The False Narrative of Conflict

Evolving Into One

3.5 billion years ago, life began to emerge on Earth. A single, lonely cell, the ancestor which we share with every other life form on the planet, began to diverge into unique individual species.  At first, only a handful of fragile life forms existed, barely distinguishable from each other.  Fast forward a few million years, and an incredible diversity of life emerged, enough to provide material for countless hours of David Attenborough documentaries. 

Yet many of the natural world’s wonders remain undiscovered today, at an age when we arrogantly think that we have seen it all, and catalogued it all in our documentaries, encyclopaedias, museums and genetic banks.  We naively think that we have a thorough understanding of Earth’s infinite diversity and complexity, simply by recording, cataloguing and capturing everything in pixels, bytes and megabytes.  But we still have very little understanding of what an ecosystem is and how it came into existence.  Studying the individual parts does not mean you understand how the sum of it all functions. 

This is because the ecosystem is a strange and mysterious paradox of both competition and harmony. As species diversified, they grew apart and closer at the same time.  Although they evolved and diverged, becoming bacteria, birds, fish, fungi, humans, terrestrial mammals or insects, they depended on each other for survival in ever more interesting and intricate ways.  They began to form incredibly complex relationships, and here is how the beautiful paradox emerged: despite billions of years of mutations, they had remained as one superorganism made up of a web of interconnected species.  Evolution had come full circle.

Our traditional textbook representation of a phylogenetic tree misses out on this most important concept of oneness, unity and interdependence.  It fails to capture the interrelationship of species belonging to distant branches of the tree, both within the physical environments they co-inhabit as well as the gene sequences they share.  In recent years evidence has accumulated on the existence of lateral transfer of genes across genera, and even between animal kingdoms – that is, the exchange of genetic information between species located in distant, completely unrelated branches of the tree.  This transfer can happen through many ways, including various “accidents” and vectors such as viruses.  The discovery of more and more examples of these gene transfers across species suggests that these are not mere “freak” events, but part of an ecosystem and an evolutionary process which is more dynamic, mysterious, unpredictable and innovative than we could ever have imagined.  

Yet this is something which, until relatively recently, was thought impossible: it didn’t follow the snail pace of traditional Darwinian evolution through single-point DNA mutations.  What this recent evidence comes down to is that the branches of the phylogenetic tree do not always end up nowhere, as they do in a real tree.  They sometimes reconnect to the roots of the genetic tree, and they can also link back into each other, in strange and unexpected ways which we are only just beginning to uncover.  This tree is much more connected than we had assumed.  Most importantly, this discovery tells us that evolution was never a lonely walk into the unknown.  It was often a collective effort, as species utilised DNA sequences borrowed from far and wide within the phylogenetic tree to evolve their own genome.   Evolution was largely the outcome of interspecies cooperation.

The primordial soup – that thick, murky sludge of chemicals out of which the first living organism on the planet emerged – is in some ways still in operation: randomly churning, combining proto-molecules into novel, magical, gene sequences.  The planet’s genetic code is a lot more malleable than we had thought.  There is a certain freedom of information which allows nature to experiment and sometimes “beta-test” the same exact gene in a different organism, so that it can see if it may be useful elsewhere, or even re-purpose it for a new task by making the odd adjustment mutation here and there.  It is not uncommon to find almost identical gene sequences in different organisms, serving completely different functions – yet obviously having descended from the same original sequence.  It is the equivalent of a walking cane being repurposed as a drum stick and vice versa.  Our biology education has placed such disanalogous emphasis on the concept of the single-point mutation, when in fact, much of evolution seems to be driven by borrowing, recycling, upcycling and repurposing already existing mutations and sequences, wherever and whenever these may have originated.

Some of these may even come from the most unlikely of places: viral genomes. Viruses tend to often function as the “USB sticks” of the planet’s genetic pool, accidentally integrating their DNA into their host, and super-charging the evolutionary process by means of literally re-writing or disrupting the host’s DNA in one, big, copy and paste job.  Sometimes viruses can even carry pieces of DNA from a host they had previously infected into their new host, therefore facilitating the transfer of genes between species.

The implication of all this is that humans are not only linked to their immediate ancestral lineage, but directly related to many other organisms who look nothing like us. There is far more connection between organisms in Earth’s family tree than we had initially assumed.  As the total size of the genetic pool every species has been drawing from dwindles via extinction, everyone loses – whether they go extinct or not.

Our obsession with the differences rather than the similarities between species means that we have missed the forest for the trees, or more accurately, the phylogenetic tree for the branches.  Failing to pay attention to how species are connected and related, our scientific disciplines continue to study life forms as independent organisms living in isolation, as opposed to components of a single complex superorganism.  It is the equivalent of taking apart a car and studying a specific part, e.g. the wheel, without having any concept of where this wheel goes on the car, what its function might be, and how it works together with the other car parts.  The wheel by itself has very little significance unless it is understood within the context of the ecosystem of other car parts.  Yet our traditional scientific approach has focused solely on the wheel:  how round it is, what it is made of and so on, giving ourselves the false impression that we know this wheel, when in fact we know absolutely nothing about either its past or its present.

The superorganism is therefore not simply a sum of the species on the genetic tree, but all the interconnections and cooperations between them as well.  The number of these connections is so vast that the ecosystem is very similar to a brain consisting of billions of neurons communicating with each other.  The memory of this brain holds all the important context of each life form: the specific role it is expected to play within the superorganism, much like the wheel in the car. Earth’s species are so incredibly interconnected that in many ways our common monocellular ancestor never really ceased to exist.  It simply became more complex by evolving into 10 billion subspecies.  Yet this superorganism, which is by far the most important, the most complex of them all, is invisible to humans.  We have yet to acknowledge its existence, even though we, humans, are a part of it.

The Myth of The Predator

Although chaotic on the surface, the ecosystem is incredibly simple in its core operating principles.  But when studying ecosystems and climate systems, we always overcomplicate things.  We focus only on the chaos and conflict between species and between weather elements, forgetting about the principle of balance that supersedes them.  This is because we choose to see all these elements as rivals rather than interdependent pieces of the superorganism.  We try in vain to explain our observations of the ecosystem based on interspecies competition and conflict rather than the overall harmony which balances species and climate forces against each other.  The overarching harmony of the ecosystem is invisible to us, because we have always been on a mission to understand nature through narratives of conflict: “who is on top” and “who is at the bottom” of the food chain, as if there are villains and heroes, “good” and “bad” species.

We seem to only want to understand the ecosystem as a series of power struggles and bitter rivalries, as opposed to balanced relationships between natural competitors.  It is no wonder we have destroyed much of Earth’s ecosystem already, having seen our role as a warrior engaged in conflict with all other life forms.  We may consider ourselves formidable predators, but every species within Earth’s ecosystem is both predator and prey.  The only ultimate predator is Earth itself:  it is who decides whether a species still has what it takes to remain on the planet, or not.  If it no longer offers anything to the ecosystem, it is naturally decommissioned by evolution itself.

In order for the superorganism to stay alive, it must nourish all 10 million species it consists of.  Although different life forms within the superorganism are often engaged in brutal conflict as they antagonize each other, consume each other, or compete for the same habitat, everyone has enough to eat in the end.  Resources are finite and fairly distributed so that, despite all of the competition within, the superorganism survives as a federation of 10 million species.  There are no winners or losers, predator or prey, sentient or non-sentient life forms within this ecosystem.  There is only balance and unity.  There is no life and death either.  We are all molecules being recycled and repurposed perpetually, travelling from one species to the next.

A Civilisation Built on Conflict and Supremacy

The war humanity is waging on all other species has already killed much of the ecosystem.  The superorganism is dying.  Instead of celebrating our shared chemical and genetic heritage with other life forms, we have been in civil war with them virtually since our beginning.  Our track record is one of genocide and extinction, because this is the natural role we see for ourselves within the superorganism: we are a predatory entity which must pursue conflict if it wants to survive.  But conflict is a false narrative constructed to justify the myth human supremacy.

In the name of this narrative of conflict, we have committed unfathomable crimes towards millions of other species who had an equal stake in this planet ever since its creation.  The complete annihilation of entire ecosystems inhabited by millions of species is a chilling crime we can never erase from our record. This crime was not a side effect of civilisation, progress, or other excuse. It was a deliberate genocide perpetrated by the greatest minds, leaders and technologies humanity ever produced.  

Extinction is not something we can undo or apologize for.  Each time we make another organism extinct we commit a crime which transcends the present and erases 3.8 billion years of evolution, much like removing the final chapter of a book renders it useless.

We have chased far too many species down the path to oblivion for too long.  They have done nothing to deserve this, yet we viewed them as enemies from the start.  This conflict with the natural world is, and has always been, a manufactured narrative.  It is a figment of our imagination – yet one that has been vital to sustaining the expansion of civilisation through slash and burn colonialism, capitalism and the manipulative lies of religion.  Our focus on conflict, rather than on unity, was key to civilizational expansion.  The Civilisational Lie we created needed these narratives of conflict, violence and supremacy to justify its destruction-driven growth. 

Establishing and maintaining inequality was key to civilisational development because there is always much more profit to be made from the weak, vulnerable and desperate.  Our predatory psychonomy was largely based on cannibalism towards less fortunate humans and other defenceless life forms. What we call civilization would collapse without the exploitation, monetization, and weaponization of the misfortune of those with less mental and physical capital, whether they are humans or non-humans.  Throughout their history empires relied on narratives of conflict hastily and clumsily woven upon racial or species differences in order to give themselves the licence to destroy and to sustain their expansion.  Our political, social and religious institutions were also founded upon these narratives, which they have used for the subjugation of other species and human races ever since.  Our popular culture today heavily relies on narratives of conflict with everything and everyone, as they serve the human supremacy dogma which maintains our delusional ambitions on this planet.

The Corruption of Science

Our economic system has pushed this narrative of conflict and undoubtedly influenced how science works, reducing most scientists to butterfly collectors who study individual species in complete isolation – leaving the study of the most important aspect, the relationships between these species, to outsiders such as humanists, cosmologists, philosophers and off-beat ecologists.  Our academic obsession with cataloguing and recording other life forms is a very capitalistic and objectified view of Earth and its species, aiming ultimately at human ownership and domination, whatever the specific science angle may be.  Because of the commercial and human-centered angle of much of scientific research, the emphasis of our academic system has been not on understanding how we relate to all other beings on Earth, that is, where we actually fit within the superorganism, but how we can study these other species in order to exploit them. 

For humans, Earth is nothing but a huge supermarket. We are more interested in owning nature than understanding it. The beings, now converted into products and placed on the supermarket shelves, have no say on how much they are worth, and when they will expire. They have lost any sovereignty and any right to their own life.

In fact, scientists are not allowed to get too close to their subject matter.  There has to be zero emotion and zero connection.  This disconnection of the researcher is dressed up as “scientific objectivity”. We detach oursleves from the subject matter not because we want to be objective, but because we do not want to give it any rights of its own within the framework of the scientific study. The subject matter needs to become a passive, helpless “object”, so that we can do to it whatever we please.

This pretentious objectivity is of course, a disguised human supremacy narrative: the superior, intelligent human, is the only one who can objectively study the inferior, much less intelligent organism: not as a sovereign being with flesh, blood, emotions and sovereignty over its own body and soul, but as an object for personal use and abuse. This human supremacy narrative objectifies all organisms and does not even permit them to be “living”, let alone exist as biological entities. But they, just like us, are living beings, and they are extremely fragile. They need the right temperature, food, and water, at regular intervals.  They need comfort and affection, however low in the “pecking order” of intelligence we place them.

Differences Build Power Structures

By adhering to these false narratives of conflict and supremacy, we have been focusing on the differences between species, rather than the attributes they share, as we desperately tried to create artificial hierarchies within the ecosystem.  The butterfly collector pays more attention to how butterfly species differ, as opposed to the attributes they share. The more sizes and colors of butterflies there are, the more exciting the chase is. The butterfly collector however, learns very little about butterflies in this process, even as his collection of victims grows. During this “knowledge” chase, the butterfly collector ends up dumber and dumber, disconnected from the collective intelligence that he shares with his specimens, and which he will never quite grasp. He doesn’t understand that him and the butterfly are both pieces of the superorgranism. Every time he is stabbing the butterfly on his clipboard, he is stabbing himself.

Our economic system wants to turn us into blind, mindless butterfly collectors who simply want to own and consume, focusing on what makes species or humans different from each other, rather than on what brings them together.  Only if we start focusing away from differences and observing the commonalities between species and human races, can the false narrative of conflict upon which today’s civilization was built begin to collapse.

Our toxic system needs these artificial narratives to survive. Differences between people and beings help our system create power structures. Once these power structures are in place, they can be exploited. Morphological differences between species and between humans races help our system justify the creation of the biases and power structures it needs in order to spread its web of exploitation and destruction. These same differences have over millennia been the ideological powerhouses behind religious and political structures which, were nothing but the marketing departments of a capitalist system.  Racism is a prime example of how supremacy and conflict narratives were created and exploited, for purely economic reasons.

Conflict-Based Definitions of Intelligence

We tend to seek differences, hierarchies and narratives of conflict all the time, so that we can find ways to dominate either over other species, or within our own.  In our desperate quest for differences we can exploit, we have spent thousands of years asking ourselves whether the dolphin is smarter than the octopus, or if white people are smarter than black people.  An intelligent species to us is one that is “problem-solving” in human terms, like a chimp able to ask for more bananas by pressing a button, or an octopus able to get itself out of a trap. It is a definition of intelligence that again is based on conflict and competition, and judged on purely human criteria important to our species and our species alone. We tend to consider a species “intelligent” based on whether it can get itself out of a mess, or how effective it is in killing all the other species in order to dominate, but these are human criteria of intelligence, based on our false narrative of conflict and competition. We judge intelligence by human colonialist and supremacist standards, although, ironically, we ourselves are clearly failing to tick the box “getting out of a mess” in the way by which we have failed to deal with the climate emergency. 

The War That Never Was

Our current existential crisis is nothing but the false narrative of conflict coming back to haunt us.  We viewed Earth and its species as our enemy for thousands of years, and we have managed to turn it into one.  We have started a war where there never was one, ultimately a war with ourselves.  What lies at the origin of the climate crisis and ecological overshoot is the false core belief that anything natural outside of the artificial human civilisation is raw, inferior and inherently hostile to us. Perhaps the most shameful of all of our manufactured narratives was the idea that nature was the one who started the war. Nature was the “unruly” one, who needed to be tamed.  Whether it was a thousand year-old tree cut down or an indigenous tribe exterminated, it was all done under the same principle: they deserved it, because they are “lesser” and “different” life forms. They were not high enough in the hierarchy.
But the false narrative of “advanced civilization vs wilderness” has collapsed. Man was all along the wilderness to be tamed, and nature was the only balanced, sustainable and civilized system that ever existed, uniting all species in harmony and allowing none to dominate over others.  Nature was never “out to get us”.

Biochauvinism, racism, slavery and colonialism may have set the foundations for today’s global economic system, but arguably nothing much has really changed since then.  People of color still struggle more than whites for opportunities and economic prosperity. Ball and chain have been replaced by debt slavery across the population, regardless of race. We are all slaves, pinned down like butterflies and compared to each other in an increasingly scrutinizing manner.  The system is creating ever more narratives of conflict which it desperately needs to feed upon, if it is to continue. 

Yet in principle we are all equal, vital components of the superorganism.  All of Earth’s 8 million life forms came into existence in the same exact way: out of the dark murk, the silent mud, the restless, nourishing molecular soup that made us all. The soup is now being poisoned by the one species who has forgotten what it is, and where it came from.  Only if we demolish the toxic narratives of supremacy, conflict, growth and progress on which we have built this flimsy house of cards, can we develop new narratives upon which a completely new, multi-species social organization can arise.  If we ever manage to accept and live by the principle that we are only a fragment of the living ecosystem, it would be the humblest yet greatest discovery of mankind. And a game changer in turning around the extinctional spiral we are in.

George is an author, researcher, molecular biologist and food scientist.

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