THE ELEPHANT & THE FLY
A Rather Inconvenient Conversation About Humanity
There is something gloriously ridiculous about putting an elephant and a fly together.
One weighs several tons.
The other can sit comfortably on the end of your nose.
One moves through the world with the slow magnificence of a living mountain.
The other arrives uninvited at your picnic, lands in the potato salad, irritates everybody and somehow escapes every attempt to murder it with a rolled-up newspaper.
One may live for decades.
The other may measure its existence in weeks.
One possesses a brain weighing several kilograms.
The other has a brain smaller than a grain of salt.
And yet perhaps we should not be too quick to decide which creature has understood life better.
Because the elephant and the fly have something rather important in common.
Neither has invented a nuclear bomb.
Neither has created a concentration camp.
Neither has poisoned a river for profit.
Neither has invented poverty.
Neither has drawn an imaginary line across the Earth and then killed another member of its own species for standing on the wrong side of it.
Neither has created a religion and then murdered somebody for believing in a different one.
Neither has accumulated billions of dollars while members of its own species starve.
Neither has invented social media.
That last achievement alone may deserve serious consideration.
And neither creature has ever stood before the rest of creation and announced:
We are the most intelligent species on Earth.
Human beings did that.
Naturally.
Nobody else was consulted.
Perhaps it is time they were.
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THE GREAT AND THE TINY
Human beings are obsessed with size.
Bigger houses.
Bigger cars.
Bigger fortunes.
Bigger armies.
Bigger buildings.
Bigger egos.
We have somehow persuaded ourselves that importance can be measured.
The elephant appears to support this theory.
It is enormous.
Magnificent.
Powerful.
An adult elephant can alter the landscape simply by walking through it. It can push over trees, excavate water, create pathways and influence entire ecosystems.
Then there is the fly.
Tiny.
Annoying.
Apparently insignificant.
A creature most humans regard as something between an inconvenience and a target.
Yet the fly survives.
It adapts.
It reproduces.
It participates in decomposition, nutrient cycles and food chains.
It becomes food for other creatures.
It helps return matter to the Earth.
It occupies its place within the machinery of nature without requiring applause.
The elephant does the same.
Different roles.
Different scales.
Same principle.
Belonging.
Nature does not ask every creature to be the same.
Nature asks every creature to participate.
Perhaps humanity’s first great misunderstanding was believing that superiority was more important than participation.
We constantly ask:
Who is greatest?
Who is richest?
Who is strongest?
Who is smartest?
Who is winning?
Nature asks a completely different question:
Does it work?
The forest does not care which tree considers itself important.
The ocean does not award medals to waves.
The bee does not demand recognition from the flower.
The elephant does not require the fly to become an elephant before accepting its right to exist.
Only humans appear obsessed with ranking existence.
Perhaps this is why we find ourselves in such trouble.
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THE SPIRITUAL CONNECTION
Imagine for a moment that consciousness is not merely something contained inside individual skulls.
Imagine instead that life itself possesses a kind of interconnected awareness.
Not necessarily a God.
Not necessarily a religion.
Not necessarily something requiring temples, priests, commandments or membership fees.
Simply connection.
The elephant experiences the Earth through enormous feet capable of detecting vibrations.
The fly experiences reality through extraordinary sensory systems designed for an entirely different scale.
Their worlds are almost incomprehensibly different.
Yet they inhabit the same planet.
Breathe the same atmosphere.
Depend upon the same fundamental cycles.
Water.
Air.
Decay.
Growth.
Death.
Renewal.
The elephant drinks from the river.
The fly may live beside it.
The elephant dies.
Its body returns to the Earth.
Insects arrive.
Microorganisms arrive.
Plants eventually feed upon what remains.
Perhaps another elephant later eats those plants.
Life consumes life and becomes life again.
Nothing stands outside the circle.
Except humanity likes to imagine that it does.
We bury ourselves in sealed boxes.
We build walls against nature.
We spray chemicals against insects.
We pave forests.
We dam rivers.
We illuminate the darkness.
We heat the winter.
Cool the summer.
Transport fruit thousands of miles because we would like strawberries in January.
We have created an extraordinary civilization largely dedicated to ensuring that nature inconveniences us as little as possible.
Then we wonder why we feel disconnected from nature.
The elephant has no such confusion.
Neither does the fly.
They do not visit nature.
They are nature.
So are we.
We simply forgot.
That may be the spiritual connection between the elephant and the fly.
Neither needs to ask what it is.
Neither wakes in the morning suffering an existential crisis.
The elephant does not stare into a watering hole and wonder whether it has achieved sufficient status.
The fly does not compare itself with another fly and become depressed because the other fly appears to have a more successful lifestyle.
Neither creature needs ten thousand strangers to approve of its existence.
They simply exist.
And perhaps existence, properly understood, is already extraordinary.
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MEMORY
Elephants are famous for memory.
Humans even use the phrase:
“An elephant never forgets.”
Whether literally true or not, elephants clearly possess remarkable memories.
They remember routes.
Water sources.
Individuals.
Social relationships.
Places.
Danger.
Loss.
Their survival depends partly upon remembering what previous experience has taught them.
Human beings also possess remarkable memory.
Unfortunately, we possess an equally remarkable ability to ignore it.
We record history in astonishing detail.
We preserve documents.
Photographs.
Films.
Testimonies.
Mass graves.
Ruined cities.
Letters from soldiers.
Diaries from prisoners.
Records of famines.
Records of genocides.
Records of wars.
Records of economic collapses.
Records of dictatorships.
Records of persecution.
Records of environmental destruction.
Then, several decades later, we occasionally appear surprised when we begin doing exactly the same bloody thing again.
The elephant remembers where danger lies.
Humanity builds a museum to the danger, sells postcards in the gift shop, gives speeches about how terrible it was…
and then begins wandering back toward it.
Who, exactly, is the intelligent species here?
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THE FLY AND ADAPTABILITY
If the elephant teaches memory, the fly teaches adaptation.
Try catching one.
The experience rapidly becomes personal.
You approach.
It moves.
You wait.
It lands.
You strike.
It vanishes.
You swear.
It returns.
Possibly to the same place.
Possibly out of spite.
Humans have spent extraordinary amounts of time trying to control flies.
The fly’s response has essentially been:
Good luck with that.
There is something almost philosophical about its persistence.
Conditions change.
Adapt.
Danger appears.
Move.
Opportunity appears.
Take it.
The fly does not complain that the world has failed to arrange itself according to the fly’s expectations.
It adjusts.
Humanity, by contrast, frequently attempts to adjust the planet instead.
Too hot?
Air conditioning.
Too cold?
Heating.
Too dry?
Irrigation.
River inconvenient?
Move it.
Mountain inconvenient?
Tunnel through it.
Forest inconvenient?
Cut it down.
Ocean inconvenient?
Build on it.
Species inconvenient?
Remove it.
And if the climate itself becomes inconvenient?
Apparently we shall have a committee meeting.
The fly adapts to reality.
Human beings increasingly demand that reality adapt to us.
That arrangement may have an expiry date.
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THE PRACTICAL CONNECTION
There is another connection between the elephant and the fly.
Both participate in systems larger than themselves.
Elephants can shape habitats dramatically.
Their movement, feeding and search for water influence vegetation and provide opportunities for other animals.
The fly participates at another level.
Many flies help break down organic matter.
Some pollinate plants.
Many become food for birds, reptiles, amphibians and other creatures.
Neither species operates alone.
This is one of nature’s most important lessons:
Nothing survives alone.
The predator needs prey.
The flower needs pollination.
The soil needs decomposition.
The river needs rain.
The tree needs fungi.
The elephant needs water.
The fly needs organic matter.
Humans need practically everything.
Yet somehow we declared ourselves independent.
We are not.
Remove healthy soil and civilization eventually collapses.
Remove reliable freshwater and civilization collapses.
Remove pollinators and food systems suffer.
Destabilize the climate sufficiently and civilization suffers.
Destroy ecosystems and eventually the bill arrives.
Money cannot negotiate with biology.
A billionaire cannot purchase oxygen from a dead atmosphere.
A general cannot order rainfall.
A politician cannot pass legislation requiring extinct species to return.
A corporation cannot sue the ocean for rising.
Nature does not attend shareholder meetings.
This may be deeply inconvenient.
Nevertheless, it remains true.
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IF THE ELEPHANT COULD SPEAK
Imagine an old elephant standing before humanity.
She has travelled enormous distances.
She has raised young.
She has witnessed drought.
She has experienced abundance.
She has known danger.
She has perhaps lost members of her family.
She has seen humans from afar.
She has heard vehicles.
Weapons.
Machines.
She has watched roads divide ancient pathways.
And finally she is given the ability to speak.
Humanity gathers.
Scientists arrive.
Religious leaders arrive.
Presidents arrive.
Kings arrive.
Television networks arrive.
Naturally, several companies immediately attempt to sponsor the event.
The elephant looks at us.
She is silent for a long time.
Then she offers three pieces of advice.
FIRST:
REMEMBER.
Remember what happened before you.
Remember the wars.
Remember the hatred.
Remember what happens when leaders persuade populations that another group is less human.
Remember what happens when greed becomes respectable.
Remember what happens when power becomes unquestionable.
Remember what happens when truth becomes inconvenient.
Remember what happens when ordinary people decide injustice is somebody else’s problem.
History is not there merely to be studied.
It is there to be obeyed when it warns you.
You praise my memory.
Perhaps you should develop one yourselves.
SECOND:
LOOK AFTER YOUR HERD.
When one of us struggles, others notice.
When a calf is vulnerable, the herd protects it.
When danger approaches, strength surrounds weakness.
You humans have extraordinary wealth.
Extraordinary technology.
Extraordinary knowledge.
Yet members of your herd sleep beneath bridges.
Children go hungry.
Old people die alone.
People avoid medical treatment because they cannot afford it.
Millions flee war.
Others possess more wealth than they could spend in several lifetimes.
You call this economics.
I call it abandoning the herd.
THIRD:
DO NOT DESTROY THE WATERING HOLE.
This should not require explanation.
Yet apparently it does.
Your planet is your watering hole.
There is no second one waiting conveniently nearby.
You poison rivers.
Pollute oceans.
Destroy forests.
Contaminate soil.
Fill the atmosphere with waste.
Then debate whether protecting the environment is economically sensible.
You cannot eat an economy.
You cannot drink a stock market.
You cannot breathe a bank account.
Protect the watering hole.
Everything else depends upon it.
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IF THE FLY COULD SPEAK
Then humanity turns toward the fly.
Admittedly this feels less ceremonial.
The fly lands on the microphone.
Security attempts to remove it.
The elephant objects.
The fly clears its throat.
Or whatever flies do.
And gives humanity three pieces of advice.
FIRST:
STOP THINKING YOU ARE SO IMPORTANT.
You are one species.
One.
There are millions of others.
The Earth existed before you.
Life existed before you.
And unless you behave very foolishly, life will probably continue long after you.
You call yourselves masters of the planet.
Interesting.
Did the planet vote?
You cannot survive without microorganisms.
Plants.
Water.
Air.
Soil.
Insects.
Ecological systems you barely understand.
Yet you behave like landlords.
You are tenants.
And frankly, your security deposit is in serious danger.
SECOND:
ADAPT.
The world changes.
Everything changes.
Stop worshipping yesterday.
Stop trying to force every generation to live according to rules created by people who died centuries ago.
Learn.
Change.
Correct mistakes.
Abandon ideas that no longer work.
Being wrong is not shameful.
Remaining wrong because your pride refuses correction is ridiculous.
Nature adapts.
Species adapt.
Ecosystems adapt.
Civilizations must adapt too.
THIRD:
SMALL THINGS MATTER.
You barely notice me.
Yet countless tiny organisms help make your world possible.
You humans worship scale.
Big fortunes.
Big nations.
Big armies.
Big corporations.
Big monuments.
But civilization is actually held together by small things.
A nurse staying ten minutes longer.
A teacher encouraging a frightened child.
A stranger opening a door.
A neighbor checking on an elderly person.
Someone planting a tree whose shade they will never sit beneath.
Someone choosing not to repeat a cruel rumor.
Someone saying sorry.
Someone admitting:
I was wrong.
Small things.
Tiny things.
Fly-sized things.
Perhaps that is where civilization truly lives.
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THEIR HOPES FOR US
If the elephant could ask humanity to fulfil one hope for the future, perhaps it would be this:
Remember that strength exists to protect, not dominate.
What an extraordinary change that would create.
Imagine if military strength ultimately measured its success by the wars it prevented.
Imagine if wealth measured itself by how many people it lifted.
Imagine if political power measured itself by how well the powerless lived.
Imagine if intelligence measured itself by wisdom.
Imagine if success included what we preserved rather than merely what we acquired.
The elephant’s hope would be that humanity finally understands that greatness carries responsibility.
The greater your strength, the greater your obligation not to misuse it.
The greater your wealth, the greater your capacity to help.
The greater your knowledge, the greater your duty to use it wisely.
Power without responsibility is not greatness.
It is simply danger.
And the fly?
The fly’s hope might be different.
Never forget the small.
The small nations.
The small communities.
The small species.
The small voices.
The small kindnesses.
The small warnings.
The small changes.
The small child.
The small insect.
The apparently insignificant.
Because humanity has repeatedly discovered that enormous consequences begin with tiny events.
A spark begins a forest fire.
A mutation changes a species.
A sentence begins a revolution.
A bullet begins a war.
A handshake ends one.
Small things matter.
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ARE THEY SMARTER THAN MANKIND?
Now we arrive at the dangerous question.
Are elephants and flies smarter than humans?
If intelligence means mathematics, engineering, language, abstract reasoning and technological invention, clearly humans possess extraordinary abilities.
We have split the atom.
Mapped genomes.
Built telescopes capable of peering deep into the universe.
Created music.
Literature.
Medicine.
Architecture.
Philosophy.
We have walked on the Moon.
We can communicate across continents almost instantaneously.
Human intelligence is astonishing.
That is not really in dispute.
The problem is something else.
Are we wise enough to control our intelligence?
That is a very different question.
A creature capable of creating nuclear weapons is intelligent.
A creature capable of deciding never to use them may be wise.
A civilization capable of extracting enormous wealth from the Earth is intelligent.
A civilization capable of knowing when enough is enough may be wise.
A species capable of manipulating nature is intelligent.
A species capable of understanding that it remains dependent upon nature may be wise.
Perhaps humanity has confused intelligence with wisdom.
We became very clever.
Very quickly.
But wisdom moves slowly.
Rather like an elephant.
Technology races forward.
Instinct remains ancient.
We possess prehistoric emotions operating machinery of unimaginable power.
Fear.
Territoriality.
Tribalism.
Jealousy.
Greed.
Aggression.
Dominance.
All perfectly understandable survival instincts when your weapon is a stone.
Rather more concerning when your weapon contains a nuclear warhead.
Humanity’s greatest danger may therefore be the distance between what we can do and what we are wise enough to do.
The elephant does not suffer from this problem.
Its power has natural limits.
The fly does not suffer from it either.
Its abilities are balanced by its environment.
Humans broke through many natural limits.
We created artificial power.
Industrial power.
Financial power.
Military power.
Digital power.
Genetic power.
Artificial intelligence.
The question now becomes:
Has our moral development kept pace?
That may be the defining question of our century.
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THE ARROGANCE OF INTELLIGENCE
Perhaps the strangest human characteristic is our confidence.
We know astonishingly little about the universe.
We do not know precisely how consciousness arises.
We do not fully understand the depths of our oceans.
We continually discover new things about animals once dismissed as simple.
Yet humanity confidently announces itself the pinnacle of creation.
The elephant does not make such claims.
The fly does not either.
They simply perform the astonishing act of existing successfully within their ecological roles.
Perhaps intelligence is not merely the ability to change your environment.
Perhaps intelligence includes knowing when not to.
A fly does not need to understand atmospheric chemistry to avoid destroying the atmosphere.
An elephant does not need an environmental science degree to avoid poisoning its own drinking water.
Human beings possess enormous environmental knowledge and nevertheless continue behaviours known to damage the systems upon which we depend.
That is an extraordinary contradiction.
Imagine meeting an alien civilization.
They ask:
“Are you intelligent?”
We proudly reply:
“Extremely.”
They ask:
“Do you know your planet’s ecosystems sustain your civilization?”
“Yes.”
“Do you damage them?”
“Yes.”
“Do you understand the consequences?”
“Largely.”
“Do you continue?”
“Yes.”
There may be a rather awkward silence.
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PERHAPS THE FLY WOULD LAUGH
If flies can laugh, I suspect ours would.
Not cruelly.
Just incredulously.
Because humanity has spent thousands of years searching for the meaning of life.
Philosophers have debated it.
Religions have proclaimed it.
Poets have written about it.
Scientists have investigated it.
The fly might simply say:
Live.
Participate.
Adapt.
Reproduce if that is your path.
Contribute to the system.
Then return what you borrowed.
The elephant might add:
And remember.
Remember those who came before.
Protect those who come after.
Care for your own.
Respect water.
Respect land.
Respect life.
Perhaps between them they have constructed a surprisingly respectable philosophy.
The Philosophy of the Elephant and the Fly.
No commandments.
No membership.
No uniforms.
No donations.
No threats of eternal punishment.
Just six suggestions:
Remember.
Protect your herd.
Protect the watering hole.
Stay humble.
Adapt.
Never underestimate the small.
Not bad.
Humanity has produced considerably longer books with considerably worse results.
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WHAT COULD WE LEARN?
Perhaps the greatest lesson is balance.
Be large when largeness is required.
Be small when smallness is enough.
Be strong without becoming cruel.
Be adaptable without becoming without principle.
Remember the past without becoming imprisoned by it.
Protect your community without hating another.
Use intelligence without worshipping it.
Possess things without allowing things to possess you.
Build civilization without destroying the world beneath it.
And perhaps most importantly:
Understand that existence is cooperative.
No human being is self-made.
Every billionaire drank water somebody else protected.
Every genius was once a helpless infant.
Every president depends upon farmers.
Every king depends upon workers.
Every city depends upon countryside.
Every hospital depends upon cleaners as surely as surgeons.
Every civilization depends upon people whose names history will never record.
The visible rests upon the invisible.
The enormous rests upon the tiny.
The elephant rests upon ecosystems containing creatures smaller than the fly.
And humanity rests upon a living planet we did not create.
Perhaps humility is not weakness.
Perhaps humility is simply accuracy.
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THE FINAL MEETING
Imagine, then, our elephant and fly together one final time.
Humanity stands before them.
We have listened.
We are slightly embarrassed.
Which is probably healthy.
The elephant looks down at us.
The fly looks up.
And humanity asks:
“Do you think there is hope for us?”
The elephant considers the question.
She has seen humans kill.
But she has also seen humans protect.
She has seen poachers.
But she has also seen rangers risk their lives defending animals.
She has seen destruction.
But she has also seen restoration.
The fly has witnessed human filth.
But it has also witnessed gardens.
Hospitals.
Homes.
People feeding strangers.
People rescuing animals.
People planting trees.
People rebuilding after disasters.
Humanity is contradictory.
Perhaps that is our tragedy.
Perhaps it is also our salvation.
Because the species capable of extraordinary cruelty is also capable of extraordinary kindness.
The species capable of destroying forests is capable of restoring them.
The species capable of war is capable of peace.
The species capable of hatred is capable of love.
The species capable of enormous stupidity is occasionally capable of magnificent wisdom.
So the elephant finally says:
“Yes.”
Humanity sighs with relief.
Then the fly adds:
“But don’t get cocky.”
Fair enough.
The elephant continues:
“You do not need to become something else.
You need to remember what you already are.”
Humanity looks confused.
“A species among species.
A life among lives.
A temporary visitor upon an ancient Earth.”
The fly lands on the elephant’s head.
“And stop calling yourselves masters of the planet.”
“What should we call ourselves?” humanity asks.
The elephant thinks.
“Caretakers.”
The fly disagrees.
“Apprentice caretakers.”
The elephant smiles.
Perhaps that is more accurate.
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THE ELEPHANT’S HOPE
Before leaving, the elephant gives humanity one final request.
“Please remember tomorrow.”
Not merely tomorrow morning.
Tomorrow as in the generation after you.
And the generation after them.
When you build something, ask what it leaves behind.
When you destroy something, ask whether it can return.
When you consume something, ask who pays the hidden cost.
When you vote, ask about children not yet old enough to vote.
When you use power, ask whether the powerless are protected.
When you inherit wisdom, pass it forward.
Remember tomorrow.
Because memory should not face only backwards.
True memory also creates responsibility toward the future.
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THE FLY’S HOPE
The fly buzzes forward.
Its request is shorter.
Naturally.
Life is brief.
“Notice.”
Notice the world around you.
Notice the person nobody else sees.
Notice the insect before crushing it.
Notice the tree before cutting it.
Notice loneliness.
Notice suffering.
Notice beauty.
Notice absurdity.
Notice when somebody powerful tells you who you should hate.
Notice when greed disguises itself as success.
Notice when cruelty disguises itself as strength.
Notice when certainty disguises itself as truth.
Notice when your own ego begins convincing you that you cannot possibly be wrong.
And occasionally notice the fly.
We are irritating.
But we have our uses.
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SO, ARE THEY SMARTER THAN US?
No.
Probably not.
But that may be the wrong question.
Perhaps the better question is:
Are they sometimes wiser than us?
The elephant knows it needs the herd.
The fly knows it must adapt.
Both know, without philosophy, that survival depends upon participating in something larger than themselves.
Humanity knows this too.
We simply keep forgetting.
Perhaps intelligence is the ability to solve problems.
But wisdom is the ability not to keep creating the same ones.
Perhaps intelligence asks:
“Can we?”
Wisdom asks:
“Should we?”
Intelligence built the bomb.
Wisdom begs us never to use it.
Intelligence created industry.
Wisdom asks us not to poison the planet with it.
Intelligence generates wealth.
Wisdom asks what wealth is for.
Intelligence gives humanity power.
Wisdom decides what kind of humanity will wield it.
And perhaps our future depends upon finally understanding the difference.
So the next time you see an elephant, if you are fortunate enough to do so, look carefully.
See the strength.
The memory.
The community.
The ancient dignity.
And the next time a fly lands on your table…
Well…
Try not to swear immediately.
Look at it.
Tiny.
Persistent.
Adaptable.
Unimpressed by your bank balance, nationality, religion, politics, job title, social status or number of followers.
To the fly, you are simply another large mammal occupying the room.
There is something wonderfully democratic about that.
Then consider this:
The elephant does not need to become a fly.
The fly does not need to become an elephant.
Neither needs to conquer the other.
Neither needs the entire Earth for itself.
Each occupies its place.
Each participates.
Each belongs.
Perhaps humanity’s great challenge is not to become more powerful.
We have already become powerful enough.
Perhaps our challenge is to become wise enough to live with the power we already possess.
To remember like the elephant.
To adapt like the fly.
To protect the herd.
To respect the watering hole.
To value the small.
To understand that strength without kindness becomes brutality.
Wealth without generosity becomes hoarding.
Faith without humility becomes dogma.
Politics without service becomes power.
Intelligence without wisdom becomes dangerous.
And humanity without humanity becomes merely another species fighting desperately for survival.
The elephant slowly walks away.
The fly takes to the air.
Neither asks for applause.
Neither expects a monument.
Neither writes a book explaining how enlightened it has become.
They simply return to life.
Humanity remains behind.
Thinking.
Hopefully.
Because for once, perhaps we should resist the urge to speak.
Perhaps we should listen.
To the enormous.
To the tiny.
To the ancient.
To the irritating.
To the elephant.
And yes…
Even to the bloody fly.
Because perhaps the future of mankind depends not upon becoming the cleverest creature on Earth.
We have arguably achieved that already.
Perhaps the future depends upon something considerably harder.
"Becoming clever enough to realise that cleverness was never enough".
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