Sapiens

About seventy thousand years ago, something extraordinary happened. Our ancestors, who had lived much like other animals, began to imagine things that did not exist. They developed the ability to think abstractly, to communicate through complex language, and to create shared myths. This Cognitive Revolution was not a sudden biological mutation but a transformation in information processing—a turning point where thought became collective.

Through language, humans invented reality itself. We learned to tell stories about spirits, tribal ancestors, and gods. These stories created trust among strangers, allowing us to cooperate in groups that far exceeded the size of typical primate communities. This capacity for fiction became the secret of our success. A chimpanzee can warn its companions of danger, but it cannot persuade fifty others to follow a common vision. A human can rally thousands under the banner of an invisible deity or an imagined flag.

I often think of this moment as the dawn of culture. From it stemmed everything—religion, law, art, and science—all built upon the same foundation of shared meaning. Once we began to believe in imagined realities, the possibilities expanded infinitely. The Cognitive Revolution thus marked the beginning of history as we know it. It turned mere survival into storytelling, transforming Homo sapiens from animals of instinct into creatures of narrative and belief.

Around ten thousand years ago, humans began to cultivate crops and domesticate animals, converting from nomadic foragers into sedentary farmers. At first glance, this seems like progress—a triumph of human ingenuity. Yet, as I argue, this revolution was not so much a blessing as a trap. Foraging societies were relatively healthy, diverse, and mobile; the new agricultural ones became bound to the land, exposed to disease, and dependent on monotonous diets.

The paradox of the Agricultural Revolution lies in its collective success but individual suffering. Wheat and rice multiplied, towns grew, and populations soared—but the average farmer’s life became harder than that of a hunter-gatherer. In chasing security, humans surrendered freedom, bending their backs to the rhythms of field and harvest. It was not humanity that domesticated wheat—it was wheat that domesticated humanity.

Still, agriculture enabled the emergence of social hierarchies, cities, and eventually civilizations. Surplus created storage; storage created property; property created inequality. The great monuments of history—the pyramids, temples, and palaces—were built upon this new order of labor and control. To understand our modern economy, one must recognize this origin: progress often requires some to serve, many to sacrifice, and a few to prosper.