“The impressive and unsettling effects of artificial intelligence are often met with the remark that even the smartest machines and robots could never reach the level of *Homo sapiens sapiens*. This hope might well be described as the final bastion of human exceptionalism—that illusion held by the ‘arrogant ape,’ which New York-based animal researcher Christine Webb knocks off its pedestal in her latest book—a work that is, to state it upfront, highly stimulating and well worth reading. To be sure, numerous scholars of ‘more-than-human’ life and masters of nature writing—including Webb’s own mentors, Jane Goodall and Frans de Waal—have done the same since the time of Charles Darwin. Darwin once remarked that *On the Origin of Species* was akin to a confession of murder; yet, it remained merely an attempted murder. The dogma of human exceptionalism has survived, and, ironically, it is experiencing a resurgence in the wake of the current AI hype.
A well-known literary testament to this superiority complex appears at the beginning of the book: ‘What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason, how infinite in faculty! In form and moving how express and admirable! In action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the world, the paragon of animals.’ One can almost hear the mockery in Shakespeare’s portrayal of Hamlet. Webb confronts this hubris with interdisciplinary insights into the very ‘masterpieces’—the remarkable capabilities—that other species also possess, sometimes to an even greater degree.
While the innate ‘biophilia’ of young children intuitively grasps this equivalence, the natural sciences—ironically—have long subjected to the epistemic primacy of humans. As an example, Webb cites the sharp reactions to a hypothesis developed by evolutionary ecologist Monica Gagliano regarding *Mimosa pudica*—suggesting that plants, too, possess a form of memory and the capacity to learn, despite lacking a brain [1]. Yet, defining intelligence and consciousness solely by the presence of a brain analogous to the human one is an exercise in circular reasoning.
Webb’s critique makes for compelling reading; she weaves together primatological insights—often presented in an unpretentious, first-person narrative—with childhood memories, experiences in nature, pioneering work from other disciplines, and perspectives from indigenous cultures. Without lapsing into sentimental nature-romanticism, she vividly illustrates how abilities and traits once thought to be the exclusive domain of humans—such as causal and forward-looking reasoning, sustained attention, manual dexterity, empathy, intelligence, and consciousness—are, in fact, shared by other living beings. Scalar, hierarchical, and teleological modes of thinking are alien to evolutionary theory, for "finches and frogs, blue whales and baobabs, mice and humans all share a common history, deeply interwoven across time." Viewed from this planetary perspective, differences are merely a matter of degree; they cannot be essentialistically or permanently assigned to "higher" or "lower" organisms. The fact that social Darwinists have used similar logic to classify groups of humans as "superior" or "inferior" demonstrates how the notion of a unique, privileged status for "the" human being fosters dominant behavior and discrimination—even against our fellow humans.
In a thought experiment where one must choose between saving a hundred dogs or a single human being, adults will "naturally" opt for the human. The fact that young children, by contrast, still perceive the lives of humans and dogs as having equal value examining this, Webb concludes that what is often taken for a self-evident decision is, in fact, culturally acquired and requires justification. She seeks to overcome the exceptionalism—ingrained over centuries within religion, culture, politics, and science—through a process of "unlearning." This does not imply that non-human beings are "just like us," but rather acknowledges that they possess their own distinct forms of intelligence, (self-)awareness, capacities for communication and cooperation, empathy, and so on.
Natural science—still preoccupied with classifying the (threatened) richness of species—is far from grasping the full extent of their diverse abilities, or from recognizing that these "others" possess rationality, language, the use of tools, culture, innovation, morality, and consciousness. According to Webb, this is partly because, from the classroom to the high-end research laboratory, we rarely "go out into nature" anymore; humanity has, in effect, fallen into a state of ecological amnesia, devoid of direct observation. Researchers may dissect the brains of animals, yet they remain ignorant of how those animals think.
Webb is well-versed not only in non-human primates but also in the remarkable capabilities of other species—including plants. Animals do not merely use tools—like the crows that drop walnuts onto roads, waiting for vehicles to crush them—but are also capable of crafting, testing, and refining such tools. Furthermore, they do this for reasons beyond the simple pursuit of food: they use tools to communicate, construct, pass the time, heal themselves, or care for others who are unwell.
Emotions such as compassion, the desire to make amends, a willingness to help, and jealousy—all of which underpin prosocial behavior—are not exclusive to humans, even if certain laboratory experiments, designed with an inherent bias, might suggest otherwise. Test animals live in conditions that are far from natural, while the human groups used for comparison typically belong to the "WEIRD" population (Western, Educated, Industrialized, Rich, and Democratic)—a demographic that is hardly representative of the global population. Yet, this group is remarkably adept at deceiving both itself and others.
With wit, confidence, and compelling insight, Webb recounts her own liberation from a distorted scientific establishment that insists upon human superiority. Termite mounds are, proportionally, taller than the Burj Khalifa in Dubai; the songs of mockingbirds are no less virtuosic than Schubert’s sonatas. In this context, the focus is never on competition or dominance, but rather on the recognition of difference.
Webb challenges a powerful taboo: the assumption that plants cannot possess consciousness. She astutely observes that the threshold for attributing consciousness has been pushed ever further down the Aristotelian *scala naturae*—but what about fungi? Many of her peers are unwilling to go that far, and even Webb herself remains uncertain. She maintains, however, "that human exceptionalism obscures our ability to assess these possibilities impartially—possibilities that are at least as plausible as the strangely inconsistent notions currently accepted as 'common sense'." Incidentally, the treatment of "lower" beings—which may well experience pain and possess some form of consciousness—poses an ethical problem just as significant as that of animal experimentation (practices now widely contested or banned on ethical grounds), especially when one considers the routine extermination of insects within the scientific establishment.
Up to this point, well-intentioned readers will likely follow the author. Many may falter, however, in chapter nine—titled "Our Indigenous Heritage"—in which she points to an exemplary relationship with the environment, tracing it from the animal painters of the Chauvet Cave in France to the rituals and practices of contemporary Indigenous peoples. This relationship is rooted in the reciprocity of giving and taking, and in a sense of responsibility toward all living entities—including mountains, rocks, rivers, lakes, the sky, celestial bodies, wind, and weather—all of which are regarded as ensouled or capable of consciousness. Engaging in dialogue with animists? Perhaps even adopting an animistic way of thinking?
From an Indigenous perspective, humans are the least experienced inhabitants of the Earth, with the most to learn—from our fellow beings, who are older than *Homo sapiens* and will likely outlive our species. The attitude of "arrogant apes"—whose grandiloquence is exposed daily by the "natural" disasters they themselves have triggered—must be replaced by humility. But will this actually help in confronting catastrophic climate change and the rapid extinction of species? These "arrogant apes" remain fixated on geoengineering, expeditions to Mars, and the prospect of a post-human, AI-driven future. Webb, by contrast, recommends allowing experiences of the natural world—whether encountering an aggressive gorilla or enduring sweltering heat—to sink in and prompt reflection. Only through a sense of wonder and awe at our own modest place in the cosmos can a truly complete form of cosmopolitanism emerge.
Webb’s book offers an accessible and genuinely hopeful synthesis of scientific research, grounding lofty philosophical and cultural-studies concepts in reality. It should be required reading in every biology classroom and placed in the hands of professionals—such as urban planners—currently tasked with managing urban heatwaves. Albert Einstein once remarked that when time is short, people typically spend five minutes defining a problem and 55 minutes trying to solve it. This ratio must be reversed.
Christine Webb: "The Arrogant Ape" (*Der arrogante Affe*). The Myth of Human Superiority and What We Can Learn from Other Species.
Translated from English by Stephanie Singh. Ullstein Verlag, Berlin 2026. 232 pages, hardcover, 24.99 euros. [2]
1. Monica Gagliano is an evolutionary ecologist whose 2014 study demonstrated that the sensitive plant, Mimosa pudica, can learn from experience and retain memories for at least 28 days without having a brain or nervous system. Her research challenged traditional definitions of intelligence by showing that plants exhibit habituation—a basic form of learning previously attributed only to animals.
The Drop Experiment
• Experimental Design. While at the University of Western Australia, Gagliano and her colleagues built a custom apparatus that dropped 56 potted Mimosa pudica plants from a height of roughly six inches onto a cushioned surface. Each plant was dropped 60 consecutive times at five-second intervals.
• Rapid Habituation. Normally, Mimosa pudica folds its leaves inward as a defense mechanism when disturbed. During the trials, the plants stopped folding their leaves after just four to six drops once they registered that the fall caused no physical harm.
• Ruling Out Exhaustion. To prove the plants were not simply too tired to close their leaves, researchers shook the habituated plants. The plants immediately curled their leaves in response to the new stimulus, confirming they had specifically learned to ignore the harmless drop.
Key Findings & Significance
• Long-Term Memory. Gagliano retested the plants after leaving them undisturbed and found they still remembered to keep their leaves open when dropped 28 days later, a retention span that exceeds that of many insects.
• Environmental Adaptation. As detailed in the study published in Oecologia via PubMed, plants grown in low-light environments learned faster and remembered longer. Because folding leaves blocks photosynthesis, ignoring false alarms is especially critical when light is scarce.
• Decentralized Cognition. As covered by National Geographic, the findings indicate that memory and learning do not strictly require animal neurons. Instead, plants likely rely on decentralized calcium and electrical signaling networks to store and recall information.
2. Der überfällige Sturz des Menschen: Selbst Pflanzen könnten ein Bewusstsein haben: Die Tierforscherin Christine Webb verabschiedet den Anthropozentrismus. Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung; Frankfurt. 20 Aug 2026: 10. CLAUS LEGGEWIE
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