There may be many ways to make intelligent creatures, and many more ways to knit them together into an extelligent culture. The crab civilisation in The Science of Discworld was doing fine until its Great Leap Sideways was clobbered by an inbound comet. We made that one up, but who knows what might have happened a hundred million years ago? All we know for sure or for a given value of 'sure', since even now a lot of our knowledge is guesswork -is that some things like apes turned into us. It takes a special kind of arrogance and blindness to extrapolate that story to the rest of the universe without wondering about alternatives.

An important ingredient in our story was brains. Weight for weight, humans have far bigger brains than any other animal on the planet. The average human brain has a volume of about

1,350 cubic centimetres, which is roughly three times as great as the brain of apes with the same size body as ours. Whale brains are bigger than ours, but whales are even bigger, so the amount of whale per brain cell is greater than the amount of human per brain cell. When it comes to the brains, quantity is less important than quality, of course. But a brain capable of really complicated things like carbon nanotube engineering and fixing dishwashers has to be fairly large, because the abilities of small brains are limited by lack of room to do anything interesting.

We'll see shortly that brains alone are not enough. Nonetheless, without out brains, or adequate substitutes, you don't get very far.

There are two main theories of human origins. One is rather dull and probably correct; the other is exciting and most likely wrong. Nevertheless, the second one has quite a lot going for it and is a better story, so let's take a look at them both.

The dull, conventional theory is that we evolved on the savannahs. Roving groups of early apes trailed through the long grass, picking up whatever food - seeds, lizards, insects - they could find, much like today's baboons.30 And as they did so, lions and leopards prowled through the long grass looking for monkeys. Those monkeys or apes that were better at spotting the telltale flicker of a big cat's tail, and finding a tree rather quickly, survived to have babies; those that performed poorly at such tasks did not. The babies inherited those survival skills, and passed them on to their babies.

What these tasks need is computational power. Spotting a tail and finding a tree are pattern- recognition problems. Your brain needs to pick out the tail-shape from a background of similarly buff-coloured rocks and mud; it has to choose a tree that is tall enough, and climbable enough, without being too climbable, and it has to be able to do it fast. A capacious brain with a big memory (of past occasions when something hairy poked out from behind a rock, and of locations for climbable trees) can pick up the visual traces of a lion much more effectively than a small brain can. A brain whose nerve cells transmit signals to each other more quickly can analyse incoming sensory data and conclude 'lion' a lot faster than a slower brain can. So there was evolutionary pressure on the early apes and monkeys to develop bigger and faster brains. There was also evolutionary pressure on the lions to conceal themselves more effectively, so that those bigger and faster ape and monkey brains still didn't notice anything suspicious. So a predator- prey 'arms race' developed, a positive feedback loop that made both lions and apes far more effective in their ecological roles.

That is the conventional story of human evolution. But there is another story, less orthodox, with two main sources.

Human beings are very weird apes, indeed very weird animals altogether. They have extremely short fur, mostly just a downy covering. They walk upright on two legs. They have a layer of fat, all the year round. They mate face-to-face (often). They have exceptionally good breath-control; good enough to be able to speak. They weep and they sweat. They adore water, and can swim long distances. A newborn baby, dropped in a pool, can keep itself afloat: the ability to swim is instinctive. All these peculiarities led Elaine Morgan to write The Aquatic Ape in 1982. There she suggested a radical theory: that humans evolved not on the savannahs, surrounded by fierce predators, but on the beach. That explains the swimming, the upright stance (it's easier to evolve a two-legged gait if you are buoyed up by seawater), and the lack of hair (which causes problems when you swim, providing an evolutionary reason for it to disappear). In fact it can be argued that it explains all of the peculiarities of humans that we've just listed. The original scientific underpinnings of this theory were developed by Alister Hardy.

In their 1991 The Driving Force Michael Crawford and David Marsh took the story one stage further, by added one extra ingredient. Literally. The most important thing that the beach provides is seafood. And the most important thing that seafood provides is 'essential fatty acids', which are a crucial ingredient in brains. In fact, nearly two-thirds of the human brain is made from them. Fatty acids are good for making membranes, and brains use electrical signals in membranes to compute. Myelin, in a membrane sheath surrounding nerve cells, speeds up the transmission of signals in the human nervous system by a factor of five or so. It takes a lot of essential fatty acids, then, to make a big, fast human brain, so it must have taken almost as much to make the brain of our distant ape ancestor. Oddly, though, our bodies cannot make those special fatty acids from simpler chemicals, like we make most complicated biochemicals that we need. We have to get the fatty acids, ready-made, from our food; that's why the word 'essential' is used to describe them. Even more oddly, there are few essential fatty acids out on the savannahs.

They would exist only in living creatures, of course, but even there, they are fairly rare. The richest source of essential fatty acids is seafood.

Perhaps all this explains why we want to spend so much time on the beach. But whatever the explanation, the ability to make big brain was one key step in our evolution away from our hairy, quadrupedal 100,000-fold great grandfather.

Big brains, however, are not enough. What really matters is what you do with them. And what we managed to do was to play off one brain against another, so that over the millennia they got better and better at competing and communicating.

Ape brains competing with lion brains leads to an arms race that improves both, but the arms race is fairly slow, because both brains are being used for very limited purposes as far as the competition goes. Ape brains competing with other ape brains gives the whole brain a workout, all the time, so the rate of evolution is likely to be much higher.

For every species, the main competition comes from other creatures of the same species. This is reasonable; they're the ones that want exactly the same resources that you do. This opens the door to elvish interference, in our Discworld metaphor. The nasty side of human nature, which in extremes leads to evil, is inescapably bound up with the nice side. One very direct way to compete with your neighbour is to bash him on the head, hard.

However, there are more subtle ways to gain evolutionary advancement, as we will see later. The elvish approach is crude, and ultimately self-defeating, for a sufficiently extelligent species.

The possession of brains opens up new non-genetic ways to pass characteristics on to your children. You can give them a good start in life by moulding how their brains react to the outside world. The generic term for this kind of non-genetic transfer between the generations is privilege. There are numerous instances of privilege in the animal kingdom. When a mother blackbird provides yolk in her egg for the baby blackbird to feed from, that's privilege. When a cow provides milk for her calf, that's even more privilege. When a mother tarantula wasp provides a paralysed, living spider for her grubs to grow in, that's privilege.