The Death of Speciocentrism

Humans care too much about humans. When’s the last time you truly cared for something entirely unrelated to human existence? That includes the obvious: money, matrimony, musical harmony, and all other monys you can think of.

Even the more obscure sources of our passion and serial involvement rebound back to humanity. Lakes are great. Why? Because I can swim in them, fish from them, peruse them on kayak cruises. Their aesthetics stimulate senses and fill my brain with simple content. I love lakes, but my infatuation is founded in human interaction and personal benefit, not from its individuality as a lake.

At this point you’re probably asking a question you’ve never asked before: “What doesn’t have anything to do with me?”

Arguably not much given the nature of our perspective, permanently glued to Homo sapien optics and intricately rigged to the experience factory churning beneath our skulls. I’m sure many would argue that all things become at least flecked with humanity once sent through our consciousness conduit, and I wouldn’t wholeheartedly disagree, but I would urge such philosophical dissenters to give the following thought a try.

First, think of something, let’s start with an object, that’s entirely unrelated to humanity. I choose a rock. And no, not the rock in the foundations of our homes, or even the fountains of our landscaping. A rock on a muddy mountainside, never touched by human hands nor gazed by human eyes. We’ll even make it an ugly rock, that way we can’t grow attached through beauty. It doesn’t look like anything. (Bye-bye personification, anthropomorphism, etc.) It’s just a rock. An ugly, misshapen conglomerate of minerals, nestled numbly in a stew of sunbathed mud.

Now, try and care for it. Do your best to give a damn about this lone stone secluded somewhere in nature, nowhere boots, sandals, soles, or souls have trekked. Try loving it. Try forging a connection with this rock completely unrelated to its potential impact on you, no matter how distant that impact may be. Can you find a reason to care? If not, did you care anyway?

I think the majority will find these gregarious intentions unfounded on the inanimate. I definitely had difficulty. And indeed, none of this is really surprising. According to basic natural selection, our genes explicitly program a self-centered being, and even given the novelty of altruism, our cares rarely extend beyond our species. Faced with the absolution of death, reasons for such exterior concern grow scant, thin wisps irrelevant to our endless expanse of “greater” problems. We don’t care because it’s not in our genes. We don’t care because our genes tell us there’s more important things to worry about.

At least, this is the common thought.

Now, try hating that same rock. Try funneling your deepest, still inhuman, angst-addled angers at that stranded stone. Let an inner rage build and surge towards that uncharted, muddy peak. Let your frustration crash upon the rock. Shatter it like dynamite.

Do you hate it? Did feelings of loathing lap upon the shores of your stomach? Did boats of bile burn beneath your skin? Maybe not. But were your feelings of hatred stronger than your sensations of care?

Let’s say yes. If you said no, you’re probably lying.

So why is it easier for us to foster rage? Why does blind animosity brew stronger, faster, and more visceral than blind kindness?

Once again, many would respond the same. It’s in our genes. It’s who we are. But even genetically, this divide doesn’t make clean sense. Advances in the last twenty years have shown that the ‘progression’ of evolution is not based purely on mutation, as most classrooms claim, but rather the rapid integration of whole genes and genomes via symbiosis. Now, this isn’t a matter of parasitism or mutualism. Those are merely outdated biological terminology for spatial relationships. This symbiosis refers to the physical and most importantly, genetic integration of unlike organisms, resulting in novel features and creatures. This is how some of the most important evolutionary developments came about. Mitochondria, the sole reason we utilize oxygen to live, were originally free-living bacteria-like organisms that were symbiotically acquired by larger beings in a single event, not crafted over millions years of random mutation. In similar fashion, chloroplasts, sun-run food factories for plants and algae, were also originally bacteria that then merged with larger organisms.

But in humans, and as humans, this reaches new avenues of self-awareness. We are holobionts. Not a singular species but a hybrid conglomerate of genomes; a patchwork species stir fry. Bacteria not only inhabit our digestive system, but produce 70% of the substances in our bloodstream. These substances travel throughout the body, but most importantly, they affect the brain, with the ability to modify our consciousness and subconsciousness through chemical triggers. To the germaphobe: the parasites speak. Perhaps these are all bacterial thoughts, and what once we thought was our body, is their vessel. But I believe biology favors a more beneficial balance. We are holobionts. Many as one.

The results of these ongoing discoveries are staggering. For one, it answers the question many evolution-skeptics propose: if evolution occurs based purely on random mutation and subsequent natural selection, how could all of the beautiful complexities of the natural world arise? The previous, unsatisfying answer is time. Life is billions of years old, but is that enough time to progress from a microbial stew to a self-aware primate? With a symbiotic perspective on evolution… Absolutely. Massive genome remodeling can occur within a handful of generations, and great leaps of biological wonder and novel advantage can appear as a result of these large-scale genomic infusions. Of course, mutation still operates, but evidence is quickly favoring symbiosis as the driving force of evolution, with mutation fulfilling the purpose of genomic ‘fine-tuning’.

Coming back to the loved/loathed rock, our tendency towards temper appears to propose a problem. If symbiosis dictates evolution, wouldn’t our genes program us to be more amiable to subjects completely unrelated to ourselves? Admittedly, this care would arise out of a potential benefit to one’s self, but once we consider what our self really is; man and microbe, this whole piece grows rather circular and existentially confusing. Personally, me is multiple. You is numerous. Effects on one affect many. There is nothing that has nothing to do with you.

Ponder on all that, but in reality I starting writing this to make a simple statement. Much in the way that visiting other cultures can open our perspective to completely different ways of life and provide us with a strange, humbling sense of satisfaction, I believe that the ‘practice’ of caring, especially for things seemingly unrelated to us, can yield similar results.

Think of it like traveling. For your consciousness. Who knows what symbioses you’ll stumble into.

Respect your selfs.