Homo Deus: a brief History of Tomorrow

Infant  Care  failed  to  realise:  mammals  can’t  live  on  food  alone.  They  need
emotional bonds too. Millions of years of evolution preprogrammed the monkeys
with  an  overwhelming  desire  for  emotional  bonding.  Evolution  also  imprinted
them with the assumption that emotional bonds are more likely to be formed with
soft  furry  things  than  with  hard  and  metallic  objects.  (This  is  also  why  small
human  children  are  far  more  likely  to  become  attached  to  dolls,  blankets  and
smelly  rags  than  to  cutlery,  stones  or  wooden  blocks.)  The  need  for  emotional
bonds is so strong that Harlow’s baby monkeys abandoned the nourishing metal
dummy  and  turned  their  attention  to  the  only  object  that  seemed  capable  of
answering  that  need.  Alas,  the  cloth-mother  never  responded  to  their  affection
and  the  little  monkeys  consequently  suffered  from  severe  psychological  and
social problems, and grew up to be neurotic and asocial adults.
Today  we  look  back  with  incomprehension  at  early  twentieth-century  child-
rearing advice. How could experts fail to appreciate that children have emotional
needs, and that their mental and physical health depends as much on providing
for these needs as on food, shelter and medicines? Yet when it comes to other
mammals we keep denying the obvious. Like John Watson and the Infant Care
experts,  farmers  throughout  history  took  care  of  the  material  needs  of  piglets,
calves and kids, but tended to ignore their emotional needs. Thus both the meat
and  dairy  industries  are  based  on  breaking  the  most  fundamental  emotional
bond in the mammal kingdom. Farmers get their breeding sows and dairy cows

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impregnated  again  and  again.  Yet  the  piglets  and  calves  are  separated  from
their mothers shortly after birth, and often pass their days without ever sucking
at  her  teats  or  feeling  the  warm  touch  of  her  tongue  and  body.  What  Harry
Harlow did to a few hundred monkeys, the meat and dairy industries are doing
to billions of animals every year.
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The Agricultural Deal
How did farmers justify their behaviour? Whereas hunter-gatherers were seldom
aware  of  the  damage  they  inflicted  on  the  ecosystem,  farmers  knew  perfectly
well  what  they  were  doing.  They  knew  they  were  exploiting  domesticated
animals and subjugating them to human desires and whims. They justified their
actions  in  the  name  of  new  theist  religions,  which  mushroomed  and  spread  in
the  wake  of  the  Agricultural  Revolution.  Theist  religions  maintained  that  the
universe is ruled by a group of great gods – or perhaps by a single capital ‘G’
God. We don’t normally associate this idea with agriculture, but at least in their
beginnings  theist  religions  were  an  agricultural  enterprise.  The  theology,
mythology  and  liturgy  of  religions  such  as  Judaism,  Hinduism  and  Christianity
revolved at first around the relationship between humans, domesticated plants
and farm animals.
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Biblical Judaism, for instance, catered to peasants and shepherds. Most of its
commandments dealt with farming and village life, and its major holidays were
harvest  festivals.  People  today  imagine  the  ancient  temple  in  Jerusalem  as  a
kind of big synagogue where priests clad in snow-white robes welcomed devout
pilgrims, melodious choirs sang psalms and incense perfumed the air. In reality,
it looked much more like a cross between a slaughterhouse and a barbecue joint
than  a  modern  synagogue.  The  pilgrims  did  not  come  empty-handed.  They
brought  with  them  a  never-ending  stream  of  sheep,  goats,  chickens  and  other
animals,  which  were  sacrificed  at  the  god’s  altar  and  then  cooked  and  eaten.
The psalm-singing choirs could hardly be heard over the bellowing and bleating
of  calves  and  kids.  Priests  in  bloodstained  outfits  cut  the  victims’  throats,
collected the gushing blood in jars and spilled it over the altar. The perfume of
incense  mixed  with  the  odours  of  congealed  blood  and  roasted  meat,  while
swarms of black flies buzzed just about everywhere (see, for example, Numbers
28, Deuteronomy 12, and 1 Samuel 2). A modern Jewish family that celebrates
a holiday by having a barbecue on their front lawn is much closer to the spirit of
biblical times than an orthodox family that spends the time studying scriptures in
a synagogue.

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Theist  religions,  such  as  biblical  Judaism,  justified  the  agricultural  economy
through new cosmological myths. Animist religions had previously depicted the
universe  as  a  grand  Chinese  opera  with  a  limitless  cast  of  colourful  actors.
Elephants  and  oak  trees,  crocodiles  and  rivers,  mountains  and  frogs,  ghosts
and  fairies,  angels  and  demons  –  each  had  a  role  in  the  cosmic  opera.  Theist
religions rewrote the script, turning the universe into a bleak Ibsen drama with
just  two  main  characters:  man  and  God.  The  angels  and  demons  somehow
survived  the  transition,  becoming  the  messengers  and  servants  of  the  great
gods. Yet the rest of the animist cast – all the animals, plants and other natural
phenomena  –  were  transformed  into  silent  decor.  True,  some  animals  were
considered sacred to this or that god, and many gods had animal features: the
Egyptian  god  Anubis  had  the  head  of  a  jackal,  and  even  Jesus  Christ  was
frequently  depicted  as  a  lamb.  Yet  ancient  Egyptians  could  easily  tell  the
difference  between  Anubis  and  an  ordinary  jackal  sneaking  into  the  village  to
hunt chickens, and no Christian butcher ever mistook the lamb under his knife
for Jesus.
We  normally  think  that  theist  religions  sanctified  the  great  gods.  We  tend  to
forget  that  they  sanctified  humans,  too.  Hitherto  Homo  sapiens  had  been  just
one actor in a cast of thousands. In the new theist drama, Sapiens became the
central hero around whom the entire universe revolved.
The  gods,  meanwhile,  were  given  two  related  roles  to  play.  Firstly,  they
explained what is so special about Sapiens and why humans should dominate
and  exploit  all  other  organisms.  Christianity,  for  example,  maintained  that
humans hold sway over the rest of creation because the Creator charged them
with that authority. Moreover, according to Christianity, God gave an eternal soul
only  to  humans.  Since  the  fate  of  this  eternal  soul  is  the  point  of  the  whole
Christian  cosmos,  and  since  animals  have  no  soul,  they  are  mere  extras.
Humans  thus  became  the  apex  of  creation,  while  all  other  organisms  were
pushed to the sidelines.
Secondly,  the  gods  had  to  mediate  between  humans  and  the  ecosystem.  In
the  animistic  cosmos,  everyone  talked  with  everyone  directly.  If  you  needed
something  from  the  caribou,  the  fig  trees,  the  clouds  or  the  rocks,  you
addressed  them  yourself.  In  the  theist  cosmos,  all  non-human  entities  were
silenced. Consequently you could no longer talk with trees and animals. What to
do, then, when you wanted the trees to give more fruits, the cows to give more
milk, the clouds to bring more rain and the locusts to stay away from your crops?
That’s where the gods entered the picture. They promised to supply rain, fertility
and protection, provided humans did something in return. This was the essence
of  the  agricultural  deal.  The  gods  safeguarded  and  multiplied  farm  production,

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and  in  exchange  humans  had  to  share  the  produce  with  the  gods.  This  deal
served both parties, at the expense of the rest of the ecosystem.
Today  in  Nepal,  devotees  of  the  goddess  Gadhimai  celebrate  her  festival
every  five  years  in  the  village  of  Bariyapur.  A  record  was  set  in  2009  when
250,000  animals  were  sacrificed  to  the  goddess.  A  local  driver  explained  to  a
visiting  British  journalist  that  ‘If  we  want  anything,  and  we  come  here  with  an
offering to the goddess, within five years all our dreams will be fulfilled.’
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Much  of  theist  mythology  explains  the  subtle  details  of  this  deal.  The
Mesopotamian Gilgamesh epic recounts that when the gods sent a great deluge
to destroy the world, almost all humans and animals perished. Only then did the
rash  gods  realise  that  nobody  remained  to  make  any  offerings  to  them.  They
became  crazed  with  hunger  and  distress.  Luckily,  one  human  family  survived,
thanks to the foresight of the god Enki, who instructed his devotee Utnapishtim
to take shelter in a large wooden ark along with his relatives and a menagerie of
animals.  When  the  deluge  subsided  and  this  Mesopotamian  Noah  emerged
from his ark, the first thing he did was sacrifice some animals to the gods. Then,
tells  the  epic,  all  the  great  gods  rushed  to  the  spot:  ‘The  gods  smelled  the
savour / the gods smelled the sweet savour / the gods swarmed like flies around
the offering.’
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 The  biblical  story  of  the  deluge  (written  more  than  1,000  years
after the Mesopotamian version) also reports that immediately upon leaving the
ark, ‘Noah built an altar to the Lord and, taking some of the clean animals and
clean  birds,  he  sacrificed  burnt  offerings  on  it.  The  Lord  smelled  the  pleasing
aroma  and  said  in  his  heart:  Never  again  will  I  curse  the  ground  because  of
humans’ (Genesis 8:20–1).
This  deluge  story  became  a  founding  myth  of  the  agricultural  world.  It  is
possible of course to give it a modern environmentalist spin. The deluge could
teach us that our actions can ruin the entire ecosystem, and humans are divinely
charged  with  protecting  the  rest  of  creation.  Yet  traditional  interpretations  saw
the deluge as proof of human supremacy and animal worthlessness. According
to  these  interpretations,  Noah  was  instructed  to  save  the  whole  ecosystem  in
order  to  protect  the  common  interests  of  gods  and  humans  rather  than  the
interests  of  the  animals.  Non-human  organisms  have  no  intrinsic  value,  and
exist solely for our sake.
After  all,  when  ‘the  Lord  saw  how  great  the  wickedness  of  the  human  race
had become’ He resolved to ‘wipe from the face of the earth the human race I
have created – and with them the animals, the birds and the creatures that move
along the ground – for I regret that I have made them’ (Genesis 6:7). The Bible
thinks it is perfectly all right to destroy all animals as punishment for the crimes
of Homo sapiens, as if the existence of giraffes, pelicans and ladybirds has lost

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all  purpose  if  humans  misbehave.  The  Bible  could  not  imagine  a  scenario  in
which God repents having created Homo sapiens, wipes this sinful ape off the
face  of  the  earth,  and  then  spends  eternity  enjoying  the  antics  of  ostriches,
kangaroos and panda bears.
Theist  religions  nevertheless  have  certain  animal-friendly  beliefs.  The  gods
gave humans authority over the animal kingdom, but this authority carried with it
some  responsibilities.  For  example,  Jews  were  commanded  to  allow  farm
animals to rest on the Sabbath, and whenever possible to avoid causing them
unnecessary  suffering.  (Though  whenever  interests  clashed,  human  interests
always trumped animal interests.
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)
A  Talmudic  tale  recounts  how  on  the  way  to  the  slaughterhouse,  a  calf
escaped and sought refuge with Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi, one of the founders of
rabbinical  Judaism.  The  calf  tucked  his  head  under  the  rabbi’s  flowing  robes
and started crying. Yet the rabbi pushed the calf away, saying, ‘Go. You were
created for that very purpose.’ Since the rabbi showed no mercy, God punished
him, and he suffered from a painful illness for thirteen years. Then, one day, a
servant  cleaning  the  rabbi’s  house  found  some  newborn  rats  and  began
sweeping  them  out.  Rabbi  Yehuda  rushed  to  save  the  helpless  creatures,
instructing the servant to leave them in peace, because ‘God is good to all, and
has  compassion  on  all  he  has  made’  (Psalms  145:9).  Since  the  rabbi  showed
compassion  to  these  rats,  God  showed  compassion  to  the  rabbi,  and  he  was
cured of his illness.
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Other  religions,  particularly  Jainism,  Buddhism  and  Hinduism,  have
demonstrated even greater empathy to animals. They emphasise the connection
between  humans  and  the  rest  of  the  ecosystem,  and  their  foremost  ethical
commandment  has  been  to  avoid  killing  any  living  being.  Whereas  the  biblical
‘Thou shalt not kill’ covered only humans, the ancient Indian principle of ahimsa
(non-violence)  extends  to  every  sentient  being.  Jain  monks  are  particularly
careful in  this  regard.  They  always  cover  their  mouths  with  a  white  cloth,  lest
they  inhale  an  insect,  and  whenever  they  walk  they  carry  a  broom  to  gently
sweep any ant or beetle from their path.
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Nevertheless,  all  agricultural  religions  –  Jainism,  Buddhism  and  Hinduism
included  –  found  ways  to  justify  human  superiority  and  the  exploitation  of
animals (if not for meat, then for milk and muscle power). They have all claimed
that  a  natural  hierarchy  of  beings  entitles  humans  to  control  and  use  other
animals,  provided  that  the  humans  observe  certain  restrictions.  Hinduism,  for
example, has sanctified cows and forbidden eating beef, but has also provided
the ultimate justification for the dairy industry, alleging that cows are generous
creatures, and positively yearn to share their milk with humankind.

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Humans thus committed themselves to an ‘agricultural deal’. According to this
deal,  cosmic  forces  gave  humans  command  over  other  animals,  on  condition
that  humans  fulfilled  certain  obligations  towards  the  gods,  towards  nature  and
towards the animals themselves. It was easy to believe in the existence of such
a cosmic compact, because it reflected the daily routine of farming life.
Hunter-gatherers  had  not  seen  themselves  as  superior  beings  because  they
were seldom aware of their impact on the ecosystem. A typical band numbered
in the dozens, it was surrounded by thousands of wild animals, and its survival
depended  on  understanding  and  respecting  the  desires  of  these  animals.
Foragers  had  to  constantly  ask  themselves  what  deer  dream  about,  and  what
lions think. Otherwise, they could not hunt the deer, nor escape the lions.
Farmers, in contrast, lived in a world controlled and shaped by human dreams
and  thoughts.  Humans  were  still  subject  to  formidable  natural  forces  such  as
storms  and  earthquakes,  but  they  were  far  less  dependent  on  the  wishes  of
other animals. A farm boy learned early on to ride a horse, harness a bull, whip a
stubborn  donkey  and  lead  the  sheep  to  pasture.  It  was  easy  and  tempting  to
believe that such everyday activities reflected either the natural order of things
or the will of heaven.
It is no coincidence that the Nayaka of southern India treat elephants, snakes
and  forest  trees  as  beings  equal  to  humans,  but  have  a  very  different  view  of
domesticated  plants  and  animals.  In  the  Nayaka  language  a  living  being
possessing  a  unique  personality  is  called  mansan.  When  probed  by  the
anthropologist Danny Naveh, they explained that all elephants are mansan. ‘We
live in the forest, they live in the forest. We are all mansan . . . So are bears, deer
and tigers. All forest animals.’ What about cows? ‘Cows are different. You have
to  lead  them  everywhere.’  And  chickens?  ‘They  are  nothing.  They  are  not
mansan.’  And  forest  trees?  ‘Yes  –  they  live  for  such  a  long  time.’  And  tea
bushes?  ‘Oh,  these  I  cultivate  so  that  I  can  sell  the  tea  leaves  and  buy  what  I
need from the store. No, they aren’t mansan.’
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We  should  also  bear  in  mind  how  humans  themselves  were  treated  in  most
agricultural societies. In biblical Israel or medieval China it was common to whip
humans, enslave them, torture and execute them. Humans were considered as
mere  property.  Rulers  did  not  dream  of  asking  peasants  for  their  opinions  and
cared little about their needs. Parents frequently sold their children into slavery,
or  married  them  off  to  the  highest  bidder.  Under  such  conditions,  ignoring  the
feelings of cows and chickens was hardly surprising.
Five Hundred Years of Solitude

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The  rise  of  modern  science  and  industry  brought  about  the  next  revolution  in
human–animal relations. During the Agricultural Revolution humankind silenced
animals and plants, and turned the animist grand opera into a dialogue between
man  and  gods.  During  the  Scientific  Revolution  humankind  silenced  the  gods
too. The world was now a one-man show. Humankind stood alone on an empty
stage, talking to itself, negotiating with no one and acquiring enormous powers
without any obligations. Having deciphered the mute laws of physics, chemistry
and biology, humankind now does with them as it pleases.
When an archaic hunter went out to the savannah, he asked the help of the
wild  bull,  and  the  bull  demanded  something  of  the  hunter.  When  an  ancient
farmer wanted his cows to produce lots of milk, he asked some great heavenly
god for help, and the god stipulated his conditions. When the white-coated staff
in  Nestlé’s  Research  and  Development  department  want  to  increase  dairy
production, they study genetics – and the genes don’t ask for anything in return.
But just as the hunters and farmers had their myths, so do the people in the
R&D department. Their most famous myth shamelessly plagiarises the legend of
the Tree of Knowledge and the Garden of Eden, but transports the action to the
garden  at  Woolsthorpe  Manor  in  Lincolnshire.  According  to  this  myth,  Isaac
Newton was sitting there under an apple tree when a ripe apple dropped on his
head.  Newton  began  wondering  why  the  apple  fell  straight  downwards,  rather
than sideways or upwards. His enquiry led him to discover gravity and the laws
of Newtonian mechanics.
Newton’s story turns the Tree of Knowledge myth on its head. In the Garden
of  Eden  the  serpent  initiates  the  drama,  tempting  humans  to  sin,  thereby
bringing the wrath of God down upon them. Adam and Eve are a plaything for
serpent and God alike. In contrast, in the Garden of Woolsthorpe man is the sole
agent. Though Newton himself was a deeply religious Christian who devoted far
more  time  to  studying  the  Bible  than  the  laws  of  physics,  the  Scientific
Revolution that he helped launch pushed God to the sidelines. When Newton’s
successors came to write their Genesis myth, they had no use for either God or
serpent.  The  Garden  of  Woolsthorpe  is  run  by  blind  laws  of  nature,  and  the
initiative to decipher these laws is strictly human. The story may begin with an
apple falling on Newton’s head, but the apple did not do it on purpose.
In the Garden of Eden myth, humans are punished for their curiosity and for
their wish to gain knowledge. God expels them from Paradise. In the Garden of
Woolsthorpe myth, nobody punishes Newton – just the opposite. Thanks to his
curiosity  humankind  gains  a  better  understanding  of  the  universe,  becomes
more  powerful  and  takes  another  step  towards  the  technological  paradise.
Untold  numbers  of  teachers  throughout  the  world  recount  the  Newton  myth  to

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encourage  curiosity,  implying  that  if  only  we  gain  enough  knowledge,  we  can
create paradise here on earth.
In  fact,  God  is  present  even  in  the  Newton  myth:  Newton  himself  is  God.
When  biotechnology,  nanotechnology  and  the  other  fruits  of  science  ripen,