The cultural ideal, privileges and industrial-scale evils

Through my studies of cultural loss, I came across a powerful concept from political sciences, the political ends. This is proposed by Morton Gorden within a process of conflict resolution as the “process by which a government sets limits on what enters the political process”(Gorden 1972:vii).

In an evolutionary perspective, governments come after politics, politics comes after public, and public comes after culture. Since my objective is to focus on humans and humanity, for now, I want to abstract that basic schema beyond governments, to a dynamic that captures most of human behaviour.

For that, I reinterpret the first step of the process “goals”, or “political goals” as pursuing a specific “cultural ideal”. In other words, political goals are culturally generated representations of desired final states.

In that framing, I claim that we can see the political process as the path towards the fulfilment of representations of cultural ideals. Even without a government or collective decision-making, as long as there is an individual who wants to freely express its cultural ideal in a social environment, that can be seen as “politics”.

Simply put, every action to pursue a specific cultural end defines politics.

Goals in a political system reflect patterns in culture. The setting of specific goals represent a choice of objectives from a larger range of possibilities residing within the accessible cultural landscape.

Evolutionarely, my argument is that a cultural ideal, while abstractly shared by a “public”, resides in each of the individuals of that public. While growing up in a public a.k.a. a society, we slowly form a diffuse, ever-changing idea of a cultural ideal.

This sequence: cultural ideal formation – action – politics – ends , is not exclusive to humans, or humanity for that matter.

Let us trace possible evolutionary roots for the pursuit of a “cultural ideal”.

Remember Lekker, the vervet monkey who took over as alpha male, and could eat the popcorn of his preferred colour?

If we accept that the choice in colour of popcorn can be called “cultural”, then Lekker imported his “cultural ideal” when he went to a new group that had a different cultural preference of popcorn colour.

With the alpha-male power and influence Lekker kept eating the colour of popcorn that he was used to eating. By that time (six months later) both colours were equally sweet, so there was no real fitness difference other than the colour. In the case of Lekker, he was able to keep his rather simple “cultural ideal”.

We humans do this conscious and unconscious process all the time while sticking to a cultural ideal. For whatever reason, a “cultural ideal” of how things ought to be is created, and then individuals take constant actions to approach that ideal. In the case of Lekker, he achieved his “ideal” through power. Paraphrasing my earlier definition, these actions were Lekker’s politics.

Again, I call all the actions that one takes towards achieving a cultural ideal, “politics”.

As I’ve written before, Joan Fuster, one famous Valencian intellectual, has the aphorism that “politics is done by you or is done onto you”.

In other words, we are constantly doing politics by expressing or protecting our preferences, and even when not doing so, others will press their preferences and ideals to you. This might be because some humans have a tendency to press their preferences and ideals to others, unlike the vervet monkeys–there is no evidence that Lekker forced his preference of popcorn colour on others.

That’s where conflict arises, our constant cultural dynamics are smelted and we can apply Gorden’s framework.

Another interesting intellectual to summon here is Christofer Boehm. He was a primatologist and anthropologist who developed much of his career characterising egalitarianism and equality in human and non-human primate societies.

One of Boehm’s theses is that primates, us included, show two opposing tendencies, one is to oppress and the other is to fight oppression.

To oppress is what Lekker did when he took over the alpha position. That position allowed him to keep his ways in the new group who ate a different colour of popcorn.

What the difference is between other primates and humans, according to Boehm’s observations, is that in human small scale societies these groups are significantly more egalitarian than other primate groups and large scale societies–despite being a spectrum of social inequality and oppression in these small scale human societies.

This egalitarianism is not because humans have a significantly reduced tendency to oppress others, when compared to other primates, but because the small-scale societies have developed and sustained a set of strategies that effectively manage the emergence of oppressive tendencies and weeds it out before oppressive regimes, like Lekker’s taking over the group.

Interestingly, in many human small scale societies there is no such thing as a permanent “leader” like a Lekker. There is a prestige hierarchy, but leadership roles tend to be emergent and evanescent–situational, task-specific, non-centralised, and often temporary leadership rather than institutionalised or hereditary. In many cases, these roles are shared by a council, the decisions are made in a communal fashion or different leaderships emerge to deal with a specific problem or situation. When the problem is solved, or the situation changes, their particular leadership role can disappear with it like in the case of the axe-makers of the Wahgi.

Going back to cultural ideals, a cultural ideal can pop up, like popcorn, as well as being susceptible to constant change.

The rest of the macaques who, unlike Lekker, adapted to the local popcorn colour had to pay the small price of giving up the privilege of eating their preferred coloured popcorn from six months prior.

In that case, a change in “cultural ideal” had little repercussion other than maybe a reticence to try something they remembered as bitter.

The fact that we have a sense of stability and continuity is even more surprising. Take my grandfather, who had just turned 100 at the time of writing. His World has undergone immense revolutions in worldviews, technological advances, scientific breakthroughs, information and human connectivity, exploration, material wealth, services, ways of living, the concept of family, social bonds, entertainment options… Yet, his life, despite his experience of a civil war and an acrimonious post-war period, has been relatively stable, with a level of continuity and relative comfort unheard of for most of human history on this planet. One hundred rounds around the Sun provide so much and so little at the same time, encompassing the extremes of human existence in one lifetime.

My grandfather, in particular, had no problem adopting the “cultural ideal” of going to school, being removed from it because of warfare, working as a labourer to provide for his family when his father passed away after the war, living in a fascist autarkic economy and then a Catholic capitalist dictatorship, finding a wife – late by the standards of his time – owning a vehicle, benefiting from an incipient welfare state in terms of social security, healthcare and public education for his children, supporting his wife in opening a business, integrating into the European market and benefiting from an influx of wealth because of the valorisation of oranges, experiencing a transition to democracy, public nudity in the media and on the beaches, gifting a home to his children, taking early retirement, receiving a pension, travelling, and even accepting something as strange as homosexuals constituting a legal family and having the right to adopt children.

Throughout these continuous transitions, my grandfather’s “cultural ideal” reconstituted itself one way or another. Other aspects of that ideal have held strong, such as how an orange field should properly be tended, how my haircut should look, or how youngsters should care for elders.

Continuously, change was pushing against his “cultural ideals”, and those of his fellow elders, through technology, conflicts, discoveries, interconnection, integration, exposure and innovation. In the process, their individual “cultural ideals” changed without much push or pull, as if Lekke had adopted the local popcorn colour instead of his preferred one.

Most likely, most, if not all, “cultural ideals” hold little to no intrinsic value as long as holding them does not take one too far from the demands of reality. Reality, then, is just a selective pressure that constantly reshapes individual “cultural ideals”, while the Sunrise Paradox allows societies to be reshaped in the intervening periods.

In a sense, variation in “cultural ideals” is neutral as long as there is no selective pressure, as in the case of the preferred popcorn colour when both colours were equally sweet. The main difference is that cultural ideals might be reshaped constantly and, potentially, at striking speed throughout a human lifetime, though limits might exist on these changes.

The existence of the concept of “humanity” itself, and how it has expanded across human populations around the planet, represents a change in “cultural ideals” for hundreds or thousands of societies.

For most societies, what constitutes a person, or a human, is deeply intertwined with membership of that society, as we have seen in the case of ethnic categories.

Many small-scale societies call themselves “people”, “persons” or “humans” and, by implication, consider others to be “non-humans”. Moreover, across the continents, many groups call those who speak different languages “mutes” or “deaf”. It always makes me smile that Slavic languages use a word meaning “mute” to refer to Germans. For example, in Czech, Germans are Němci, which translates as something like “mute” or “silent”. Surely, German must sound to them, and many others, as if one wishes its speakers did not know how to speak German – apologies to German speakers here.

For most of human history, who speaks the language, or wears the same kind of tattoos and body markers, is WHO a person is. Others are just that: others. Interestingly, others can be a mixture of mythological creatures, animals and other beings that interact with real people but are not themselves considered people. Of course, there are ample exceptions to that in-group/out-group division, and cases of individuals from other ethnicities being adopted into groups that see themselves as the only people do exist. We even practise that kind of adoption with animals or inanimate objects like rivers, which acquire personhood through a system of beliefs, or even legal systems.

The fact that “humanity” exists as a global, all-encompassing term that includes every individual of the Homo sapiens species is something that has had to be built on top of the systematic destruction of “cultural ideals” that had clear definitions of what a “person” is.

What a “human” is fascinates us constantly, across all areas of existence, even when we look to the past. Through my research, I have had the opportunity to work with Neanderthal experts. Despite being considered a different hominin species, we now know that Homo sapiens repeatedly reproduced with Neanderthals, and that all humans outside sub-Saharan Africa are descended from Neanderthals.

The biological definition of “species” becomes blurred here, as Homo sapiens and Neanderthals could reproduce. My colleagues would have no problem referring to Neanderthals as “humans”. To this day, there is a profound debate about how “human” Neanderthals were. To engage in that debate, academics usually base their hypotheses on perceptions of their cognitive capacities and the cultural artefacts that can be found in archaeological contexts. In a way, this means outsourcing what it means to be human to what a given population, tens of thousands of years ago, could leave in the sediments of its settlements.

Again, our artificial classifications based on physical characteristics and cultural or ethnic ones get mixed and blurred, and we extend our newly minted concepts to tens of thousands of years ago. In the case of Neanderthals, this is mostly an academic or philosophical exercise. But who, or what, constitutes humanity has had, and will continue to have, repercussions for generations to come.


The deep fall, from privilege to mass evil

Changing the cultural ideal, like in the case of my grandparent 100 years, or what it means to be human, or the popcorn colour, sometimes seems to be quite neutral, and easy to transition from one state to the other.

However, other changes seem to be torturing for the ones experiencing them and happen at a high cost in terms of well-being for all the ones being involved.

For primates, losing other privileges, like the spot as the alpha male can be much more emotionally gruelling. No more choosing of the best food, being cuddled and deparasitised more than the others, abundant sex… Losing all of that when one is used to it sucks. So it makes sense that evolutionarily we have inherited this strong emotional attachment to privilege.

When I was at a top research institute, the head of the department took a liking to me, so we started organising weekly meetings. I really appreciated that privilege because the guy was hyper-busy and difficult to reach. I also was invited to be a “permanent visitor” to the department, meaning that my access to the institution would be prolonged for as long as the director wanted. I really liked the atmosphere there, beyond the director himself. My colleagues were gorgeous, I made many meaningful friends, the intellectual landscape and seminars were enriching and engaging, and a lot of scientific effervescence and advances were happening there in real time. Also I had access to a climbing wall and free sauna. I love both of these.

I left the institute and went travelling. I had an online meeting with the director and I forgot to cancel it because my mind was somewhere else. He did not take it kindly. I kept joining to the weekly online group meetings, but the interaction felt colder than before. A few months after I wanted to come back for a few weeks visit, and I was told through the administrators that I no longer had not that privilege. I did visit for one day, but I was told by the administrators that I was not being welcomed. I kept appearing at the online meetings still. But after a couple of appearances I was notified that I was begin cut off from access to the digital infrastructure. There were other details, but the important thing is that it felt bad, really bad, terrible, awful. The emotional upheaval, even though it was a slow-motion train crash, felt like one of the worst emotions of my life. I felt guilty over my own actions, but also a sense of powerlessness and injustice.

Luckily, I have this coping mechanism of doing cold dips. Losing the heat of your body quickly reminds you that there are other things in life.

After the final notification of being removed from the online groups, I went for a cold dip on the Baltic Sea in February, and it hit me. The emotional disturbance that I was feeling was the aggregation of losing privileges.

I could understand how that emotion, over thousands of generations of evolution, could potentially build this impressive force of needing to have power to oppress others, to keep the privileges in place. This is my speculation, of course, but the emotional upheaval hints at deep origins.

At that time I probably would have sold my soul if I had the option to gain the kind of power to reverse the perceived injustice and bring back my privileges.

Thankfully, I did not have that option to sell my soul. Plus a cold head, and body, helps to relativize things. Also, the understanding I gained through that upheaval is another coping mechanism for me. Gaining that insight at the price of that privilege felt like a comfort price. And life continues.

My personal experience of losing paradise, losing privilege, combined with the concept of “cultural ideals” politics and oppression allows me to connect with the concept of evil.

I will frame “evil” as understood by the interview with Ben Ferencz, one of the prosecutors of the Nuremberg trials (who was 98 at the time of the interview). In his view, the evil he has studied all his life after the Nuremberg trials was when humans rationally, and cold-mindedly, pursue the oppression and extermination of others at a massive scale.

As he put it:

people in very high places, people of good education and high rank are quite competent at becoming mass murderers against any group that they think threatens either their nationality or their religion or their economic circumstances. I have seen that. These are not crimes committed by devils with horns. These are committed by educated, well intentioned, patriotic people.

Ben was the chief prosecutor, he was 27 years old at the time of the trials. He only had space to prosecute 22 people out of more than 3000. Here is how he selected the ones to persecute:

I had at least 3000 people on detention. All of whom were complicit in mass murder. I selected who to prosecuted based on several factors. First of all, we have them in captivity. [...] I picked those of the highest rank and then checked out their background, from the Nazi party records which we captured in Berlin. Those who had Doctor degrees, and had... Or generals, they got priorities. I picked out 21 or 28, it was we only had 22 seats in the dock. Is that absurd? Of course it is absurd. There were only 22 seats in the dock for the Hermann Goering trial, so we have a selection.

From then on he studied all the cases of genocide, mass murder, war crimes, organised slavery and heinous crimes done at a massive scale across cultures across the planet. He wanted to understand of how people who were so well trained, spoke many languages, had multiple degrees and PhDs were able to do what they did in the final solution and setting up the extermination camps.

His conclusion on what motivated humans to engage in such dark, evil, cold-minded initiatives is that humans do such massive “evils” to others under three motivations: religion, ideology or keeping of privileges.

The third one resonated with me. It was the first time I heard that privilege could be a fundamental part of human nature.

Moreover, the other two motivations–religion and ideology, or patriotism–could be easily seen as cultural mechanisms to regulate privilege through the exercising of power, or its removal (like in revolutions). If Ben’s observations hold true, this might suggest a possible evolutionary mechanism linking the evils of mass murder and privilege.

As with the opening of this texts, understanding the dark side of humanity from a non-judgmental way would be part of our effort.

Understanding that many of our dark dynamics might come from a strong, evolutionarily build, and shaping an emotional package. Often, parts of ideology and religions build on that emotional package to redirect the emotional dynamism of losing privilege, or the fear of losing it. These dynamics are important in shaping what humanity wants.

If we do not develop the cultural infrastructure to regulate the dynamics of privilege we, in societies where oppression can reach industrial scale, and the lack of effective mechanisms to fight it–as the small-scale societies that the likes of Christopher Bohem and James Woodburn described– we are poised to repeat these monstrous acts.

Then, it will be important to understand how, when and in which ways cultural ideals are created, sustained and shaped, because in cultural ideals many privileges are often stored.

Interestingly, with Lekker I have been writing about his individual “cultural ideal” and his actions can be called politics as “the actions taken towards a political ideal”. Both of these are concepts, “cultural ideal” and “politics” here are seen from an individual perspective.

However, what we want to focus on are shared cultural ideals. These, after all, are the ones that truly drive the kind of oppression that genocides and slavery imply. Yes, we humans have that in us, do we want that?

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Forms of communication

Let us briefly explore the main forms of communication that humans tend to use before examining global communication.

Visual/Symbolic Communication

One of the most basic and almost universal forms of communication is visual communication. At some point between 30,000 and 50,000 years ago, humans across the lands they occupied began extensively using pictorial representations to depict the world around them. Even if we cannot understand the language or all the characteristics of the cultures that lived during the Ice Age in the Altamira caves, when we look at the drawings there, we can easily identify what they were trying to represent—impressive buffaloes, as well as various other animals like horses and deer, along with dancing human figures.

It remains a mystery why figurative art in the Homo lineage became dominant worldwide at that time and not earlier. Anatomically modern humans—the term palaeontologists use to describe human remains that resemble us, i.e., Homo sapiens—have existed for approximately 200,000 to 300,000 years. This increase in the use of visual communication may be the result of a gradual accumulation of increasingly complex cultural traits that allowed for more sophisticated pictorial art. Alternatively, our perception may be biased due to a limited sample size and poor preservation of earlier examples of figurative painting. Regardless of the reason, figurative art now appears to be a universal human trait, present in almost all individuals from an early age.

Human infants can identify familiar objects such as a house, a horse, a person, or even smiling and sad faces from a very young age. Moreover, children begin creating geometric figures by the age of two and produce rough paintings of figures by the age of three. By the age of five, their drawings evolve into more standardised and symbolic images.

This symbolic representation in images also appears to be a universal mode of communication among humans. Simple pictorial forms can be used to identify common animals and objects found all over the world. However, some people in cultures unfamiliar with photography struggle to recognise an animal from a picture and require a specific body part to make the identification.

You may have relied on visual communication yourself when travelling to a foreign land where you could not speak the language. In such situations, you might have used gestures to figuratively describe an action or object or even resorted to crude drawings to communicate your needs. However, this form of cross-cultural visual communication has its limitations. I encountered these limitations when I wanted to cross a river in Papua but could not find a bridge. I asked the locals for directions, but despite my best efforts, they could not understand me. Using my hands and gestures, I tried to depict a river and a bridge over it. I then resorted to drawing it in the sand with a stick, using mimics and pointing towards the river, which was not far away. Finally, a combination of all these methods did the trick. I was swiftly guided to a path through the jungle that I would not have found on my own, even if I had searched for days. At the end of the path—after crossing several streams via wooden logs used as makeshift, slippery bridges—I reached the other side of a hanging bridge, with the river rushing 50 metres below me.

Acoustic Communication

Another form of communication that appears to be universal among humans—and likely many non-human animals—is auditory signalling. For example, a high-pitched, loud scream would generally startle you and make you wary of its source. Moreover, if the sound persists—such as the crying of an infant mammal—you might instinctively try to stop it by feeding, warming, or comforting the creature in any way possible. It is not difficult to imagine that we have an inbuilt genetic predisposition to associate certain sounds with specific actions or emotional reactions.

Another largely human—but possibly primate—auditory signal is laughter. All human cultures seem to associate enjoyment and fun with laughter and its characteristic sounds.

Additionally, the intensity and duration of sounds tend to convey universal messages. Loud sounds generally indicate aggression, whereas quieter ones suggest closeness and attentiveness. Similarly, short, abrupt sounds are used to grab attention, while long, howling sounds are often associated with connection and emotional expression.

Language <- Previous Next -> Curiosity and rarity, fromthe small to the global

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Language

The most critical basis for communication is language. It is difficult to define what a language is and what it entails. At its core, language is something that can capture deeply complex concepts—both external and internal—and transform them into words with specific meanings that can be shared with others. Therefore, it entails both an internal component, in which the brain must link specific concepts to words and structures of the language, and an external component, in which these words and concepts must be translated into structures that can be broadcast to other individuals. These broadcasts can primarily be via sound, visuals, or touch, but in principle, any channel capable of encoding information should work in order to create structured signals in the form of a language.

There is no clear agreement on how old human languages are. Some argue that they started emerging about 100,000 years ago, while others argue for an even earlier origin. Nevertheless, however they came to be, languages are an integral part of being human, shaping both how our brains function and how we understand and influence the world and ourselves.

Some examples illustrate how wired we are to shape our brains for learning a language. The clearest natural experiment demonstrating the spontaneous learning and generation of languages is that of Nicaraguan Sign Language.

In the 1980s, for the first time in Nicaragua, a school for deaf children was created, bringing together children from all over the country to live and learn in one place. Before this initiative, there was no institutionalised system to teach deaf children how to communicate. As a result, at the time of their arrival, these children’s vocabulary was limited to a few hand gestures used within their families or communities of origin, often in the form of idiolects or cryptophasia (“private languages” usually spoken by one person or between twins).

Compounding this initial lack of complex communication, the teachers at the new school aimed to teach the children lip-reading and Spanish through that method. They discouraged the use of any sign language, believing that the children would put less effort into learning to lip-read. However, lip-reading had very limited success—the children were unable to communicate with their teachers.

Despite this, communication flourished outside the classroom among the children themselves. In the courtyard and throughout their daily activities, they combined the hand gestures and signs from their respective communities and created new ones. This process of creation, sharing, and accumulation spontaneously generated a new language, which rapidly evolved into more complex structures, giving rise to grammar and a more elaborate vocabulary. This increase in complexity and fluency was particularly evident among younger generations of students, who picked up the signs from older peers and refined them with intricate flourishes and added layers of meaning.

This entire process was documented by sign language experts, who were called by the teachers after noticing that the children could communicate fluently with one another but remained incomprehensible to the teachers. Initially, these experts also struggled to understand the children, but by filming them, analysing the footage, and interacting with them using the learned hand gestures, they gradually acquired the language. Most interestingly, over the years, they recorded the cumulative process of increasing complexity, allowing us to witness how the language evolved and standardised rapidly.

Notably, the children were already familiar with a small subset of home signs. However, this is not so different from the basic signs shared by social animals or those we can teach our pets. For example, when I was living in Mallorca, I was responsible for a dog named Gordon. I could tell him “sit,” and he would sit; “down,” and he would lie down; “up,” and he would stand on his hind legs; “la pateta,” and he would sit and give me his left paw. Even more complex instructions, like “We are going for a walk, but first, we need to go to the basement,” were followed correctly—Gordon would go straight to the basement instead of heading directly outside. Not only that, but he also communicated with me: for instance, he would touch his water bowl to indicate it was empty or stand patiently by the courtyard door when he wanted me to open it. Through these examples, one might say that he and I shared basic communication and understanding, but no one would, in their wildest dreams, call that a language. Nor would a language ever emerge from these exchanges. This became especially clear when I said more complex things, like “Could you go to the cupboard, open the door, and bring me a kilogram of rice, please?” or “Do not bark at the neighbour’s dogs!” Gordon could open doors, so that part wasn’t a problem, but the rest was beyond his capabilities.

The case of Nicaraguan Sign Language is particularly important because it demonstrates the evolutionary nature of language within a short time frame and its ability to keep expanding—something that does not occur in any other non-human animal. To be fair, dogs can be trained in more complex ways than my simple set of commands (and one particular, named Chaser, learned can more than 1000 words!), and other animals, such as dolphins, elephants, circus animals, horses, buffaloes, parrots, pigeons, and crows, can learn to respond to basic commands from their human carers. Bonobos, in particular, can learn up to hundreds of hand gestures to communicate basic information with their trainers, and similarly, dolphins can understand basic sentence order. However, this is the maximum extent of their communication; it does not go any further. Nor do animals copy human language to communicate among themselves in more complex ways—not even parrots, which can mimic hundreds of human sounds, spontaneously start using them to communicate with each other. Humans, on the other hand, have the unique capacity to transform simple signals into an elaborate and constantly evolving set of communication codifications.

The connection between language and the brain is deeply rooted in humans, with both being intricately linked, as seen in the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis. Language shapes the brain, and the brain, in turn, shapes language. The latter is evidenced by the fact that certain sounds seem to be more naturally associated with certain concepts—for instance, sharp objects are commonly linked to words with sharper sounds, while round objects tend to be described using softer pronunciations across multiple languages. Language is integral to memory, abstract thinking, and, fascinatingly, self-awareness. Language has been shown to drive much of the brain’s core “hardware”. Languages shape brains to such an extent that, most of the time, we think in a language—or in multiple languages if we are multilingual.

For those who are born deaf, rather than relying on an “inner voice” as spoken-language users do, their thought processes are shaped by visual sign thinking or the sensation of body gestures. Interestingly, deafness has a significantly greater impact on the brain than blindness. People born completely deaf and who never learn sign language fare only slightly better than the rare individuals who grow up without any language exposure. Without language, they fail to develop an “inner voice”, which is crucial for the brain’s ability to process information. This is especially significant in early childhood. Those who are not taught sign language until later in life often have learning problems throughout their lives. It seems that the brain processes sign language exactly as it does spoken language, using the exact same regions.

Communication - Culture <- Previous Next -> Forms of communication

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Collaboration

Another important behaviour that humans share with many animals is socialisation and collaborative action. This is observed across a wide range of species, including not just animals but also organisms from other biological kingdoms. There are many examples of this collaborative behaviour.

Cetaceans (whales, killer whales, porpoises, and dolphins) engage in social collaboration to achieve common goals, such as developing feeding strategies and defending against aggressors. A species that is particularly close to us in terms of social behaviour is the wolf. Wolves form small packs of up to forty individuals, working together for survival. Their domesticated relatives, dogs, are also highly social animals capable of interacting with many other species, especially humans, to a remarkably sophisticated degree. This is exemplified by cases where humans have been effectively adopted by dogs, such as in the myth of Romulus and Remus—the legendary founders of Rome—or in more recent historical accounts like that of Marcos Rodríguez Pantoja. Marcos lived among wolves for 11 years after his father sold him to a landowner who entrusted him to a goat-keeper, who later died. Marcos recounted:

“One day I went into a wolf den to play with some puppies that lived there and fell asleep. When I woke up, the wolf mother was cutting deer meat for her puppies. I tried to take a piece from her because I was also hungry, and she swiped at me. When she finished feeding her puppies, she looked at me and threw me a piece of meat. I didn’t want to touch it because I thought she was going to attack me, but she kept bringing it closer with her snout. I picked it up, ate it, and then she came up to me. I thought she was going to bite me, but instead, she stuck out her tongue and started licking me. After that, I was already part of the family. We went everywhere together.”

Marcos also recalled that after reuniting with his father, his father simply asked him for the old jacket he had left behind.

If we extend the concept of collaboration further to include infrastructure, we see that insects and arachnids also exhibit highly cooperative behavior, forming vast colonies. However, these types of social structures are not exclusive to invertebrates; similar cooperative infrastructure-building can be observed in birds, beavers, and many mammals that create dens. In the case of insects, some colonies function almost as single superorganisms, with specialized individuals performing specific tasks or switching between roles as needed. Other social animals, such as meerkats, also have fluctuating specialized roles within their groups, such as caring for the young or standing guard to raise alarms against predators.

For social arachnids, as well as some bird species and most den-dwelling animals, collaboration seems to be primarily focused on building communal nesting or feeding structures. However, outside of these specific activities, they tend to act as individuals.

On the looser end of social structures, we find schools of fish and herds of various land animals. These groups function as dynamic, collective entities where decisions about feeding, protection, and movement are made communally.

Expanding the concept of socialization even further, we can consider co-dependent ecosystems. In such ecosystems, plants and animals—or even plants with other plants, bacteria, and fungi—are so interdependent that they cannot be considered separate entities. Biologists refer to these relationships as symbiotic or, in cases where one organism is significantly larger than the others, as holobionts. A common example of a holobiont is the relationship between a human and their gut bacteria, whereas an example of symbiosis is lichen, which is formed by the mutualistic association between fungi and algae.

The scale of communication and collaboration in most living organisms is usually limited. For example, some ant species form supercolonies containing trillions of individuals, such as the Argentinian fire ant supercolony (Linepithema humile). These supercolonies cooperate with genetically related colonies while competing with unrelated ones, allowing them to dominate newly colonized lands by leveraging globalization. However, despite their vast numbers, their communication networks remain limited to neighboring colonies and do not extend much further.

In contrast, human collaboration is, in principle, boundless. Even in the Palaeolithic era, commercial networks facilitated the exchange of materials over vast distances—hundreds or even thousands of kilometers— with materials transported almost 200kms at least as early as 45,000 years ago. This scale of mobility far exceeded that of individual bands and their immediate neighbours. No other species exhibits such an extensive range of cooperative behaviour.

Even among our closest extinct relatives, there is uncertainty regarding the extent of their social networks. Recent genetic research has shown that a group of Neanderthals remained genetically isolated from neighboring groups—less than a ten-day walk away—for more than 50,000 years. However, this genetic isolation is not unique to Neanderthals. Studies suggest that modern humans, too, have lived in genetic isolation from neighboring communities for tens of thousands of years. For instance, the ancestors of African Pygmy foragers are believed to have diverged from other human populations around 60,000 years ago, though they intermixed more recently in several occasions.

Intelligence <- Previous Next -> Communication

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