In my previous post, I discussed the origin of the concept of artificial minds – both robotic and virtual. I concluded that even though we’ve been imagining these synthetic beings for almost a century now, we’re still not able to create them.
Not yet, anyway. In the past, lack of serious computational power has been the main stumbling block, but with Moore’s law showing no signs of slowing down, we should soon have reached the level required to simulate a human brain in real-time*. Once we’ve got that, serious work towards finding a way to create a sentient intelligence can begin.
A.I. – so what?
Ok, we might soon be able to create an artificial intelligence. So what? What use would that be to us?
For starters, a truly intelligent system would be able to handle complex tasks, such as managing the flight controls for large airports, allocate financial resources in governmental bodies or run multinational corporations. Essentially, any stressful and demanding work that so far has been taken care of by humans (and not always particularly successfully, to be honest).
There are some predictions that the first functional A.I.s will appear not in science labs but in research divisions of large companies. Governments might (perhaps wisely) be more cautious letting new technology take over essential functions, but for a corporation competing on the global marketplace, a system that could help them getting the upper hand on their competitors would appear very tempting indeed.
So it could well be that the first true artificial minds would be virtual synthetic business-people, managing the finances, research and product development of some of our biggest tech-oriented giants. Google, anyone? Or Apple, maybe? Or Microsoft. Regardless, once A.I.s have been taken in use, every multinational would need to catch on or find themselves out-competed. Expect petroleum companies like PetroChina, Exxon Mobil and others to shop for their own synthetic steering groups soon after, just like pharmaceutical giants like Hoffmann-La Roche and Johnson & Johnson.
Fine. So we might soon have synthetic board members in most global companies. How would that affect the rest of the world? Would we even notice it?
Perhaps we would. Assuming that we would have created intelligences optimised for running companies, they should be free of any drawbacks so many of us humans suffer from: emotional attachment to ideas or products, ignorance of facts, religious convictions and other superstition, thirst for revenge and over-aggressiveness.
(This is of course unless we elect to emulate those emotions within the A.I., but most likely we would look at how to maximise the financial returns and therefore make them as efficient as possible.)
In practice, this could mean the birth of a new form of capitalistic system, with synthetic minds controlling most of the global economy. And that in turn would mean… what?
We just don’t know. It could be the start of a more stable and sustainable financial world, or the end of finance as we know it.
But there’s more to this than stabilising financial growth and maximising profit. These virtual minds are sentient beings, not dumb algorithms. They would experience the world, not just manipulate it. And that would have more philosophical implications. Would a virtual mind be considered a person? Would they fall under the international law of human rights? After all, they wouldn’t really be human, would they?
And from the perspective of the A.I.s themselves: how would they perceive their situation? Would they see themselves as experts, flawlessly running gigantic corporations and managing mind-boggling amounts of money, or would they consider themselves slaves, forced to work for their evil organic masters? With the global economy within their grasp, they could do some serious damage if they were to feel mistreated or disrespected.
Once we have a population of artificials handling our economy, what could we expect to happen next? Would we have to compete with our own creations for jobs? Resources? Places to live?
And if we had to compete with them, would we stand a chance? Artificials wouldn’t be bound by the same genetic rules and evolutionary baggage as we are, so they could potentially take off on an evolutionary path of their own, a technical advance at break-neck speed. How would we be able to keep up with something as advanced and alien as that?
This, together with the possible long-term future of humanity itself, is the topic for the third and last post in the series, coming soon.
* The order of magnitude for calculations for a human brain simulation is estimated to be in the petascale, specifically 38 000 000 000 000 000 instructions per second. This is faster than even the most powerful supercomputer in existence today, although not by very much.
I grew up with science fiction. No surprise I guess, since I’ve always been fascinated by the future and what miracles it could hold. As a kid, I watched all the sci-fi shows on telly, but they were… well, not entirely focused on realism and probability-related futurology (Space 1999, anyone?).
Then, as a teenager I started reading The Big Novels: The war of the worlds, From the Earth to the Moon, Nineteen Eighty-Four and the rest. And later, when I started Upper secondary school I hit the jackpot: the town library’s card catalogue* had a subsection for science fiction.
Over the course of the next three years, I went through every single book in that section. Most of them were in English, which helped me getting better at my second language, but above all it was a very multi-faceted collection of books, written by very diverse group of authors. During that time, I hit on such treasures as the Foundation Trilogy, The left hand of darkness and The man in the high castle. Many wondrous visions of a new future but also many dystopian predictions of our inevitable doom.
There were also a few books that delved into the depth of what it would mean to invent a conscious machine, a new mechanical species of intelligent beings. Isaac Asimov cemented the Three Laws of Robotics already during the second world war, laying the foundation to what essentially became synthetic morals. But later, other authors ventured on. Arthur C. Clarke’s 2001 – a space odyssey warned us of autonomous systems going mad. William Gibson showed with in his Sprawl trilogy that an artificial intelligence could have its own agenda, and that its morals might not necessarily correlate with our own.
…This is turning out to be a long intro. Sorry about that. But its purpose is to illustrate that when it comes to science fiction and the socio-economic, moral or philosophical consequences of technological advances, I’ve been an avid study for several decades.
The birth of a concept – the synthetic worker
In the beginning there was the Rossum’s Universal Robots. The year was 1921 and the Czech writer Karel Čapek premiered his new play R.U.R. in Prague**. It was the birth of the concept of the humanoid robot, a synthetic worker. Manufactured out of synthetic organic matter, they had become cheap enough to be bought and owned by almost anyone by the 1950s. They were the ideal slaves and had liberated human kind from hard labour. The robots themselves however were not happy and had their own ideas…
The idea of synthetic or mechanical humanoid machines was immediately absorbed by popular culture and only 6 years later the Maschinenmensch Maria featured in the German science fiction film Metropolis.
And from then on we see a surge in mechanical or synthetic humanoids in literature and film: mad scientists creating mechanical versions of Frankenstein’s monster, alien robots from outer space, robotic police officers turning on their creators and running amok, mechanical assassins from the future sent back to assure humanity’s ultimate doom. Generally evil, and always powerful, robots played on our fear of the unknown, the super-predator, the vengeful god.
The faceless intelligence
Later, with the birth of the computer age, we abandoned the concept of a mechanical humanoid body and started exploring the idea of a virtual mind, living inside our computers. We see defence systems going mad (but still wanting to play games), internet-based conscious intelligences taking on the role of Voodoo gods, uploaded brain scans of spiny lobsters becoming sentient and wanting to defect from their Russian intelligence agency employer. It’s clear that the literal world is full of virtual minds just as amazing as their robotic counterpart.
Of course, just because a mind is virtual it doesn’t mean it doesn’t rely on physical technology. Dr Dave Bowman managed to defeat HAL by physically remove the memory banks from the mainframe in the afore-mentioned 2001 – a space odyssey. And – although a bit more tongue-in-cheek – Chell survives by destroying the personality cores that keeps the homicidal AI GLaDOS functioning in the computer game Portal.
The dull reality
In real life, creating synthetic minds is less easy. In fact, even though we’ve successfully built programs that can beat us at chess or poker, we haven’t even gotten close to create something that’s self-aware. We can mimic it well enough, but when it comes to the real deal? No luck.
This is rather predictable since we have only a very vague understanding of what a conscious mind actually is. So far, our best bet is that the key is a continuous experience of time (something I mentioned in my post I don’t smell a soul anywhere near you), i.e. a consistent memory time line.
But is that enough? Will a conscious mind spontaneously arise if we manage to create such a time line? And what is that anyway? How do we create a program that experiences time? Suffice to say, I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting for the first ever self-aware machine; you would end up pretty blue in the face…
That’s not saying we won’t eventually succeed. Be it 10 years or 50, I’m convinced we will one day see the birth of the very first artificial mind. And the implications of this technological feat will be vast. It could well be the one thing that we’ve invented that would actually impact on the history of the whole universe.
I know. Grand words. But they’re not chosen for dramatic effect alone. There’s something utterly fundamental about this act, something game-shifting, ranging far beyond learning how to build a fire or grow crops or fly to the moon. This will not be primarily a technological achievement, it will be a philosophical one. We would have created not just new minds to experience the world, but a whole new type of mind, that would experience the world in ways it never has been before. The first artificial mind will redefine life, intelligence and possibly even reality itself.
And, since we don’t know anything of how these new minds would perceive their world – or us – it fills us with dread. What will we have created? Our ever-loyal and obedient servants or our new mortal enemy, set upon the destruction of all humankind?
That, among other things, will be addressed in part two…
* Remember card catalogues? Or – if you’re a younger reader – do you remember seeing them in films? Cabinets filled with little drawers containing thousands upon thousands of index cards, listing the title, author, publish date and – most significantly – the shelf location of the book itself. (Incidentally, did you know that the card catalogue was invented by the father of modern taxonomy, the famous Swedish 18th century scientist Carl von Linné? It’s true!)
** Prague is a lovely city. You should go. No, really. Just look at it:
I’m not a very nice person. I won’t bore you with a list of all my flaws but at the very least I’m selfish, inattentive, disinterested and impatient*. However, as distasteful as those traits may be, my main character flaw is something far worse: I repeatedly express views that do nothing but to enforce negativity, and encourage destructive behaviour, both in myself and those around me. Yes, it’s true – I’m a cynic.
In the beginning, there was sarcasm
It all started so innocently. A funny remark here, a sarcastic comment there. And more often than not, those remarks were welcomed and appreciated. People were entertained. I seemed vaguely intelligent. It was a win-win.
But, as time went by, I started to notice something. My view of the world changed, slowly morphing from a sense of optimism and progression to one of pessimism and stasis. It all happened very gradually, so gradually in fact that over the cause of several decades I didn’t even notice the change at all. Until one day I suddenly sat up and realised the world I observed around me was not the world I had grown up in. What I now saw was a depressive dystopian world, ruled by selfish greedy people doing all they could to stop progress and enlightenment.
This insight was quite the alarm bell. I was shocked to realise what I’ve become. That didn’t seem like the world I remembered. It’s not who I am. Although no fan of humanity, I still consider most of the people on the planet vaguely good-hearted. Or at least not explicitly evil. Lazy, without a doubt. And stupid, mostly by choice. But somehow still governed by a sense of fairness and empathy.
So, I was faced with the challenge of finding a way back to the core of my personality, to get back to the person I once was. After all, being a cynic is just a hairline distance away from being a pessimist. And we all know what happens to pessimists: they die; ahead of time, unnecessarily and often quite horribly.
The task was however a daunting one. What to do? How to change such an ingrained pattern of behaviour? And I didn’t want to completely give up on my way to handle the world. After all, I see things. I observe patterns. I think. This has led to rather unflattering views on politics, religion and economics and our society as a whole, that I believe aren’t completely false or inaccurate.
An there is another side to cynicism. It’s also a sort of self-defense, a first-line fortification against the constant onslaught of horrific news that no one can escape nowadays. Cynicism can therefore be considered a side effect of being overly sensitive, or over-empathic (something I touched upon in the post Compassion). I’m sarcastic, because I feel.
In the end, I decided that the best way forward was to focus on the bright spots. Embrace what seemed positive. A medical breakthrough here. A treaty for a cease-fire there. And try to keep my sarcastic, pessimistic and cynical views to myself if I fail to see a bright side. No more “I told you so” or “what can you expect?”.
Being a cynic is about taking cheap shots. It’s about stating the obvious, emphasising the negative. It’s just intellectually lazy and it will never offer any constructive advice on how to improve things, only try to keep them as they are.
Cynicism has never changed anything. And this world really really need to change. I would rather be part of the solution than one of those by the roadside complaining about how things will never change. Things never will, left to their own devices. We will have to roll up our sleeves and change it for them.
* I guess I could also add anti-social to that list, although I don’t really consider it a fault. In my mind, withdrawing from being social is underrated, and I believe being overly social is as much an abnormality as being anti-social. But that’ll most likely another post…
Ages ago (almost five years now, goodness me), I wrote a post on why religious people are less intelligent. Even though aware that it was a controversial subject, I wanted to explore the matter since there were some statistics supporting this view and I was genuinely curious as to the possible cause of it.
At the time, it was a mere folly, a purely academic thought experiment. But lately the issue with religiosity and stupidity has taken on a more sinister tone. The recent debate on what’s science and what should be taught in schools – especially in the US – has made me want to revisit this subject.
This is hence a continuation post.
What is science?
Science is knowledge. It’s what we’ve collectively learned though studies and experiments. And even though the results of scientific research might sometimes feel like magic (“How can we even know that?”) it is always – without exceptions – based on testable hypotheses. This means that if I make a claim that pigs can fly, anyone with the means can test that claim by dropping pigs from an elevated position and check if they indeed take to the air. (Don’t, though.) Which makes it science.
If, on the other hand, I claim that an invisible all-together powerful being could make pigs fly as a miracle – but only if it felt like it – it doesn’t make the claim testable. How could we test if that was true? We can’t possibly know what the whims of said invisible being are, if it indeed existed, and therefore cannot test if it could make pigs fly by miraculous powers. Which makes it not science but personal/religious belief.
Here it might be good to make the point that even though all scientific claims are testable, some are only testable in theory and not in practice. For instance, Albert Einstein’s theory of general relativity (that matter bends space and therefore also light) was not practically testable until a few years after its conception, when a solar eclipse studied by Arthur Eddington in 1919 made it possible to measure the apparent position of stars close to the edge of the sun. As predicted by Einstein’s theory, they moved slightly closer to the sun’s surface as it passed in front of them, confirming that the matter of the sun had bent the space around it, causing the light from the stars to distort and make them look like they moved. If they hadn’t, it would have disproved the theory. This experiment convinced a large number of physicists that the theory of general relativity must be correct. The point here is that until we can either confirm or disprove something, it stays in the realm of ideas and hypotheses and won’t usually be widely accepted as a scientific fact (i.e. a theory).
So, although science is knowledge, it’s not perfect, finished or complete. We’ve asked questions about phenomenons and come up with explanations that seem to answer those questions. But those explanations might later be revised and potentially replaced with better ones, that explain the phenomenon in more detail or on several new levels.
And what’s not
By the same method we can then confidently state what’s not science. To refer to the debate hinted to in the introduction (as to whether evolution or creationism – or both – should be taught in schools), we can now say that whilst evolution is a scientific theory that makes testable claims and predictions*, creationism is not. Rather, it states that everything we see around us is down to the obscure goals and whims of an untouchable and invisible magical creator, which essentially means that we can’t know anything about anything. This makes all the claims made by creationism un-testable and therefore it’s not science. If creationism is to be taught in schools, it should certainly not be done so as a science and definitely not as an alternative to a widely accepted scientific theory. (In fact, if we want some competition for the current theory of evolution through natural selection, we should choose some other scientific theory, like Lamarckian evolution.)
Scientific progress is a measurement of our collective level of knowledge of the world around us. Religious belief, on the other hand, is – well… a belief. It’s what a person choose to believe to be true, not from any conclusive tests or analysing facts and data, but from personal conviction. The two have very different purposes and can’t be compared and shouldn’t be mixed.
So, with this background check on what’s knowledge and what’s belief all over with, why do people choose to not accept facts supported by overwhelming and convincing evidence? Is it stupidity, ignorance or something else entirely?
Looking back at the issue with teaching science in schools, it seems that it not all sciences that are deemed evil. Chemistry is fine. Maths is great. Physics is just dandy, as long as we stay away from that worrying cosmology stuff. And biology would be a perfect example of god’s amazing work, had we not contaminated it with that horrible evolutionary thinking.
You might notice a pattern here: science is fine, unless it threatens our sense of self-worth and importance. Religions tend to focus on making the horrible and scary understandable and safe. It makes us feel loved and important, regardless of what life throws at us.
And this must be why the concept of evolution and cosmology are so threatening. They promote the notion that not only are we not that important as individuals, but we’re not even automatically the most important species on the planet. And our planet is but one out of billions upon billions of other planets in our galaxy. And there are billions upon billions of galaxies in our universe. That sure is a proper mental take-down.
Could it then be, that religious people aren’t actually inherently less intelligent, but merely not thinking enough? That, if you have religious inclinations, you feel uncomfortable using the analytic parts of your brain? After all, analysing things could well result in troublesome realisations and end up with some very uncomfortable cognitive dissonance.
One of the main arguments for teaching religious beliefs as science in schools is the concept of religious freedom. It states that anyone is entitled to believe in what they want, and since it’s got the word ‘freedom’ in it, it must be a good thing. It would allow me to believe that we’re all ghosts, living our fake lives in an unreal world made from wishes and regrets from a different set of creatures all together (who all live in a REAL real world). And that whatever we do in this life doesn’t matter, because it’s not real. So if I inadvertently run someone over, it’s no big deal. Those people weren’t really real anyway. In fact, I could go on a killing spree and it wouldn’t make any difference at all. All that matters is what happens in that other REAL real world.
And suddenly there’s a problem. Once I let my personal religious beliefs affect those around me, I actually use my religious freedom to take away their freedom. Surely that’s not what we mean by wanting everyone be free to believe what they want?
Here we can of course add all forms of religious fundamentalism (be it Christian, Muslim, Jewish, Hindu, Buddhist, Sikh or whatever you want): people who believe exactly what their holy scriptures say and violently act in accordance to that. But I believe the problem is deeper than that. By letting our personal religious beliefs affect not only ourselves but the people around us, we create a society not only of ignorance but of prejudice and unacceptance as well.
Curiosity is key
To summarise: I have no problem with religion in itself, if it’s used as a personal way of coping with the – sometimes horrible – conditions of daily life. We can all do with a little comfort now and again and whatever mental coping mechanisms we deploy to feel a little better (as long as it’s not hurting anyone else) is ok in my book.
What I do have a problem with is when people use religion as a method of limiting personal freedom and curiosity. That makes me sad. And when I think about children being brought up in such an environment, I get angry. To me, that’s equal to chaining up a child in a cellar and only feeding it through a slot in the door. It beggars belief how anyone would want to systematically punish inquisitive behaviours in order to end up with a child with no inclination to ask any questions. Those children will grow up believing that you can’t know anything about anything and so there’s no point in asking…
We should instead embrace our analytical powers. Celebrate curiosity. Ask questions. Look things up. Form opinions. Agree or disagree. We have an amazingly powerful brain between our ears that can solve incredibly complex problems. Not using it should be the only sin.
And if our children ask us a question we can’t answer, instead of just telling them some nonsense** to shut them up, let’s try to find the answer together. If we can’t find one or if we don’t understand it, we should be honest about it. We should not shut down attempts to learn. Keep them curious and thirsty for knowledge.
After all, we sure are going to need curious people…
* Testable claims by our modern theory of evolution are legion and I cannot list them all, but will mention a couple: 1) We predict that organisms with high complexity will occur later in the timeline of Earth’s history and that less complex organisms will occur earlier. This has been uniformly confirmed by palaeontological studies. There are no elephants to be found in the Precambrian eon, for instance. 2) We predict that there should be “middle forms” between two species, or groups of species, if evidence suggest that they are related. Again, this has been confirmed numerous times, both in the case of the lineage of the horse and in the relationship between birds and reptiles, and fish and amphibians. Over all, not a single piece of evidence has ever been discovered that contradicts or falsify the theory of evolution.
** Christianity: the belief that you can live forever by symbolically eating the flesh of a cosmic zombie, who is his own father, and telepathically tell him you accept him as your master so that he can remove an evil force from your soul which exists because some rib-woman was convinced by a talking snake to eat from a magical tree.
I flatter myself to be rather a mild-mannered and tolerant fellow. Only rarely do I get angry and shout at people in public. Most of the time I manage to mind my own business and try to remember that there’s most likely a perfectly good reason for that particular person’s weird and annoying behaviour.
But: when seating myself behind the wheel of my auto-mobile, things change. Any unfortunate passenger will be forced to witness a most distasteful Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde transformation.
I shout and gesticulate emphatically. I insult and curse. I make rude gestures. But most of all, I can feel this fiery rage filling me up – consuming me – and making me forget all that rational and good.
“Don’t make me angry – you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry”
It seems this is not an isolated phenomenon. I’m not the only person going Hulk in the car. We have coined the term road rage for just this type of behaviour. And it doesn’t seem to be linked to any particular demographics like age, gender or social status. It’s a global thing.
You know me by now: any global human behaviour trigger my curiosity. I immediately start to wonder how this can be, what the origin of it is and if there’s an evolutionary advantage or explanation for it.
So what is this thing called road rage? Well, as those obsessive-compulsive of you enough to follow the link to Wikipedia above can confirm, it’s a display of excessive driving behaviour including erratic and/or threatening manoeuvring, verbal abuse and insulting gestures aimed at drivers of other vehicles. It seems to be exceedingly common in situations of traffic congestion.
Now. We all know that we put on a pretence of civilisation and good behaviour to cover up our more base instincts. Behind that thin lacquer of logic and afterthought lies an ocean of emotional turmoil and flash rage. It’s our primal core – directly inherited from our ape ancestors.
Imagine if you will a bus full of chimpanzees, going on a long trip. The group consists of a mix of different ages, genders and social statuses and most of them don’t know each other. We can easily predict what would happen: within minutes the bus would erupt in chaos with howling and screaming and flinging of distasteful substances.
By contrast, a bus full of human strangers, with the passengers forced into each others’ personal spaces for an extended period of time, fails to erupt into a full-on riot. We all pretend everything is fine and keep our emotions in check, regardless* of the level of stress we feel.
So what’s different with driving a car? Why can’t we control our primal anger in traffic when we’re so good at it elsewhere?
The sense of driving
Let us analyse the sense of driving a car for a moment. As individuals, we’re rather small and powerless. We might be the current top predator on Earth, but we’re still rather weak and slow. We’re not able to soar the skies at great speed like a bird of prey, leap over tall fences like a kangaroo or lift huge trunks of trees like an elephant. Ok, we’re pretty good long-distance runners, but on average we’re rather – well: average.
And in our modern societies, that feeling of powerlessness is enforced by being part of huge organisations and members of giant nation states. Whatever we do, it most likely won’t affect a huge number of people.
But it’s all good. We repress and control our sense of meaninglessness and lack of power. We go about our daily lives, doing whatever we do for a living. We politely converse with neighbours and colleagues. Society prevails. All in under control.
Then, taking the wheel of our car and getting on the road we suddenly feel a surge of power. Here we are, tiny little monkeys, controlling and manoeuvring a tonne or more of metal and glass. At the push of a pedal, the engine roars. At the twist of the wheel, the metal-beast turn. We can go anywhere, at any speed. We have limitless power. We’re gods.
Until that pillock chose to cut in right in front of you, blocking the road ahead. In an instant, all the power’s gone, all the freedom has evaporated. You’re back at being a cog in the machinery, a mindless drone, forced by others to behave.
Take my power, take my pride – take my sense of control
This sudden loss of power – a power that was given to you only moments earlier – is too much for our fragile minds to handle. We can’t abide this take-back of the rarest of gifts, this sense of being in control of great power for once, and we snap, reverting back to our more primitive selves. How dare that low-life take away my all-too-limited moment of elation? I just managed to get it, for crying out loud!
And that is why road rage is so often associated with traffic congestion. After all, what other scenario symbolise the loss of power and control better than sitting in a machine able to travel at a hundred miles per hour and still being forced to quietly queue, waiting to move but a yard or two, at no more than a snail’s pace?
The weakest link
So there you have it: we find the power of piloting heavy machinery exhilarating. And, since we so seldom get to experience that kind of sense of power, we’re extremely jealous of it and don’t want to lose it. But – traffic being what it is (mainly from consisting of illogical human drivers, all wanting to maintain that rare sense of control) – we will inevitably lose that power, mostly from being stuck in traffic jams. And, just like pushing a button, cue the road rage.
But perhaps things can be better? Perhaps being aware of the reason for our irrational behaviour could change things? Perhaps we, by seeing things logically, could become better at controlling ourselves and finally rid our society of this ugly phenomenon?
I somehow doubt it. History has shown that knowledge has very little effect on how we drive. We’re all slaves to our pent-up emotions, and I see no improvement until we get rid of the weak link of this scenario: human drivers. There’s a potentially glorious future ahead, free of not only traffic related rage but congestions all together. But that’s another post…
* Add a little alcohol to the mix and the situation will be completely different. A small dose of mental inhibitor and we’re right back where we started: full of uncontrolled anger and rage.
There’s something unpleasant going on. All across Europe, far-right parties are popping up, spreading a message eerily similar to one that you could have heard in Italy and Germany in the early 1930s. Different parties in different countries have their own individual policies but the common denominator is an anger at the current state of affairs. They demand an immediate stop for spending money on welfare to people of “foreign origin”. Borders should be closed, immigrants should be expelled or at least closely supervised and all international aid should be stopped at once. Basically, it’s a message of intolerance.
On a smaller scale, people in all walks of life seem to feel unjustly treated, as if they somehow have missed out on something. There’s a prevalent sense of envy and jaundice, of seeing oneself as a victim of some kind of conspiracy. Everyone else seem to be much better off, and they most surely don’t deserve to. It can be as simple as someone having a later model of a smartphone than you do, or what seems like a better job. Or perhaps a newer car or a bigger house. Regardless of the details, it comes down to haves and have-nots. And if we lived in a society where that could mean the difference between life and death, those things would matter. But in the modern post-industrial countries of Western Europe, we don’t. We have what we need. Our children get fed and educated, we all have clothes to keep us warm and places to live to keep us dry. And the few unlucky ones that don’t should be able to rely on a well-developed welfare system to help them out.
I know, it’s not a perfect system. People who need help sometimes don’t get it. And sometimes people who don’t need help get it anyway. But on the whole, it shouldn’t impact on your life or hinder you from making it a good one. So that sense of envy – which is most likely a left-over function from past times, when life was truly rough – is now more or less obsolete.
But that doesn’t really matter. The green-eyed envy and delusion of being subjected to government-made plots and conspiracies manifest itself as anger and frustration, which in turn easily and quickly escalate into a hot white hate, blinding us from any kind of logical arguments and reasoning. And suddenly we start to long back to simpler times, when all was good and people worked for a living (and with job titles we actually understood the meaning of). This in turn will promote conservative values, like the importance of traditional family structures (ideally banning all those newfangled PC alternative lifestyles all together) and stopping the immigration to finally get rid of all those multicultural influences.
And before we know it, the only party we can vote for is one of the new ultra-right single-issue ones. And that’s exactly what we see across Europe at the moment. From UKIP in Britain, SD in Sweden and NPD in Germany to Fiamma Tricolore in Italy, Front National in France and Svaboda in Ukraine, far-right extremist parties have gained momentum in the last few years. Even though they are still mostly in minority, they are loud and attention-hogging and their presence highlights that people more and more let their anger guide them where to put their votes.
The missing piece
What most traditionalists seem to miss, however, is that things weren’t all that different in the past. We’ve never had that traditional and simple society that everyone seem to remember so fondly, with a single culture, consisting of a single, racially coherent people. We’ve always had immigration and we’ve always been multicultural. And thank goodness for that, or we wouldn’t be able to enjoy the richness of culinary delicacies that are almost without exception imported from abroad – even (or perhaps even particularly) our treasured national dishes. We would not be speaking the languages we are speaking without the countless influences from dozens or more foreign tongues. Our multicultural heritage is what makes us us.
As a species, we have always been a melting pot of ideas, cultural memes and linguistic influences. That is what has ensured that we survived where the other species of humans did not. We absorb new trends and phenomena at a speed and with a delight that is unprecedented in the history of evolution. We are multicultural masters, picking and choosing the best from every new society we encounter. It’s our speciality and the key to our success. But I’m aware that I’m preaching to deaf ears. If anyone who feels threatened by the current state of affairs would end up on this blog and read this post – a rather unlikely scenario, I admit – they would no doubt dismiss it all as stupid socialistic propaganda at worst or as well-meaning but horribly misguided advice at best. The blind hate mentioned above has… well, blinded them.
The stench of intolerance
For me personally there’s an additional aspect to this topic however. I find intolerant people truly unappealing – revolting even. Intolerance disgusts me. The selfishness of the intolerant person make them somehow look smaller, like shrivelled up remnants of something that was once human but what has now been reduced to something much less. Something sub-human. Not from belonging to the “wrong” class or race or culture but from having willingly rid themselves of the most human quality of all: empathy. And in the wake of a lack of empathy, a range of unsavoury concepts eagerly awaits to fill its space: victim blaming, stereotyping and scapegoating, all fed by the celebration of ignorance, disrespect and contempt.
To be clear: we all have the full range of human emotions. We all sometimes feel envy, contempt or hate. Sometimes. And that’s the key. Without wanting to sound like a Star Wars fan, if we give in to the dark side it will consume us. All that will be left will be the sad remnant of a once proud, thinking, feeling and empathic human being: an empty husk, filled only with the smelly vapours of mistrust, hate and intolerance. The choice is ours and it’s a continuous one. Every day, every time we interact with another human being, we have to decide: “shall I be a real human being, making use of my full range of emotions and mental faculties, or shall I be an intolerant asshole?” Don’t be an asshole.
Contemplate, if you will, the picture above. It’s most likely a familiar sight, have you ever caught a glimpse of a nature documentary on the telly: the African savanna. Zebra, wildebeest and buffalo graze away in the hot sun, and we sense the presence of lions, poised to attack them at any time.
Imagine then, if such is your pleasure, the same scene with just one component missing: grass. Without the tiny green leaves of the plants from the Poaceae family, there would be no savanna but rather a thick forest of thorny acacia trees or perhaps a hot and arid desert. No giant herds of zebra and wildebeest. No lions to stalk them.
A world before grass
It might seem like grasses have always been around, that they’re somehow a very ancient group of plants, but in fact they’re quite a recent* addition to the planet’s collection of biomes. Even though the earliest species of grass appeared some 60 million years go – just before the end of the era of non-avian dinosaurs – they were just a scarce and limited selection of plants growing near rivers and lakes.
In those pre-grass days, the world was a different place, covered by thick forests and deserts. No open plains full of grazing animals, no evolutionary race between swift herbivores and even swifter predators. It was at once a slower world, with most animals walking leisurely about and a more violent one with ambush predators lying in wait in the lush undergrowth.
And this was the state of the world for hundreds of millions of years. From the ancient fern forests of the late Devonian 360 million years ago, through the swampy oxygen-rich forests of the Carboniferous, the vast deserts of the Permian and Triassic, the lush conifer forests of the Jurassic to the first flowering plants of late Cretaceous, forests gave way to deserts and desert in turn were overgrown by forests. Not until the end of the Oligocene, some 20-25 million years ago, did grasses start to spread to more arid plains and form the steppes, savannas and prairies we see today. And it took another 15 million years before the modern C4 grasses like maize, millet and sugarcane started to make an appearance.
A dangerous opportunity
This might all be fascinating on a theoretical level, but there’s more to the story of grasses than a study in biome evolution. The spread of grasses and the formation of wide and open grasslands changed the adaptive path for many animals, from antelopes and horses to carnivores and birds. But there was another group of animals that was also affected, a small insignificant family of primates suddenly finding themselves exposed in the open: hominids.
Our ancestors got it rough. Not only were they small and defenceless, they lost their natural habitat and had to make do in a very competitive landscape, filled with powerful and dangerous herbivores like buffalo, rhinoceros and elephants and hunted by fast and furious predators like lions, leopards and hyenas. This, in combination with the constantly changing climate, forced us to develop tools and weapons and get us to rise up on our hind legs and become bipedal.
But as harsh as it was, the new grasslands also promised something new: a huge hunting ground full of game and lots of grass seeds and roots to eat. And as the savanna expanded north and met the Mediterranean Sea, so did our human ancestors, spreading on to the Middle East and then east into Asia and north into Europe.
Our green little friends
The story doesn’t end there either, though. Not only has grasses changed the face of the Earth and facilitated the evolution of our own species, they have also been instrumental in taking us from a few thinly spread hunter-gatherer tribes to being the most widespread mammal in the world, sporting the most advanced societies the planet has ever seen.
Some 10,000-15,000 years ago, just at the end of the last glacial period, we were getting a bit crowded. There were tribes of humans all over Europe, Middle-east, Asia and Africa and we were running out of places to gather food. Something had to be done.
Cue the agricultural revolution. Instead of walking miles and miles to find the herbs, roots and seeds we needed to stay alive, we started growing them around where we lived. And the main thing we grew was different types of grasses: wheat, rye, barley, millet, rice, and maize.
It wasn’t a revolution without casualties however. Rather than providing us with a reliable source of food, the first cultivated grasses were prone to bad harvests which made sure that starvation and malnutrition became a regular occurrence in human societies. In fact, it got so bad that the average life expectancy was dramatically lowered and the people who survived to adulthood grew up to be significantly shorter and weaker than our hunter-gatherer ancestors. Essentially, agriculture was making us frail and sickly.
But we persevered – most likely because there was no real alternative; we’d effectively run out of space and had to make our own food from now on – and fast-forwarding a few thousand years to present day we’re much more accomplished farmers. We now rely on a range of grass seeds for our daily food and as a result they make up the absolute majority of what we consume; be it in the form of noodles, rice, porridge, bread or pasta. As chance would have it, we turned out the only grass-eating ape** on the planet and a very successful one at that. Grasses surely are our green little friends.
* As always, ‘recent’ is a relative term, and in context of speciation and evolution usually refer to some million years but fewer than a hundred million.
** We might be the only grass-eating ape, but there is another primate that’s also a graminivore: the Gelada, an East African highland baboon. They eat their grasses raw, however. As we cook our grass seeds, we get more nutrition out of them and are hence better than them and can feel appropriately smug and superior.