[Note: This is the eighth sample from my rough draft of a far
from finished new book, Wild, Free, & Happy. I don’t plan on reviewing more books for a
while. My blog is home to reviews of 199
books, and you are very welcome to explore them. The Search field on the right side will find
words in the full contents of all rants and reviews, if you are interested in
specific authors, titles, or subjects.]
Domestication
of Fire
Before hominins learned how create fire, they very carefully
preserved the flames of a naturally caused fire by feeding it fuel. Burning sticks could be taken to other
locations and become the source of additional fires. Folks were extremely careful to preserve the
live embers because, if they ever went out, the unlucky brothers and sisters
might begin to smell like cat food.
Once upon a time, in an African wilderness, we aren’t sure
when, someone figured out how to conjure a dancing flame into being. Whoa!
In the hominin saga, that first glowing ember was the equivalent of an
asteroid strike — a big one. It
catapulted our ancestors outside of the family of life, and into a spooky new realm
of supernatural power and danger. It was
the magic ring that gave our ancestors the ability to eventually become the
dominant animal on Earth (for a while).
Unfortunately, the powerful magic was not delivered with
warning labels attached. The gift box
did not include powerful herbs and potions to inspire profound wisdom and
godlike foresight. No animal needs these
abilities. Hominins are animals. The Great Spirit apparently had a mischievous
sense of humor.
The four elements are earth, water, air, and fire. Pyne perceived the first manmade fire to be
an act of staggering ecological audacity.
Tropical primates had found the keys to the mastery of fire. Good grief!
The event is reminiscent of the old Sorcerer’s Apprentice tale, in which
a half-clever trainee recklessly conjured a hurricane of big magic that he was
powerless to stop, which soon got totally out of control.
Without domesticated fire, hominins could have remained
perfectly sustainable tropical primates, like baboons. With fire, we acquired an impossible
responsibility to use it with flawless wisdom, generation after generation,
wherever we went. The ancestors of
baboons effortlessly lived sustainably for several million years by simply living
like baboons — brilliant! When hominins
domesticated fire, they lost the magnificent inherent stability that comes from
simply being ordinary animals, like all the others.
Some scholars have speculated that if space aliens had
visited Earth 100,000 years ago, our ancestors would have appeared to be
nothing more than ordinary animals. For
a long time, I accepted that. Now I
don’t. Those visiting space aliens would
have noticed that one species — and only one — maintained fires in their
encampments. This practice was not the
slightest bit ordinary. Hominins were
the only animals who could deliberately ignite or extinguish a fire. By and by, when hominins go extinct, so will
domesticated fire, and the monsters it conjured into existence.
Paleoanthropologists and archaeologists have endless screechy
arguments about the dates when prehistoric changes happened, like the
domestication of fire. Pretty much,
everyone agrees that it happened at least 400,000 years ago, and the most
likely suspect was Homo erectus.
Others point to two million year old ashes in the Wonderwerk Cave in
South Africa.
The Swartkrans Cave near Johannesburg is a special site. Many years of assorted stuff has built up on
the floor, and the crud has been carefully excavated. In the oldest layers, no charcoal is
found. It is an era before fire. At this level, there are complete skeletons
of big cats, and the scattered gnawed bones of the critters they ate, including
more than 100 individual hominins. In
this era, cats were the top predator.
Higher up, charcoal is found in newer layers, about 1.6 million years
ago, the age of fire. Here are found
complete hominin skeletons, and the scattered bones of the critters they
gnawed, including big cats — hominins were now the top predator.
Today, a growing number of scientists think it’s time to
announce the end of the Holocene Epoch (from 11,700 B.P. to now), and declare
the arrival of the embarrassing Anthropocene Epoch. Epochs are time periods in geologic history
that leave behind a layer of residue that is unique and recognizable. Carboniferous was the coal era. Jurassic was the era of petroleum and natural
gas. The Anthropocene is the era when
humans conquered the Earth, and unwisely initiated massive and irreversible
change.
If you ever want to start a bloody fistfight at a bar full of
scruffy drunken scientists, ask this: When did the Anthropocene begin? Some say 1945, the dawn of the nuclear
age. Some say 1800, the kickoff of the
Industrial Revolution. Some say 8000
B.C., the Agricultural Revolution. Paul
Shepard thought that the game changer was the Hunting Revolution, when hominins
learned how to make and use deadly stone tipped javelins and lances, hunt in
packs like wolves, kill too many large animals, and feed their energy-guzzling
oversized brains with highly nutritious grass fed organic meat. Ronald Wright called this transition “the
perfection of hunting,” the first progress trap (a difficult to undo
“advance”).
James Scott thought that the good old days ended with the
domestication of fire. In his mind, the
nightmare world we live in is the result of four domestications — fire,
animals, plants, and humans.
Domesticated fire, like livestock, required breeding, feeding, and
oversight to keep it from running away from its master. Domesticated fire was as addictive as heroin,
a habit impossible to willfully quit.
The habit eventually spread around the world. Carleton Coon noted that only a few folks
made it into the nineteenth century without becoming fire makers — the
Tasmanians, Andaman Islanders, and the Pygmies of the Ituri forest.
Fire altered the traditional food chain. Man-eating predators were intimidated by all-night
fires and burning torches. So, fewer
hominins were violently killed and eaten.
This diminished a population check on our ancestors, which may have disturbed
the stability of functional ecosystems.
Other checks include disease, starvation, conflict, accidents, and so
on. John Reader wrote that, under ideal
conditions, if two humans, and their descendants, all had large families, the clan
would explode to 4 billion in just 500 years.
Man-eating predators are good for us.
They weed out the sick, elderly, injured, inattentive, and unlucky. We all feed each other.
Fire kept our ancestors warmer. Humans have three million sweat glands to
cool us off in hot weather. In cold
weather, the body directs more warm blood to the skin. One thing that struck Europeans about
primitive people was that they seemed to be impervious to cold. During his famous voyage, Darwin was
surprised to observe natives who wore little or no clothing during bitterly
cold weather in Tierra del Fuego.
On the Kalahari, night temperatures in June and July can dip
below freezing. Elizabeth Marshall
Thomas was with a group of naked San people during a night when their water
froze. Their only protection was a
kaross — an animal skin wrapped around their shoulders.
Tropical people go naked, like chimps and baboons, because
clothes are unnecessary, making them requires work, and pointless work is
moronic. Modern consumers waste lots of
energy, because much of their sense of “cold” is merely a belief induced by
cultural programming. Also, they want to
wear shorts and tee-shirts indoors, in the middle of winter. I’ve taught myself to be far more tolerant
of cooler temperatures than I was 30 years ago.
I wear more layers, and waste far less heat.
Fire enabled folks to survive in regions having extended cold
weather. So they eventually expanded
into much of the northern hemisphere, previously home to wooly mammoths, sabertooth
cats, and many other species of megafauna.
By making uninhabitable regions habitable, fire increased the global
carrying capacity for the hominin hordes — more territory, more food, more
hominins.
Fire was used on a large scale to manage landscapes for more
productive hunting and foraging. It was
used to drive animals into bogs or streams, off precipices, or into locations
where they could be confined and killed.
It burned off cover that concealed hidden nests or burrows. Flame was used for optimizing grasslands to
attract more game — it consumed dead vegetation and woody brush, encouraging
the growth of fresh nutritious green forage.
It left behind a banquet of roasted grasshoppers. It discouraged visits from bloodthirsty flies
and mosquitoes.
Fire enabled slash-and-burn agriculture (swidden), which
replaced forest with cropland. Crops
were grown for a year or so, until soil fertility was depleted, at which point
another area of forest was slashed down.
The depleted fields were left to recover for ten or twenty years, when
they were slashed again. After multiple
slash-and-burn cycles, the land was rubbished.
Daniel Hillel reported that in Indonesia there are more than 39.5
million acres (16 million hectares) of land that is incapable of supporting
either agriculture or forest.
Fire has long been used as a weapon of mass destruction
during violent conflicts. Cities built
of wood often fed the flames of horrific firestorms that claimed many
lives. Even in peacetime, structures
heated with open flame fireplaces frequently went up in smoke, often igniting
the rest of the village. For many
centuries, firefighting technology was an ineffective process of hauling
buckets of water by hand. Deadly fires
were very common, and a great source of fear.
The Christian concept of Hell was intensified by the terror of frequent
fires in early times.
Fire had a spiritual aspect in every traditional
culture. Jacob Grimm mentioned the
needfire rituals that were once common in many regions of Western Europe. Every year at the summer solstice, each home
in the village let their hearth fire die out.
A new fire was kindled into existence by a spinning drill (never flint
and steel), and everyone took home a bit of the needfire to light their hearth
for the coming year. Often people and
livestock were passed through the glowing embers for purification and
protection. Fire was highly sacred
business. Many old pantheons had fire
gods, goddesses, and myths.
Domesticated fire is Earth-shaking super-big juju. James Scott concluded that the accumulated
ecological impacts of manmade fire on this planet overwhelm those caused by the
domestication of plants and animals.
Cooking
The domestication of fire kicked open the door to a revolutionary
change in the hominin saga — a technology called cooking. Cooking softened and pre-digested food. Ancestors were able to extract more nutrients
from each mouthful. Better nutrition
facilitated the development of bigger brains.
Infants could be weaned sooner when softened food became an option, so
births could be spaced closer together.
The toothless elderly benefitted from access to soft food. Chewing was less work, so hominins evolved
smaller teeth compared to other primates.
Also, digestion took less processing, so our guts got smaller, and
tummies flatter.
Cooking transformed some foods that had been toxic or
indigestible into edible nourishment. By
increasing the variety of plant foods we could eat, and the amount of nutrients
we could extract from them, it became possible for an area of land to feed more
ancestors. Thus, cooking boosted an
ecosystem’s carrying capacity for hominins.
Cooking gave us the keys to industrial civilization. Imagine the astonishment when early hominins
watched some heavy rocks in the fire turn red and melt into a liquid form. The first smelter was born. Metallurgy gave us the ability to fill rivers
with spilled blood, to reduce cities to ashes, and to ravage ecosystems in
countless, devastating, and irreparable ways.
The ancestors also learned about cooking clay. They were baking figurines in primitive kilns
25,000 years ago. This knowledge
eventually evolved into baking pottery and bricks. Sand could be cooked into glass, limestone
into cement, wood into charcoal, water into steam, crude oil into distillates
(gasoline, diesel, kerosene, etc.), and on and on and on.
1 comment:
Addendum on Cooking:
In his book on energy, Alfred Crosby discussed the relationship between diets and brains. Of the energy a chimp utilizes every day, their brains consume 8 to 10 percent of it. In humans, brains consume 20 to 25 percent of their energy flow. Chimps can’t cook, so they spend six hours a day chewing their raw food diet. Large teeth are needed to pulverize their food, and a large gut is needed to extract the nutrients from the fibrous glop.
Hominins have domesticated fire. We can cook our food, which softens and predigests it. Thus, we spend only an hour per day chewing. In primates, the two biggest energy guzzlers are brains and guts. Chimps have smaller brains, and bigger teeth and guts. We have larger brains, and smaller teeth and guts.
Chimps have lived sustainably for millions of years. We big brain critters are now causing massive and irreparable ecological damage. The key to the chimps’ long term success is elegant simplicity, the traditional conservative advantage enjoyed by all nonhuman species. The greatest threat to human survival is the frantic mindscape of folks born into captivity to exploitive economic systems, folks who spend their entire lives amidst huge herds of strangers, folks almost entirely disconnected from wild nature, folks who feel lost, alone, and confused. Chimps have never forgotten who they are.
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