How Humankind Conquered the World
Long ago, there were more than
half a dozen species of human. Only Homo sapiens survived and thrived,
transforming the face of the planet along the way.
By Charles C. Mann in the Wall Street Journal
Humans beings developed language, anthropologists tell us, tens of
thousands of years ago. Presumably the first spoken utterance was something
practical, like “Lions are attacking!” or “Your hair is on fire!” But not long
after came, “Who are we and how did we get here?” Homo sapiens, that congeries
of narcissists, has been contemplating its journey ever since.
Religion provided early versions of
the human story: Zoroastrian sacred texts, the Book of Genesis, the Popul Vuh.
These are immensely satisfying on an emotional level; they sweep past trifling
details to reveal all-encompassing themes. Secular histories couldn’t provide
equally grand visions until the 19th century, when chroniclers began drawing on
scientific knowledge. A landmark was Alexander von Humboldt ’s five-volume
“Cosmos” (1845-62), which described the human story as enfolded within
universal physical processes. Despite its length and inaccessibility, “Cosmos”
was wildly popular and inspirational—Whitman supposedly kept a copy on his desk
while he wrote “Leaves of Grass.” H.G. Wells ’s “Outline of History” (1918)
predicted the collapse of European empires, and the 12 volumes of Arnold
Toynbee ’s “Study of History” (1934-61) followed von Humboldt in size,
popularity and unreadability. Most recently, David Christian ’s “Maps of Time”
(2004), an amazing work that begins with the Big Bang, inspired Bill
Gates ’s crusade to revamp the U.S. history curriculum.
Yuval Noah Harari’s “Sapiens,” the
most recent crack at what Mr. Christian calls Big History, has already been
translated into more than 20 languages and been presented, via online courses,
to thousands of mind-blown students. (It was originally written in Hebrew; Mr.
Harari, who teaches at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, did the very
idiomatic translation.) Children often still learn history as a tedious parade
of names and dates. “Sapiens” is the antimatter version of this kind of
history, all sparkling conceptual schemas and ironic apothegms, with hardly a
Henry or Louis or Philip in view.
The book’s title is Mr. Harari’s
reminder that, long ago, the world held half a dozen species of human, of which
only Homo sapiens—thee and me—today survives. The trajectory of our species,
Mr. Harari says, can be traced as a succession of three revolutions: the
cognitive revolution (when we got smart), the agricultural revolution (when we
got nature to do what we wanted), and the scientific revolution (when we got
dangerously powerful). Humanity, Mr. Harari predicts, will see one more epochal
event. We will vanish within a few centuries, either because we’ve gained such
godlike powers as to become unrecognizable or because we’ve destroyed ourselves
through environmental mismanagement.
Homo sapiens came into existence
more than 200,000 years ago. The term “cognitive revolution” reflects the
belief, held by many anthropologists, that for most of that time the species
was just a group of insignificant foraging bands wandering about east Africa.
Then, Mr. Harari says, “beginning about 70,000 years ago, Homo sapiens started
doing very special things.” In this “Great Leap Forward,” as Jared Diamond has
called it, our ancestors suddenly overcame their inertia and moved out of
Africa, meanwhile inventing boats, battle axes and beautiful art. What
happened? Mr. Harari suggests that a yet-undiscovered “Tree of Knowledge
mutation” altered the “inner wiring” of our brains, allowing us “to communicate
using an altogether new type of language,” one that allowed humans to cooperate
in groups. Mutation in place, humankind exploded across the planet.
Sounds plausible, unless you know
something about the subject. In 2000, Sally McBrearty of the University of
Connecticut and Alison Brooks of George Washington University attacked the idea
of a sudden cognitive revolution. In a now-classic paper, the authors contended
that evidence for increased human capacities had been found in sites tens of
thousands of years earlier, but wrongly dismissed. Rather than occurring all at
once, as one would expect in a “revolution,” the new behaviors turned up in
places “separated by sometimes great geographical and temporal distances.” The
McBrearty-Brooks article helped give rise to a scholarly dispute that continues
to this day. If language developed millennia before our species left Africa,
something else must have unleashed humankind. One theory involves Toba, a
super-volcano in Sumatra that erupted about 70,000 years ago, plunging Earth
into a years-long winter that may have cleared the way for humankind’s
expansion. But the evidence for this is just as shaky as the evidence for a
cognitive revolution.
Nobody can be an expert about
everything, and it’s not exactly surprising that Mr. Harari’s sweeping
summations are studded with errors—there are always fleas on the lion, as a
teacher of mine once told me. The question is whether there is a lion under the
fleas. “Sapiens” is learned, thought-provoking and crisply written. It has
plenty of confidence and swagger. But some of its fleas are awfully big.
Consider its take on the agricultural revolution, about which much more is
known. First in the Fertile Crescent, then in a half-dozen other places, people
discovered that they could convert natural ecosystems, with their jumble of
often useless species, into farms: disciplined biological systems whose fruits
can be captured by humankind. Agriculture transformed humanity’s relationship
to nature, giving us dominion. Thanks to agriculture, ecologists say, we now
suck up half or more of the primary productivity of the planet.
Bad idea, Mr. Harari says.
Agriculture increased the amount of available food, yet the result of
prosperity was not happiness but “population explosions and pampered elites.”
Farmers worked harder than foragers and had a worse diet and poorer health. The
surplus went to the privileged few, who used it to oppress. “The Agricultural
Revolution,” Mr. Harari says, “was history’s biggest fraud.”
Really? Always and everywhere? Were
the Iroquois, who farmed, so much worse off than the foraging Abitibis and
Témiscamingues to their north? Discussing the long dispute among
anthropologists about whether the earliest hunter-gatherers lived in “peaceful paradises”
or were “exceptionally cruel and violent,” Mr. Harari maintains that the
question can’t be answered, because the meager data from archaeology and
anthropology aren’t enough to pierce “the curtain of silence” that enshrouds
our remotest ancestors. Surely the same logic applies to comparing their
well-being to that of the earliest farmers.
Mr. Harari is quite correct, though,
about the import of surpluses. Because farmers can reap much more food from an
acre of land than foragers, agriculture made possible societies of thousands or
millions, as permanent settlements grew. Unfortunately, nothing in farming
tells a species that evolved in small, constantly moving, interrelated bands
how to live in big, fixed, impersonal cities and states. Charging in to the
rescue, Mr. Harari says, was our capacity for language, which allowed us to
invent “common myths” or “fictions.” The three most important were money,
religion and empire—all of which united people across continents.
“Fictions” is an unfortunate word;
ideas and institutions, which is what Mr. Harari seems to mean, have a complex
ontological status. Still, the author’s portrayal of how these unifiers worked
across space and time is fascinating. By the 15th century, they helped turn
Homo sapiens into, in effect, a single, planet-wide superorganism, needing only
Columbus and his successors to integrate the eastern and western hemispheres.
Columbus’s contact with the New
World, according to “Sapiens,” was a turning point, “the foundational event of
the Scientific Revolution.” The unveiling of continents unknown to the ancients
“not only taught Europeans to favor present observations over past traditions,
but the desire to conquer America also obliged Europeans to search for new
knowledge at breakneck speed.” Europe’s explorer-conquerors, Mr. Harari says,
were something new. “The Romans, Mongols, and Aztecs voraciously conquered new
lands in search of power and wealth—not of knowledge. In contrast, European
imperialists set out to distant shores in the hope of obtaining new knowledge
along with new territories.”
Mr. Harari’s claim that Columbus
ignited the scientific revolution is surprising. Most contemporary historians
believe that the rise of modern science was so gradual that the term
“revolution” is problematic. The first nine words of “The Scientific
Revolution” (1996), by Steven Shapin, the distinguished Harvard historian of
science, are: “There was no such thing as the Scientific Revolution.” Mr.
Shapin and other researchers don’t deny the power of modern science. But it did
not originate in a rejection of “past traditions,” argues the University of
Queensland historian Peter Harrison, author of “The Bible, Protestantism, and
the Rise of Natural Science” (1998).
Instead, the grand vision of using
the scientific method to gain mastery over the physical world arose from the
long-standing Christian vision—dating back at least to St. Augustine in the
fourth century—of nature as the second book through which God made himself
known to humanity (the first was the Bible). Galileo justified science as an
attempt to know the mind of God through his handiwork. By looking “thro’
Nature, up to Nature’s God,” Alexander Pope wrote in 1734, humanity can
understand that the “Chain which links th’ immense design, / Joins heav’n and
earth, and mortal and divine.”
Mr. Harari provides no source for
his assertions about Columbus’s influence on science. Equally odd are his
claims that Europeans were “exceptional [for] their unparalleled and insatiable
ambition to explore and conquer. . . . The Chinese never attempted to conquer
Indonesia or Africa. Most Chinese rulers left even nearby Japan to its own
devices.” True, but most English kings didn’t attack France, and in fact the
Yuan dynasty invaded Indonesia in 1293, and the Ming dynasty established
colonies and puppet states there in the 14th and 15th centuries. Between 1405
and 1433, the Chinese admiral Zheng He set off on seven great voyages—at least
three as far as Africa—staffed with savants who described the lands and societies
they encountered.
Finally, contra Mr. Harari, the
supposed lack of interest by “Romans, Mongols, and Aztecs” in new knowledge
would have surprised Pliny the Elder, who wrote his encyclopedic “Naturalis
Historiae” in imperial Rome, just as much as it would have surprised the
Mongols, who promoted the study of medicine and astronomy and created thousands
of schools in conquered lands. Aztec science remains little known because
Europeans burned almost all pre-conquest indigenous literature. So much for “obtaining
new knowledge”!
Where are all these revolutions
taking us? “The leading project of the Scientific Revolution is to give
humankind eternal life,” Mr. Harari says. I suspect that this attribution of
motive would have startled Newton and Einstein; Francis Crick, the
co-discoverer of DNA, described himself in his autobiography as wanting to find
out what life is—quite a different subject. But it is nonetheless true
that the collective achievements of science and medicine have greatly increased
the human lifespan. People are eating as never before, being cured of disease
as never before, and dying from war less than ever before.
Intriguingly, Mr. Harari is
ambivalent about this species-wide increase in well-being. “Unfortunately,” he
says, “the Sapiens regime on earth has so far produced little that we can be
proud of.” Personally, I’d say that Beethoven ’s symphonies, the Kokedera moss
garden in Kyoto, the Great Mosque of Djenné, classical Greek drama and the
theory of quantum electrodynamics ain’t beanbag. But Mr. Harari is arguing on
another, more ineffable level: Better living, he says, has not made us more
content. Citing recent research in psychology, he avers that happiness “depends
on the correlation between objective conditions and subjective expectations.”
Because we moderns expect more, we
aren’t satisfied by material conditions and objects that would have overjoyed
our grandparents. “Our intolerance of inconvenience and discomfort” is now so
ingrained, he thinks, that “we may well suffer from pain more than our
ancestors ever did.” Worse still, modernity has brought about the collapse of
the family—“the most momentous social revolution that ever befell
humankind”—and terminated the consolations of religion. If people in medieval
times “believed the promise of everlasting bliss in the afterlife,” Mr. Harari
suggests, “they may well have viewed their lives as far more meaningful and
worthwhile than modern secular people, who in the long term can expect nothing
but complete and meaningless oblivion.”
What one makes of this argument will
depend on personal experience. The 19th century is replete with tales of men
and women left prostrate by untimely death. Both Darwin and his great
antagonist Bishop Wilberforce were devastated by the loss of children to
disease. Meanwhile, here in the 21st century, contemporary technology prevented
my child’s death (from a bone infection), as it has millions of other children.
If the cost of my daughter’s survival is some bouts of anomie, I’ll cheerfully
pay up.
Regardless of the drawbacks, the
human project will march on. Having remade the Earth, Mr. Harari says, we will
remake ourselves. Within decades we will see a radical amplification of human
abilities, whether by direct mental connection to the Internet, the adoption of
cyborg technology, the manipulation of the human genome, or all three.
Eventually we will change so much that Homo sapiens will effectively cease to
exist. Our descendants may become incomprehensible to us. The only thing
stopping this picture, in Mr. Harari’s view, is the possibility of
environmental catastrophe, which also may wipe out our species.
There’s a whiff of dorm-room bull
sessions about the author’s stimulating but often unsourced assertions. Or
perhaps I should use a more contemporary simile: “Sapiens” reminded me
occasionally of a discussions on Reddit, where users sound off about supposed
iron laws of history. This book is what these Reddit threads would be like if
they were written not by adolescent autodidacts but by learned academics with
impish senses of humor. As I write, my daughter is glumly making flashcards
full of names and dates for an AP Euro exam. I bet she wishes she had a
textbook like “Sapiens.” Me? I’m not so sure. I like the book’s verve and pop
but wish it didn’t have all those fleas.
—Mr. Mann is the author, most recently, of “1493: Uncovering
the New World Columbus Created.”
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