to the
present day: human desires and animal needs. Thus humans raise pigs in order
to get meat, but if they want a steady supply of meat, they must ensure the long-
term survival and reproduction of the pigs. Theoretically this should have
protected the animals from extreme forms of cruelty. If a farmer did not take
good care of his pigs, they would soon die without offspring and the farmer
would starve.
Unfortunately, humans can cause tremendous suffering to farm animals in
various ways, even while ensuring their survival and reproduction. The root of
the problem is that domesticated animals have inherited from their wild
ancestors many physical, emotional and social needs that are redundant on
human farms. Farmers routinely ignore these needs, without paying any
economic penalty. They lock animals in tiny cages, mutilate their horns and tails,
separate mothers from offspring and selectively breed monstrosities. The
animals suffer greatly, yet they live on and multiply.
Doesn’t that contradict the most basic principles of natural selection? The
theory of evolution maintains that all instincts, drives and emotions have evolved
in the sole interest of survival and reproduction. If so, doesn’t the continuous
reproduction of farm animals prove that all their real needs are met? How can a
pig have a ‘need’ that is not really needed for his survival and reproduction?
It is certainly true that all instincts, drives and emotions evolved in order to
meet the evolutionary pressures of survival and reproduction. However, if and
when these pressures suddenly disappear, the instincts, drives and emotions
they had shaped do not disappear with them. At least not instantly. Even if they
are no longer instrumental for survival and reproduction, these instincts, drives
and emotions continue to mould the subjective experiences of the animal. For
animals and humans alike, agriculture changed selection pressures almost
overnight, but it did not change their physical, emotional and social drives. Of
course evolution never stands still, and it has continued to modify humans and
animals in the 12,000 years since the advent of farming. For example, humans
in Europe and western Asia evolved the ability to digest cows’ milk, while cows
lost their fear of humans, and today produce far more milk than their wild
ancestors. Yet these are superficial alterations. The deep sensory and emotional
structures of cows, pigs and humans alike haven’t changed much since the
Stone Age.
Why do modern humans love sweets so much? Not because in the early
twenty-first century we must gorge on ice cream and chocolate in order to
survive. Rather, it is because when our Stone Age ancestors came across
sweet fruit or honey, the most sensible thing to do was to eat as much of it as
quickly as possible. Why do young men drive recklessly, get involved in violent
arguments and hack confidential Internet sites? Because they are following
ancient genetic decrees that might be useless and even counterproductive
today, but that made good evolutionary sense 70,000 years ago. A young hunter
who risked his life chasing a mammoth outshone all his competitors and won the
hand of the local beauty; and we are now stuck with his macho genes.
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Exactly the same evolutionary logic shapes the lives of pigs, sows and piglets
in human-controlled farms. In order to survive and reproduce in the wild, ancient
boars needed to roam vast territories, familiarise themselves with their
environment and beware of traps and predators. They further needed to
communicate and cooperate with their fellow boars, forming complex groups
dominated by old and experienced matriarchs. Evolutionary pressures
consequently made wild boars – and even more so wild sows – highly intelligent
social animals, characterised by a lively curiosity and strong urges to socialise,
play, wander about and explore their surroundings. A sow born with some rare
mutation that made her indifferent to her environment and to other boars was
unlikely to survive or reproduce.
The descendants of wild boars – domesticated pigs – inherited their
intelligence, curiosity and social skills.
12
Like wild boars, domesticated pigs
communicate using a rich variety of vocal and olfactory signals: mother sows
recognise the unique squeaks of their piglets, whereas two-day-old piglets
already differentiate their mother’s calls from those of other sows.
13
Professor
Stanley Curtis of the Pennsylvania State University trained two pigs – named
Hamlet and Omelette – to control a special joystick with their snouts, and found
that the pigs soon rivalled primates in learning and playing simple computer
games.
14
Today most sows in industrial farms don’t play computer games. They are
locked by their human masters in tiny gestation crates, usually measuring two
metres by sixty centimetres. The crates have a concrete floor and metal bars,
and hardly allow the pregnant sows even to turn around or sleep on their side,
never mind walk. After three and a half months in such conditions, the sows are
moved to slightly wider crates, where they give birth and nurse their piglets.
Whereas piglets would naturally suckle for ten to twenty weeks, in industrial
farms they are forcibly weaned within two to four weeks, separated from their
mother and shipped to be fattened and slaughtered. The mother is immediately
impregnated again, and sent back to the gestation crate to start another cycle.
The typical sow would go through five to ten such cycles before being
slaughtered herself. In recent years the use of crates has been restricted in the
European Union and some US states, but the crates are still commonly used in
many other countries, and tens of millions of breeding sows pass almost their
entire lives in them.
The human farmers take care of everything the sow needs in order to survive
and reproduce. She is given enough food, vaccinated against diseases,
protected against the elements and artificially inseminated. From an objective
perspective, the sow no longer needs to explore her surroundings, socialise with
other pigs, bond with her piglets or even walk. But from a subjective
perspective, the sow still feels very strong urges to do all of these things, and if
these urges are not fulfilled she suffers greatly. Sows locked in gestation crates
typically display acute frustration alternating with extreme despair.
15
This is the basic lesson of evolutionary psychology: a need shaped thousands
of generations ago continues to be felt subjectively even if it is no longer
necessary for survival and reproduction in the present. Tragically, the
Agricultural Revolution gave humans the power to ensure the survival and
reproduction of domesticated animals while ignoring their subjective needs.
Sows confined in gestation crates. These highly social and intelligent beings spend most of their lives in
this condition, as if they were already sausages.
© Balint Porneczi/Bloomberg via Getty Images.
Organisms are Algorithms
How can we be sure that animals such as pigs actually have a subjective world
of needs, sensations and emotions? Aren’t we guilty of humanising animals, i.e.
ascribing human qualities to non-human entities, like children believing that dolls
feel love and anger?
In fact, attributing emotions to pigs doesn’t humanise them. It ‘mammalises’
them. For emotions are not a uniquely human quality – they are common to all
mammals (as well as to all birds and probably to some reptiles and even fish).
All mammals evolved emotional abilities and needs, and from the fact that pigs
are mammals we can safely deduce that they have emotions.
16
In recent decades life scientists have demonstrated that emotions are not
some mysterious spiritual phenomenon that is useful just for writing poetry and
composing symphonies. Rather, emotions are biochemical algorithms that are
vital for the survival and reproduction of all mammals. What does this mean?
Well, let’s begin by explaining what an algorithm is. This is of great importance
not only because this key concept will reappear in many of the following
chapters, but also because the twenty-first century will be dominated by
algorithms. ‘Algorithm’ is arguably the single most important concept in our
world. If we want to understand our life and our future, we should make every
effort to understand what an algorithm is, and how algorithms are connected
with emotions.
An algorithm is a methodical set of steps that can be used to make
calculations, resolve problems and reach decisions. An algorithm isn’t a
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