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CHAPTER 9
Reframing Neanderthals
Abstract
Neanderthals have occupied a rather problematic position in our
evolutionary history for many years. Neanderthals and modern
humans share fundamental features of humanity, such as care for
the vulnerable, yet dierences in their use of symbolism, adop-
tion of innovations and intergroup relationships have been hard
to explain. Evidence suggests that Neanderthals lived in small liv-
ing groups with only rare connections to outsiders and high levels
of inbreeding, whilst modern human populations from their rst
arrival in Europe were highly interconnected and maintained con-
nections between communities stretching over large regions. It has
been tempting to interpret these dierences in terms of an inferior
social or intellectual cognition in Neanderthals. Subtle dierences
in emotional dispositions may, however, be a better explanation.
A more inwardly focused or close-knit nature of Neanderthal com-
munities, and a more outwardly focused or approachable nature of
modern humans, can explain previously enigmatic elements of their
archaeological record without recourse to ideas of progression or
advancement.
How to cite this book chapter:
Spikins, P., 2022. Hidden Depths: the origins of human connection. Pp. 387–431. York:
White Rose University Press. DOI: https://doi.org/10.22599/HiddenDepths.j.
License: CC BY-NC 4.0
(Abstract continued on next page)
388 HIDDEN DEPTHS
Our understanding of Neanderthals as displaying subtly dier-
ent emotional dispositions gives us an opportunity to think about
human evolution dierently. Rather than a ladder, or even a braided
stream, here we argue that our evolutionary past is better conceptu-
alised as a series of branching pathways which sometimes rejoin and
sometimes follow dierent directions. Allowing past hominins to be
dierent but equal opens up new lines of interpretation, as well as
challenging us to understand that there is more than one way to be
human.
(Abstract continued from previous page)
REfRAmINg NEANDERTHAlS 389
Figure 9.1: Recent reconstruction of a Neanderthal woman. Neander-
thals were no less human, yet their physical and behavioural distinctions
challenge our understanding of our relationship to these close cousins.
Neanderthal Saint-Césaire © Sculpture: Elisabeth Daynes/Photo: S. Entres-
sangle. Used with permission.
390 HIDDEN DEPTHS
Introduction
The role of Neanderthals in our evolutionary story has a long and chequered
history from their rst recognition (see Figure 9.1). In 1864, when William
King considered the status of a Neanderthal cranium that had been dis-
covered only a few years earlier in the Neander valley in Germany, he was
challenged by its unusual appearance. Despite being essentially human-
like and possessing a large brain, it was clear that this individual was dis-
tinctly robust, with a large brow ridge and notably long and low brain case
(Figure 9.2). Here was a human, or human-like, being that was disturbingly
dierent. In typical Victorian style, he concluded that this dierence must
relate to some inferiority on a perceived ladder of human progression.
Furthermore, he decided that this being simply must have had an animal,
rather than human, nature. He concluded:
Considering that the Neanderthal skull is eminently simial, both in its
general and particular characters, I feel myself constrained to believe
that the thoughts and desires which once dwelt within it never
soared beyond those of a brute. (King 1864: 96)
Figure 9.2: The cranium (known as Neanderthal 1) from the Neander valley
that was derided as brutish by William King in 1864. Image of cast. Gunnar
Creutz, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons: https://commons.wikimedia
.org/wiki/File:Homo_neanderthalensis_(cast_of_Neanderthal_1_skull
cap)_at_G%C3%B6teborgs_Naturhistoriska_Museum_8790.jpg.
REfRAmINg NEANDERTHAlS 391
We may be alarmed by this ready assumption of brutishness to any dif-
ferent-looking human. However, for more than a century, the unfamiliar
appearance of Neanderthals, coupled with pervasive ideas that our own
species rose above others through some innate superiority, naturally led
to Neanderthals being portrayed as lumbering and brutish (Madison 2020;
McCluskey 2016; Peeters and Zwart 2020). Even as their close-relatedness
to our own species became clear (to the point where we might at most
consider them a subspecies), this relatedness often made them too close
for comfort, leading to continued derision both in public portrayals as well
as academic interpretations. The term ‘Neanderthal’ itself even became an
insult, implying an aggressive and primitive nature.
Attitudes have changed over the last decade. New evidence for Neander-
thal care for illness and injury, the production of art and mortuary practices
have elevated our attitudes to the capacities of our nearest evolutionary
cousins, whilst evidence for interbreeding and a contribution of Neander-
thal DNA to our modern genome has made us increasingly uncomfort-
able about negative portrayals of people who are now seen as close family
(Sykes 2020).
Neanderthals remain a challenge to approach and interpret, even within a
more modern framework. Even though there has been notable interbreed-
ing with our own species, so-called ‘modern’ humans (Hajdinjak et al. 2021;
Lalueza-Fox 2021), Neanderthals have followed a largely dierent path to
that of our own species for most of the last half a million years. They seem
to have beneted from physical adaptations to their particular environments
and ecology that are notably dierent, such as increased levels of brown fat
(Sazzini et al. 2014) and adaptations to a high protein diet (Ben-Dor et al.
2016), and seem to have been better suited to short sprints rather than run-
ning for long periods (Higgins and Ru 2011). They may even have under-
gone something similar to hibernation to escape resource shortages in
winter months (Bartsiokas and Arsuaga 2020). Their brains also developed
dierently (Gunz et al. 2010). As well as evident robusticity and the pres-
ence of a notable brow ridge and dierent cranial shape (see Figure 9.3),
Neanderthals show notable dierences in adult visual cortex (Pearce,
Stringer, and Dunbar 2013), parietal lobes (Pereira-Pedro et al. 2020) and
cerebellum (Kochiyama et al. 2018). The archaeological record shows dier-
ences in technology and in symbolism, and most particularly in patterns of
mobility, interaction and innovation (Spikins, Hitchens, and Neeham 2017).
392 HIDDEN DEPTHS
In trying to explain why the material evidence for Neanderthal behaviour is
dierent from that of the modern humans who replaced them, our atten-
tion has traditionally tended to focus on Neanderthal thinking skills. Par-
ticular attention has been paid to areas of Neanderthal cognition that might
be seen as inferior to that of modern humans, in keeping with our assump-
tion that our species ought to be cleverer than any others. Certainly, there
is some evidence that Neanderthal thought and perception were dierent.
There are a number of regions of modern human brains that seem to dem-
onstrate potentially important dierences from theirs (Bruner 2021). Dier-
ences in the parietal cortex may inuence technical and visual cognition
(Pereira-Pedro et al. 2020), for example, dierences in the cerebellum may
be signicant in organisational skills (Kochiyama et al. 2018), and there may
even be dierences in body cognition (Bruner and Gleeson 2019). The idea
that any dierences, no matter how subtle, should imply human cognitive
superiority seems somehow unsatisfactory, however (Homann et al. 2018;
Langbroek 2012; Zilhão 2014). Moreover, there tends to be little attempt to
focus on where areas of Neanderthal cognition might have been superior.
If we start by assuming that, in terms of their thinking skills, Neanderthals
occupied a lower rung of an evolutionary ladder than modern humans, we
Figure 9.3: Neanderthal (right) and modern human crania (left), showing
distinctive dierences in cranial shape, robusticity, and presence/absence
of a brow ridge. Hairymuseummatt (original photo), DrMikeBaxter (deriv-
ative work), CC BY-SA 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons: https://commons
.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Sapiens_neanderthal_comparison_en_black
background.png.
REfRAmINg NEANDERTHAlS 393
tend to nd what we are looking for. We then ascribe behavioural dier-
ences to their supposedly inferior thought.
The only alternative to a view of Neanderthals as necessarily inferior has
tended to be portrayals and interpretations of Neanderthals as the same
as our own species. Certainly, Neanderthals are no less human. Nonethe-
less, seeing Neanderthals as the same is, perhaps, too easy a solution to the
challenge of approaching dierences without assumptions of superiority
and inferiority. Even a recent tendency to move away from an evolutionary
model of a ladder by thinking of human evolution as a braided stream with
dierent species of humans all going in the same direction, is far from per-
fect as it fails to allow for dierent evolutionary directions. No one likes to
be seen as inferior, but equally we might doubt if any Neanderthal meeting
a modern human would want to be seen as just the same.
The problem of how to approach and understand dierences we see in
past species who lived contemporaneously with each other, without
imposing concepts of progression, has become even more pressing in
recent years. Evidence has revealed that the relatively recent evolutionary
past, and particularly the period between 300,000 and 30,000 years ago,
was one in which there were a wealth of dierent human species, from
those who were robust, such as the Denisovans and Neanderthals, to the
tiny Homo oresiensis or Homo luzonensis or small-brained hominins such
as Homo naledi, many of which lived in similar regions at the same time.
It is far too easy to nd ourselves assuming that our ancestors, the taller
and more gracile forms amongst these unusual creatures, were better in
every way, simply because we see ourselves as ‘the survivors’ of this remark-
able proliferation of forms. The real story of what happens is likely to be far
more complex.
Considering emotional dispositions may provide some insights. It may be pos-
sible to nd explanations for dierences in behaviours which do not depend
on inferring that Neanderthals possessed an inferior cognitive capacity.
Dierent types of ‘social’
Can contrasts in emotional dispositions between closely related species today
help us reframe dierences between Neanderthals and our own species?
394 HIDDEN DEPTHS
We have seen how there can be subtle but important contrasts between
quite closely related species that do not clearly divide into ideas of bet-
ter or worse (Chapter 8). Contrasts between wolves and dogs, and those
between chimpanzees and bonobos, are particularly relevant. In con-
trast to free-ranging dogs, wolves are much more willing to share food
amongst the group and to collaborate in care of ospring, as well as to hunt
collaboratively, for example. Free-ranging dogs, in contrast, rarely share
or collaborate in ospring care, and the extent to which they collaborate in
hunting is very limited. Yet, before we simply see wolves as more social or
more collaborative, we must at the same time recognise that free-ranging
dogs are far more open to external connections, and form packs of unre-
lated individuals that contrast with the largely kin groups we see in wolves.
There seems to be a certain inward focus to wolf pack social relationships
that contrasts with the outward focus we see in free-ranging dogs, and
neither can simply be described as more social or more collaborative than
the other. Dierent contrasts, which share some similarities, can also be
drawn between chimpanzees and bonobos. Chimpanzees are far more
eective collaborative hunters, and more prolic users of a wider variety of
tools than bonobos. They cannot be seen as either more collaborative or
more intelligent, however. Bonobos take a more outward focus to their com-
munity social relationships, and have a more intuitive emotional response
to others within their communities.
These dierently social distinctions are apparent between many closely
related species. As we have seen in Chapter 8, African wild dogs and grey
wolves seem very similar and are both highly collaborative, yet communi-
cate their intentions in markedly dierent ways. We should not be surprised
to nd something similar to these subtle but important dierences in types
of social collaboration or communication when we consider dierences
between some closely related human species. Ideas that any one species is
superior to a close relation – more collaborative, more social or more intel-
ligent – tend to be over simplistic.
Dierent evolutionary branches bring diering advantages and disad-
vantages depending on context, and also bring compromises. Changes in
emotional disposition are no dierent. Animals that become more exter-
nally socially tolerant, both under direct human inuence and in the wild,
show a greater social sensitivity and openness to new experiences (and, as
we have seen, dogs have a longer period of openness to new experience
REfRAmINg NEANDERTHAlS 395
as puppies than do wolves). However, social sensitivity brings with it a
certain neediness. Whilst wolves famously ‘don’t look back’ to their fellows
or plead for support, and tend to solve problems independently, dogs
immediately seek support, particularly from people, and look to others
to how they should behave. Bonobos both reach out to help others much
more willingly than chimpanzees do, and also seem to need and reach
for closeness and aection more often. We cannot simply describe these
dierent types of social behaviour as inferior or superior, or more or less
complex. They are social behaviours that suit dierent contexts, and come
along with compromises.
A better understanding of potential dierences in emotional dispositions
aecting social tolerance, social sensitivity and emotional vulnerability, as
dierences that cannot easily be placed within a ladder of progression, may
help us understand dierent behaviours between dierent human species.
Here, we focus on how insights from understanding dierent pathways
in emotional dispositions may help us to understand archaeological
Contrasts seen when comparing
closely related species
Comparing wolves
and dogs
Comparing
chimpanzees and
bonobos
Diering inward and outward
focus to social relationships
Evident Evident
Diering levels of group
collaboration (hunting, sharing
food, ospring care)
Evident Evident
Diering willingness to include
outsiders
Evident Evident
Diering social sensitivity/
vulnerability
Evident Evident
Diering individual
independence
Evident Unconrmed
Diering facial expressivity Evident Unconrmed
Table 9.1: Key contrasts in emotional dispositions and behaviours between
closely related social species (discussed in more detail in Chapter 8), often
simplied into a generalisation ‘wild’ versus ‘tame’.
396 HIDDEN DEPTHS
evidence for contrasting patterns of social behaviour between communi-
ties of Neanderthals and those of modern humans in Europe. We suggest
that Neanderthals are best seen as dierently emotional, and dierently
social. These dierences, rather than some inferior cognition, can explain
the diering structure of their communities, and dierent behaviours seen
in the archaeological evidence.
Archaeological evidence for contrasting patterns
of intergroup connection between Neanderthals
and modern humans in Europe
Background
It is easy to forget that Neanderthals were a highly successful hominin. They
lived in Europe from around 300,000 years ago, and descended from earlier
species that had been living in the region since at least 1 million years ago.
Whilst there were early incursions of so-called ‘modern’ humans from Africa
into Europe (such as over 200,000 years ago in Greece; Harvati et al. 2019),
their sustained occupation of the region has been quite recent, largely tak-
ing place after 40,000 years ago. Yet, after several thousand years of overlap
and interbreeding, modern humans eventually occupied all of Europe and
displaced Neanderthals.
The similarities between these two populations far exceed any distinctions.
As we have seen in Chapter 2, Neanderthal communities were highly col-
laborative, showing strong altruistic motivations within their own groups,
being willing to care for others for extended periods, and to risk their lives
to bring back food (Spikins et al. 2018). Neanderthals, like modern humans,
were very intelligent, highly socially complex beings who cared deeply for
those around them. Both Neanderthal and modern humans share large
brains, capacities for social complexity, learning and altruism. Furthermore,
any genetic dividing line is far from clear cut, with a notable contribution of
Neanderthal DNA to modern European and Asian populations, for example
(Sankararaman et al. 2016). Many of the traditional interpretations of Nean-
derthals, which portrayed them as having inferior intelligence or being infe-
rior in other ways, such as in their symbolic capacities, have eroded over
recent years (Homann et al. 2018; Langbroek 2012; Zilhão 2014).
REfRAmINg NEANDERTHAlS 397
Remaining distinctions, which are dicult to explain, are seen in patterns
in the structure of Neanderthal and modern human social networks, social
groups and communities. Explanations for these dierences have tended
to focus on the concept that Neanderthals were socially or cognitively less
competent (see Pearce 2013). Insights into diering emotional dispositions
between closely related species may provide alternative explanations.
Neanderthal community relationships
Like all members of the genus Homo (discussed in Part 1), Neanderthals
were social beings, living in groups and thriving on emotional connection.
When it came to contacts outside of family and living groups, it is clear that
Neanderthal families did not live in isolated social bubbles. It seems reason-
able to talk of Neanderthal communities, stretching beyond the connes of
a single local living group (Sykes 2012). Similar artefacts found across large
regions demonstrate that Neanderthals within some regions had a shared
understanding of how certain things should be made. Regional styles are
identied in Middle Palaeolithic lithic technology, for example (Ruebens
2013), as well in mortuary practices (Pettitt 2010). Individuals must have
moved between groups at certain times.
Nonetheless, though there were some connections between Neanderthal
groups, the scale of everyday social life seems to be small. Living groups
seem to have been largely small and kin-based. At El Sidrón, in northern
Spain, the skeletal remains of several individuals who were presumably a
single group, victims of an unfortunate rock fall, were recovered. The group
consisted of 13 Neanderthals: seven adults, three adolescents, two juveniles
and one infant, of whom three of the adults were brothers, whilst the adult
females were unrelated (Lalueza-Fox et al. 2011; Ríos et al. 2019). Intrasite
spatial patterns also suggest that a small group of this size may have been
typical (Spikins, Hitchens, and Needham 2017).
Archaeological evidence also suggests that interactions between groups,
whilst they must have occurred occasionally to maintain mating networks,
were infrequent. In many regions, raw materials used for making int tools
are moving only within the expected ‘home range’ (the area in which any
single group might have travelled to nd enough food). For example, raw
398 HIDDEN DEPTHS
materials within sites in the Southern Massif Central in France come pre-
dominantly from within the region itself, suggesting that there was little
travel beyond this region (Fernandes, Raynal, and Moncel 2008). Raw mate-
rials for int tools typically come from the most local source possible in
this region – such as within ve kilometres (Fernandes, Raynal, and Moncel
2008), with even only 20 kilometres away being exceptional.
Moncel commented:
The data suggest highly mobile human groups, travelling in small
territories on plateaus and valleys, along the Rhône corridor for daily
subsistence. There is no evidence of human travel into the Massif
Central Mountains to the west to collect raw materials; in fact any
geographical obstacle appears to have stopped human movements
along the south-eastern border of the Massif Central. (2011: 261)
This is not unusual for many European Middle Palaeolithic sites, such as in
northern Italy (Spinapolice 2012) and the Swabian Alb (Conard, Bolus, and
Münzel 2012), where raw materials predominantly come from within 10 kilo-
metres. Across the whole of Europe, raw material movements are commonly
small-scale, with those of more than 100 kilometres being exceptional
(Féblot-Augustins 1993; Féblot-Augustins 1999; Féblot-Augustins 2009).
Raw materials are sometimes transported in a notable quantity from beyond
what might be a typical home range. However, this only seems to occur
where it seems to be a matter of necessity. In southern Italy, for example,
the majority of int raw material used in some of the sites in the Salento
region comes from about 100–150 kilometres to the north. However, in
this case, local raw materials are particularly poor quality and would have
been dicult to use (Spinapolice 2012). Regular movements between home
ranges may have been possible when required, without necessarily being a
welcome pleasure.
There are frequent instances where a few examples of distant materials
are recovered from Middle Palaeolithic sites, providing evidence of inter-
group interactions or movements. For example, at Lezetxiki, in northern
Spain, a marine shell that had travelled over 500 kilometres was recovered
from Middle Palaeolithic deposits dating to 55,000–48,000bp (Arrizabalaga
2009), seemingly as a ‘one o’ transport (Spikins, Hitchens, and Needham
REfRAmINg NEANDERTHAlS 399
2017). A few well-used artefacts found at Cap Grand in south-west France
had travelled over 400 kilometres (Slimak and Giraud 2007). Furthermore,
int from distant raw material outcrops has been found in certain Middle
Palaeolithic assemblages at Amud cave in Israel, even though there seems
to be no systematic exploitation of these raw materials (Ekshtain et al. 2017:
207). However, these occasional longer-distance movements t within what
we expect through personal transport (Kuhn 2012), that is, tools or raw mate-
rials that someone took with them, perhaps over a long period of time, and
which ended up moving a longer distance from the source. The evidence for
longer-distance movements outside of a group’s typical range are consist-
ent with what we might expect when external social connections were not
common (Djindjian 2012). Such movements are not at all surprising, poten-
tially occurring within mating networks and perhaps only as frequently, as
we see in other social animals such as chimpanzees or bonobos. What we
lack is any good evidence for frequent social interaction between groups.
There even seems to be marked constraints on signicant movements
across dierent home ranges in some regions. In the Middle Palaeolithic of
the Levant, detailed studies of the transport of int materials to the site
of ’Ein Qashish suggest potential borders between groups where resources
remain unexploited (Ekshtain et al. 2014; Ekshtain et al. 2017; Hovers 2018).
This ‘gap’ in raw material procurement regions between what were probably
neighbouring home ranges of dierent Neanderthal groups suggests that
separate groups largely kept to the ‘their side’ of the border.
Genetic evidence adds to this picture of restricted intergroup movement.
At El Sidrón, intergroup movements, such as they were, may have been
constrained to a patrilocal pattern in which related males stayed in the
group and females moved at maturity (Lalueza-Fox et al. 2011; Ríos et al.
2019). Other genetic evidence from the Altai Mountains in Siberia also sup-
ports the notion of females moving between groups whilst males stayed
within their local group (Gibbons 2021). This would suggest that it was
females who were creating patterns of long-distance transport, and main-
taining cultural contacts. There is little to no archaeological evidence for
sustained gatherings of communities any larger than local family or living
groups (Spikins, Hitchens, and Needham 2017). Limited social connec-
tions are also associated with high levels of inbreeding. Half-sibling mat-
ings were common in the ancestry of the Altai individual (Prüfer et al. 2014),
400 HIDDEN DEPTHS
for example. Moreover, levels of developmental abnormalities, such as cleft
palate at El Sidrón (Ríos et al. 2015), are higher than those typically seen in
social primates (Trinkaus 2018), and may even have been a contributing fac-
tor to Neanderthal demise (Ríos et al. 2019).
A rather close-knit focus to Neanderthal social life may explain characteris-
tics of their art. Neanderthals were clearly capable of symbolism, creating
a range of symbolic material culture, from using decorative eagle features
(Finlayson et al. 2012; Peresani et al. 2011) to cave art engravings (Rodríguez-
Vidal et al. 2014). We see, as well, paintings and hand prints (Aubert, Brumm,
and Huntley 2018; Homann et al. 2018), incised and painted shells (Pere-
sani et al. 2013) and even a facial representation (Marquet and Lorblanchet
2003), many of which clearly predate the arrival of moderns who cannot
simply have been the inspiration for such creativity. Pigment use dates back
to at least 200,000 years ago and is widespread, probably as a form of body
decoration (Roebroeks et al. 2012), as do mortuary practices (Majkić et al.
2017; Pettitt 2011). However, Neanderthal art and symbolism is locally dis-
tinctive and there is not one but many varied forms of personal expression
(see Figures 9.3 (Radovčić et al. 2015) and 9.4 (Rodríguez-Vidal et al. 2014)).
In many cases, each example is entirely unique. It seems likely that the scale
of Neanderthal social relationships had an impact on their style of cultural
interactions, leading to a certain independence of local art styles rather than
shared regional norms of expression.
Modern human communities replacing Neanderthals in Europe were simi-
lar to them in many ways, including nely tuned exploitation of their envi-
ronments, care for the ill and injured, complex cultures and sophisticated
technologies. However, their community connections were distinctly dier-
ent in scale.
Modern human communities
We should be cautious of oversimplifying these dierent populations, par-
ticularly given variability in both Neanderthal and modern human occupa-
tion over vast realms of time and space. Nonetheless, it seems that the social
lives of modern humans in Europe were distinctively dierent from those of
Neanderthals in certain important characteristics.
REfRAmINg NEANDERTHAlS 401
Figure 9.4: White-tailed eagle talons from the Krapina, dating to approxi-
mately 130,000 years ago. These talons are particularly signicant as
they seem to have been worn suspended as jewellery. Radovčić, Sršen,
Radovčić, and Frayer. 2015. ‘Evidence for Neandertal Jewelry: Modied
White-Tailed Eagle Claws at Krapina.’ PLoS ONE 10 (3): e0119802. DOI:
https://dx.doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0119802. Luka Mjeda, Zagreb,
CC BY 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki
/File:Neandertal_Jewelry_(from_PLoS).jpg.
402 HIDDEN DEPTHS
Figure 9.5: Neanderthal engraving in cross hatch shape found in Gor-
ham’s Cave, Gibraltar. AquilaGib (Stewart Finlayson, Gibraltar Museum),
CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons: https://commons.wikimedia.org
/wiki/File:Neanderthal_Engraving_(Gorham%27s_Cave_Gibraltar).jpg.
From the rst arrival of Upper Palaeolithic populations into and across
Europe, their community relationships seem to be markedly dierent from
those of the Neanderthals (see Table 9.1). They spread remarkably quickly
into the region then occupied by Neanderthals around 40,000 years ago
(Hoecker 2009), soon reaching regions as far ung from their eastern entry
through the Levant as southern Spain (Cortés-Sánchez et al. 2019) and Sibe-
ria (Douka et al. 2019). It is tempting to conclude that these populations
were simply cleverer than previous ones, or more adaptable, but that many
dispersals also failed, or were so risky as to be irrational rather than clever,
argues that other distinctions were important. New motivations, and new
types of social connection, are likely to have played an important role in
motivations for this new level of mobility (see Spikins 2015).
REfRAmINg NEANDERTHAlS 403
The movements of raw materials and spread of art and personal ornamenta-
tion suggest that new large-scale alliances appeared quickly. From the very
start of the occupation, identical Aurignacian beads were found over large
regions and were transported across large distances along networks (Pettitt
2014; Vanhaeren and d’Errico 2006), for example. Marine shells commonly
travelled over 200 kilometres, and some travelled over 1,000 kilometres.
Unusual examples even include those that are made of human teeth, and
are much worn, suggesting a close relationship with someone was being
marked out and remembered (Spikins 2015a; White 2007). Large regions
sharing similar styles of beads, and with transfers of beads across them, also
suggest that people were re-enforcing a concept of ‘us’ that included whole
communities (Vanhaeren and d’Errico 2006), much like those seen in hunter-
gatherer ethnic communities today (Layton, O’Hara, and Bilsborough 2012).
Indirect procurement, i.e. the deliberate travel over some distance typically
outside of the home range in order to pick up raw materials for later use,
or exchange of materials between groups, appears to have been common
(Tomasso and Porraz 2016). Raw materials are typically brought from out-
side the area of a typical home range, with the transport of materials over
100 kilometres being common (Féblot-Augustins 2009). In some Gravettian
sites, for example, more than 50% of the raw material comes from over 100
kilometres (Féblot-Augustins 2009). A drawing of a seal on a shale plaquette
from the Late Magdalenian at Andernach-Martinsburg, found with marine
shells and a whale bone fragment, over 1,000 kilometres from the coast, was
probably made by an individual who had travelled that distance (Langley
and Street 2013).
Genetic evidence also shows frequent movements and interaction between
groups, beyond what would be purely functional (Fu et al. 2016). The
genome sequences of Sunghir burials II, III and IV on the Russian Plain, dat-
ing to around 34,000 years ago, indicate extensive connections between
groups and exogamous mating practices (Sikora et al. 2017).
There is even remarkable evidence from northern Spain for community
aggregations. Collaborative hunting of mammoths at large mammoth
megasites, such as Předmostí in the Czech Republic (with a minimum of 105
mammoths, dated to 26,000 years ago; Shipman 2015), is also likely to have
needed collaborations between groups. Towards the end of the period at
404 HIDDEN DEPTHS
Dierences
European Neanderthals Upper Palaeolithic modern
humans in Europe
Population
spread and
migration
Archaeological evidence
for slow spread of popula-
tions, typically in response to
ecological changes and not
crossing major ecological barri-
ers (e.g. the Straits of Gibraltar)
(Spikins 2015b)
Genetic and archaeological
evidence for rapid popula-
tion migration into new
areas, and against ecologi-
cal barriers (Cortés-Sánchez
et al. 2019; Hoecker 2009;
Hublin 2015)
Mating networks Genetic evidence for limited
mating networks. Half-sibling
matings common (Prüfer et al.
2014). High rates of inbreeding
(Sánchez-Quinto and Lalueza-
Fox 2015, Gibbons 2021), lead-
ing to high rates of develop-
mental abnormalities (Trinkaus
2018), such as cleft palate at El
Sidrón (Luis Ríos et al. 2015).
Mating networks large
scale, and similar to modern
hunter-gatherers (Fu et al.
2016; Pearce 2013)
Scale of move-
ments within
foraging areas
Raw material procurement:
Raw materials typically trans-
ported within constrained
territories (Djindjian 2012) (for
example within the Vercors
basin) (Fernandes, Raynal, and
Moncel 2008; Pearce 2013)
Isotope evidence:
Short distances travelled over
lifetime: example of Lakonis,
Greece (Richards et al. 2008)
Raw material procurement:
Apparently very large forag-
ing areas (at least up to last
glacial maximum; Djindjian
2012) and high mobility
within these areas
Frequency of
long-distance
movements
Regionally longer-distance
procurement rare, and in
case of need (such as lithics
imported into southern Italy)
(Spinapolice 2012)
Regionally indirect
procurement (to select
optimal-quality int)
probably common
(Tomasso and Porraz 2016)
Continued.
REfRAmINg NEANDERTHAlS 405
Dierences
European Neanderthals Upper Palaeolithic modern
humans in Europe
Over large areas long-distance
movements rare, and limited to
certain contexts (e.g. the East
European Plain) (Féblot-Augus-
tins 1993; Féblot-Augustins
1999; Féblot-Augustins 2009)
Over large areas long-
distance movements are
common (Féblot-Augustins
1993; Féblot-Augustins
1999; Féblot-Augustins
2009). Whilst these may be
a result of transfers of mate-
rials and nished products,
there is also evidence of
movement of individuals
(Langley and Street 2013)
Use of art objects
within social
networks
Symbolism of many dierent
forms, including cave art, but
remains local
Material and nished
personal ornaments in the
early Upper Palaeolithic
transported over long
distances (marine shells or
mammoth ivory typically
travel over 200 kilometres,
sometimes over 1000
kilometres)
Cultural resil-
ience (mainte-
nance of local
cultural styles)
Highly conservative art
styles over large regions
Table 9.2: Archaeological and related evidence for similarities and
dierences between Neanderthal and modern human large-scale social
interactions.
the Magdalenian site of Altamira in northern Spain, many design elements
were represented on engraved and decorated bone and antler artefacts
that were not found together in surrounding sites (Conkey et al. 1980). Con-
key concluded that this was an aggregation site, to which many surround-
ing groups, each with their separate distinctive design styles, had travelled
(Conkey et al. 1980). With no particular reason for any concentration of
Continued.
406 HIDDEN DEPTHS
resources at this site, this aggregation seems to have been fullling a social
need, rather than an immediately practical one.
These social alliances seem to have played a key role in survival at times of
resource shortfall, much as they do in modern hunting and gathering con-
texts (Whallon 2006).
There are certainly important survival advantages to regional connection
and collaboration. Intergroup collaboration can make exploiting certain
resources possible. Certain ethnographically and archaeologically docu-
mented populations join together to hunt particularly large or concentrated
resources that might otherwise have been risky or impossible to hunt alone.
The collaborative hunting of whales is a well-known case, as such hunt-
ing is dicult, if not impossible, without large numbers of people working
together (Reeves and Smith 2006). Groups of Inuit coming together for col-
laborative whaling activities have been recorded from the late 18th cen-
tury (see Figure 9.5). Hunting of bowhead whales has even been shown to
be a major factor in the signicant population expansion of Thule culture
around ad 1000 (Wenzel 2009). Collaborative whale hunting is also known
ethnographically elsewhere. Collaborative sperm whale hunters in Indone-
sia bring home more resources through their collaboration than they could
through more individual shing (Alvard and Nolin 2002), for example.
On the level of individuals, the most famous example of the survival sig-
nicance of distant friendships is that of the Ju/’hoansi xaro network. The
xaro is a network of gift-giving, visits and mutual friendships that buers
human communities from the eects of shortfalls and famines. Members
of Ju/’-hoansi bands each forge alliances with non-kin or distantly related
kin in other bands, giving them carefully made gifts and visiting them. It is
these allies whom they turn to in times of local crisis (Wiessner 2002a; Wiess-
ner 2002b). When food shortages following high winds destroyed much of
the mongongo nuts in /Xai/xai province, for example, half of the population
moved in with distant exchange partners, and would not have survived if
this social support was not possible (Wiessner 2002a). These external allies
can sometimes make a dierence to survival, with such alliances even a mat-
ter of life and death.
Connected regional communities also favour survival in other ways.
The best-studied eect of the emergence of social networks has been in
REfRAmINg NEANDERTHAlS 407
allowing the spread of new ideas and innovations (Apicella et al. 2012; Foga-
rty 2018). Although they might live in small social groups, any individual in
a similar hunting and gathering context is likely to interact with over a thou-
sand other people over the course of their lifetime. Hill notes, for example,
that, amongst the Hadza and the Aché, men are likely to have learnt how to
produce tools from over 300 other individuals (Hill et al. 2014). An aware-
ness of what is happening elsewhere, and an ability to pick up new ideas,
can be important in allowing populations to adapt quickly to environmental
changes (Derex, Perreault, and Boyd 2018; Foley and Gamble 2009; Muth-
ukrishna and Henrich 2016). Connections thus foster rapid adaptability.
It would be easy to frame the contrast in communities as one between
simple and complex, or even primitive and advanced, particularly since we
associate the extensive social networks of the Upper Palaeolithic with the
survival advantages of providing a social buer for resource shortfalls. How-
ever, a closer consideration shows that, by focusing on the role of emotional
dispositions in social tolerance, we reveal that equal but dierent may be a
better way to understand such contrasts.
The structure of social networks and contrasting emotional
dispositions in social tolerance
From our privileged position as the apparent survivors, it is easy to see
networks of allies across connected Upper Palaeolithic communities as a
sign of superiority. These populations appear socially and cognitively more
complex, and better able to negotiate collaborations than Neanderthals.
However, a focus on the economics of resilience to resource shortfalls may
be hindering our understanding that the underlying mechanisms allow-
ing their creation are not calculated or cognitive but emotional. Moreover,
those capacities that allow the creation and maintenance of large-scale
connections also carry costs. Considering the emotional basis underlying
community connections in Neanderthals and modern humans allows a
reframing away from inferior or superior.
The creation and maintenance of the regional communities and social net-
works seen in modern humans depend on a high level of social tolerance,
on a strong drive to connect and, above all, on an individual emotional vul-
nerability that is both a strength and a weakness of these interconnected
communities.
408 HIDDEN DEPTHS
When we look in more depth at what drives regional collaborations in mod-
ern hunter-gatherers, we reveal the signicance of emotional connections,
rather than logical or calculated arrangements. Mutual generosity and
trust, rather than calculated collaboration, is the basis for the collaborations
to exploit resources. The coastal-living Yamana of Tierra del Fuego devel-
oped mutually generous alliances in order to exploit periodically beached
whales, for example, which were a cause for many celebrations and shared
rituals, such as the chiexaus and kina initiations (Chapman 1997; McEwan,
Borrero, and Prieto 2014). Smoke signals were sent to invite as many other
groups as possible to join in the feast, with this mutual give and take main-
tained by trust that this goodwill would be returned in the future (Gusinde
1986; Santos et al. 2015).
Where individual networks of friendships with distant allies are concerned,
similar emotional motivations based on social tolerance, mutual generosity
and trust are also key. The xaro has been seen in terms of networks of obli-
gations, almost like a contract, but this would be a misunderstanding of the
emotions underlying such networks. It is clear that people look forward to
seeing xaro partners, and nd preparing gifts a pleasure rather than a chore
(Wiessner 2002a). Xaro partners ‘hold each other in their hearts’ (Wiessner
2002a: 27). Moreover, evening talk around campres is not just about those
people present at the time but also involves stories told about ties to distant
people and remembered gatherings in the past (Wiessner 2014).
The value of connected communities lies not just in knowing a lot of people,
as we might consider a social network today, but in caring about distant
friends who also care about you. Migliano et al. demonstrated, for exam-
ple, that networks amongst the Agta and Bayaka are made up of close
relationships maintained over lifetimes with a few individuals (Migliano et
al. 2016). In viewing networks of social alliances as economic systems, we
can easily lose sight of the social and emotional capacities and motivations
which they depend on. Yet it is clear that neither systems of obligation,
nor simple agreements, work to ensure support in times of need. Relation-
ships based on ‘needs-based transfers’ (responding to the vulnerability of
those in need), rather than on systems of obligations, are those that ensure
survival (Campenni, Cronk, and Aktipis 2017; Cronk et al. 2017; Smith et al.
2019). Strong emotional drives to make close friends outside our kin are
REfRAmINg NEANDERTHAlS 409
motivators of human behaviour that provide mutual support everywhere
(Cronk et al. 2017).
Networks of trusting relationships and close friendships are built on both a
high level of social tolerance towards strangers, and also on certain social
needs and emotional vulnerabilities to loneliness or lack of belonging. This
individual vulnerability is also important to how social alliance networks are
maintained as, without a strong emotional need to sustain and extend net-
works of social support to avoid a sense of isolation or loneliness, connec-
tions would fall out of use. Even when food supplies and the emergence of a
cash economy made the Ju/’hoansi xaro network unnecessary, networks of
social ties with distant friends were still kept up, even though fewer partners
are typically involved (an average of seven rather than 15). These distant
allies were socially and emotionally necessary, even if they did not perform
a practical economic function (McCall 2000; Wiessner 2002a). Maintaining
such relationships involves eort. The Jo-huansi spent about a third of the
year visiting close friends in distant camps, and about 75 to 80 days making
gifts to give them (Wiessner 2002a).
Opportunities to gather together are also important. A universal feature
of modern hunter-gatherers, in all dierent environments, is that small
living groups or bands will periodically join together as larger communi-
ties, or aggregations (Conkey et al. 1980; Kelly 2013). These gatherings are
important in ensuring the sustainability of mating networks. However, they
also full a need to reconnect with old friends and develop new emotional
connections, as well as for people to feel part of a larger community. Peri-
odic gatherings seem to be as much about a human emotional need for
meaningful social connection as they are a functional necessity. The times
and places of aggregations usually coincide with a seasonal concentration
of resources, but also provide an opportunity for important rituals to take
place. Even where resources are more predictable and the risk of shortfalls
less acute, alliances are still maintained.
Gatherings in modern ethnographically documented hunter-gatherers
occurred even in the most dicult of conditions and despite notable
costs. Gathering together is something people need to do. Even in the
extraordinarily harsh conditions of the Western desert of Australia, in which
410 HIDDEN DEPTHS
population densities were as low as one person per 300km2, the Martu still
put considerable eort into coming together at aggregations, for example.
In this highly arid region, it was typical to travel over 200 kilometres at least
once a year to attend social gatherings (McDonald and Veth 2012). A ‘tjabal’
(the multitude) took place once or twice a year, particularly in winter, when
seeds were abundant, and around reliable water sources in summer, for
example (McDonald and Veth 2012). These social gatherings did not have
a direct practical function but were nonetheless seen as vital. They were
the focus for rituals, exchanges of goods and marriage arrangements, and
general socialising that continued as long as resources and water allowed
(typically a few weeks to a couple of months; McDonald and Veth 2012: 93).
Moreover, these gatherings were also about extending friendships rather
than reinforcing existing communities. There were no clear limits to the
community who were allowed to attend and the attendance at aggrega-
tions amongst the Martu was exible, sometimes including dierent dialect
units and never the same set of individuals as previously. Hunter-gatherers
commonly adapt their mobility patterns to maintain contact, even where
this is costly (Grove 2018).
Oral histories within modern ethnographically documented groups
conrm that it is emotional needs that underlie social connections. Gath-
erings and shared ceremonies are essential to maintaining emotional
resilience and wellbeing. Coming together as a group and meeting distant
friends provided a marked buer to depression, anxiety and suicide (Danto
and Walsh 2017).
Informants amongst the Cree commented:
‘It was always through ceremonies and people talking to each other
– Everybody would migrate as a whole, come from dierent places to
get that and go back. You see … that was our form of communication
and life. And we used ceremonies to do that.’ ‘It’s not just something
to talk about. It’s a way of life, you know…’ ‘those are the things that
made our people strong: ceremonies’. (Danto and Walsh 2017: 723)
Collaborative social networks can only be maintained through strong emo-
tional desires to maintain friendships, and by extending genuine emotional
motivations to help others’ wellbeing well beyond kin and co-residents
(Cronk et al. 2017; Fowler and Christakis 2010). Being socially astute or clever
REfRAmINg NEANDERTHAlS 411
is not enough. Far from being a product of calculated strategy or cogni-
tive complexity, connected social networks depend on emotional motiva-
tions. They depend on strong emotional needs and motivations to seek out
friendships and to avoid loneliness or lack of belonging. Only these strong
emotional motivations maintain networks of friendships in times of plenty,
so that they also exist at times of need.
We have always assumed that large-scale regional connections in Upper
Palaeolithic communities were brought about through new superior social
capacities, and that ‘we’ modern humans are simply cleverer and more
social than our predecessors. However, it is much more likely that new sen-
sitivities, emotional vulnerabilities and new elevated needs for widespread
emotional connections lay at the root of these new connected societies.
Rather than a change in cognition, it is far more probable that a change
in emotional dispositions towards an external focused tolerance, bringing
with it individual emotional vulnerability, needs for connection and belong-
ing, and tendencies to loneliness, explains the creation of Upper Palaeolithic
social networks.
Rather than a concept of ‘better’ and more social Upper Palaeolithic com-
munities, we might perhaps see the dierences in behaviours observed in
the archaeological record in a new light, reecting the advantages and dis-
advantages of alternative evolutionary trajectories in the focus of emotional
connections. As we have seen in Chapter 8, a more outward or inward emo-
tional focus is suited to dierent contexts. Despite the lack of resilience at
community level, there will have been benets to the close-knit and inward-
focused emotional connections of Neanderthals. An internal or close-knit
emotional focus, and with this greater levels of internal social cohesion,
can foster greater levels of give and take within the living group. Close-knit
Neanderthal groups would have beneted from widespread care, willing-
ness to take risks on behalf of the group, and individual emotional resilience
(discussed in Chapter 2).
There are other practical advantages to close kit emotional dispositions.
Limiting social mobility between groups can also reduce the energetic
costs of such travel, which, as we have seen, can be extensive to maintain
functioning friendships. For Neanderthals, the travel cost of maintaining
social networks are likely to have been even greater than those of modern
412 HIDDEN DEPTHS
humans. Their robust body, for example, may have added at least 10% to the
energetic costs of travel, even before we take into account low population
densities, making distances between living groups much greater (Church-
ill 2014). Moreover, there is no need to manage challenging relationships
outside of a largely kin-based social group. As we have seen in Chapters 4
and 5, avoidance of other groups can be an eective social strategy for
avoiding aggressive encounters. The more pronounced brow ridge of the
archaic population would have restricted subtle muscle movements around
the eyes, limiting the movements that may have been important to how
modern humans created aliative gestures of recognition and sympathy,
fostering trust (Godinho, Spikins, and O’Higgins 2018). Furthermore, individ-
ual emotional resilience, rather than emotional vulnerability to lack of social
contact or to loneliness, fosters survival in conditions in which social support
is lacking. Neanderthals may have beneted from being more emotionally
resilient and from not needing to create costly compensatory attachments
to animals or even things (Chapters 6 and 7) at times of social stress. Overall,
their ecological situation and particular biology seem likely to have discour-
aged intercommunity tolerance in Neanderthals, whilst, in contrast, particu-
lar ecological conditions in regions of Africa may have particularly encour-
aged intercommunity tolerance amongst early modern humans (Spikins
et al. 2021). The price of maintaining social connections, both in practical
terms of the costs of travel and in emotional terms of the individual costs of
emotional vulnerabilities to loneliness or lack of belonging, may not have
been worth paying for Neanderthals. Rather than a social or cognitive infe-
riority, a close-knit focus and individual emotional resilience simply seems
to have made more sense in the context in which Neanderthals survived.
Of course, we should always be cautious when we discuss dierences
between populations. Our human biology, whether Neanderthal or mod-
ern human, is only one of many inuences on how we behave (discussed
in Chapters 1, 4 and 5). Culture, upbringing and individual choice play a
key role in who we are, and dierences identied at a group level do not
imply that any individual must be dierent on those terms. It is also easy to
make simple assumptions about what dierences in emotional disposition,
identied from genetics and anatomy, mean. As we have seen in Chapter 8,
we might imagine that wolves, with elevated androgen levels compared
to ‘tame’ dogs, would suer from higher levels of aggression and violence.
The converse is true, with free-ranging dogs being more at risk from lethal
REfRAmINg NEANDERTHAlS 413
attacks within their own less socially cohesive group than close-knit wolf
packs. In the even more complex situation of human societies, as we have
seen in Chapter 4, testosterone is more associated with competition to t
into social norms of respect than aggression per se. Thus, whilst genetics
and anatomy, including not only cranial anatomy but also 2D:4D digit ratios
(see Chapter 4 and Chapter 8), suggest that Neanderthals also had higher
androgen levels than modern humans, this does not imply higher levels of
violence. In fact, we only see clear evidence of intergroup conict in modern
humans rather than Neanderthals. Whilst external social tolerance may lead
to generous collaboration between groups, greater levels of engagement
between groups also carry risks of an escalation of conict. Emotional dis-
positions have to be understood in context.
Reframing Neanderthals as emotionally close-knit
and modern humans as emotionally approachable
Diering emotional dispositions explain contrasts
in the structure of communities
The archaeological evidence discussed here, alongside the ecological,
genetic and anatomical evidence discussed in Chapters 4, 5 and 8, suggests
that a key distinction aecting dierences in Neanderthal and modern
human behaviour may be their diering emotional dispositions, and dier-
ing social tolerance. These diering dispositions are best seen as dierent
ways of being social. Rather than seeing Neanderthals as cognitively inferior,
or socially less complex, or resorting to shoehorning them into being the
same, these seem to be societies that were more inward-collaborative and
potentially individually independent, or close-knit. In contrast, the modern
human pathway is one of being outward-focused and socially sensitive in
emotional relationships, or being approachable. Each evolutionary pathway
has both advantages and disadvantages in dierent contexts (Figure 9.6).
As we have seen in Part 2, archaeological evidence suggests a pattern in
which modern humans became more socially sensitive and emotionally
vulnerable, expressed in both material culture and relationships with ani-
mals. Neanderthals may have progressed some way along this path already,
given their reduced brow ridge in contrast to early Homo heidelbergensis.
However, in comparison to modern humans, Neanderthals seem to have a
414 HIDDEN DEPTHS
Figure 9.6: Simplied gure to illustrate contrasts between the close-knit emotional dispositions hypothesised to be charac-
teristic of Neanderthals (left) and, in contrast, the approachable dispositions hypothesised to be characteristic of modern
humans in Europe (right). The dierent line patterns between schematic living groups in the latter (right) denote dierent
types and strengths of social connection (e.g. strong bonds with mutual generosity, casual friendships, family or ritual ties
etc). The dashed outer circle (right) denotes a loosely dened regional community. Penny Spikins, CC BY-NC 4.0.
REfRAmINg NEANDERTHAlS 415
tendency to form close-knit groups, leading them to be highly internally
collaborative yet more suspicious of unfamiliar individuals. As a result, we
see dierences in the relative constraints or openness of large-scale social
interactions between the dierent species. Subtle but important dierences
in emotional dispositions would make the cultural character of Neanderthal
communities distinctive from that of Upper Palaeolithic communities, with-
out any implications for intelligence or social understanding.
Considering changes in emotional dispositions and the focus of emotional
connections may better explain many of the dierences previously attrib-
uted to intelligence, capacities for language or symbolism, or other ways in
which modern populations have been seen as more complex.
Diering emotional dispositions explain previously
enigmatic elements of the archaeological record
Understanding Neanderthal behaviour as reecting a dierent, less
externally socially tolerant but more internally socially collaborative path-
way of human variation gives us a dierent perspective. This dierent
pathway in which Neanderthals are dierently social explains many charac-
teristics which have been interpreted in terms of Neanderthals being on a
lower rung of some cognitive ladder or less socially complex than the mod-
ern humans who replaced them.
Subtle changes in emotional dispositions, driven by changes in the pathways
driving novelty and reward-seeking (through hormones such as dopamine),
stress reactivity (cortisol), competitiveness (testosterone) and the nature of
social bonds (oxytocin, vasopressin and beta endorphins), seen in genetic
evidence (discussed in Chapter 8) and in line with Neanderthals being more
internally cohesive, would have had subtle but important eects.
A reduced drive to seek out novelty, compared to that which is typical of
modern humans (discussed in Chapter 6), explains the rather constrained
nature of Neanderthal patterns of mobility. Unlike modern humans, it seems
that Neanderthals may have felt no particular attraction to the novelty of
strangers and, as a result, their external social relationships seem to have
been oriented around the minimum practical needs. Interactions with neigh-
bouring groups need not have been aggressive, and sometimes resources
416 HIDDEN DEPTHS
and materials travelled across the areas occupied by dierent living groups,
particularly when such resources were important to survival. However, there
may have seemed no particular pleasure in seeking out new friends. An ele-
vated stress reactivity of internally cohesive Neanderthals, in comparison to
the reduced stress reactivity of approachable modern humans (discussed in
Chapters 4 and 5), is also likely to have made the experience of large groups,
particularly of unfamiliar individuals, particularly stressful. This was a close-
knit social life, without any big parties.
It is not surprising that Neanderthal art seems unimpressive in comparison
to that of the Upper Palaeolithic when taken in the context of their inward-
focusing sociality. Neanderthal art is far from elaborate or time-consuming,
mostly requiring only a few minutes of attention. This contrasts markedly
with displays of technological skills in Upper Palaeolithic contexts, not only
in carefully produced artworks but even in int tools such as elaborately
made Solutrean foliate points (Sinclair 2015). This is, however, only what we
expect within inward-focusing social contexts. There is, simply, little need
to impress anyone. Whilst modern humans moved within vast networks
where they needed to develop a social identity and reputation across large
areas, Neanderthals would already be well known within their local group,
without the need for any ostentatious display or for subtle eye movements
to express aliation to strangers (Godinho, Spikins, and O’Higgins 2018).
Added to which, dierences in dopamine production between archaic and
modern humans may have made ‘art’ in aesthetics, depiction or music far
less enticing to the average Neanderthal brain than it is to the modern
human (see Chapter 4 and 5). Nature itself may have been enough of an aes-
thetic delight for Neanderthals, without needing to go to extreme lengths
to produce something articially beautiful. Furthermore, a relative lack of
personal ornaments or cherished possessions also reects this intimate
focus on social life. Without loved ones ever being far away, there would be
no need to rely on alternative sources of security. This greater inward focus
makes sense of why Neanderthal children and adults show a relative lack of
personal symbolic objects compared to those of the Upper Palaeolithic. As
discussed in Chapter 6, whatever their meaning, such objects are likely to
also have been part of compensatory attachments for modern humans, ll-
ing in when caring relationships come under threat. Whatever the ecologi-
cal hardships, growing up as a Neanderthal child in a small inward-focused
group will have encouraged emotional security. Neanderthals may have
REfRAmINg NEANDERTHAlS 417
experimented out of curiosity, but most probably did not need ‘art’ in any
of its forms.
The nature of social interactions in Neanderthals will also have aected how
innovations may have begun or been adopted (Hovers and Belfer-Cohen
2006). Interactions with new ideas will have been much less frequent, con-
straining their spread. Certainly, at particular times, some individuals, par-
ticularly adolescents and young adults, must have been lured by novelty
and sought out new connections in other groups. Nonetheless, distant
travel by entire groups across the homelands of other groups may have
been rare. Moreover, evidence suggests that even mating networks were
constrained. Those individuals who move between groups may have been
predominantly female, and external matings constrained by lack of con-
nections (Luis Ríos et al. 2015). By implication, it would have been women
who played a particularly signicant role in Neanderthal social connections,
not only in the maintenance of mating networks but in the spread of ideas
and cultural connections across large areas of landscape. This is in no way
surprising, as it is female primates who pass on mechanisms of producing
and using tools. Chimpanzees largely depend on their mothers to learn how
to make and use termite shing sticks, for example. There is no reason to
assume that males were any less competent than females in tool technol-
ogy, simply that in a patrilocal context they are likely to have played a less
signicant role in the spread of shared knowledge and styles. Mobility con-
strained by gender, the comparative rarity of intergroup movements and a
lack of regular aggregations will all have aected the potential for ideas and
ways of doing things to spread.
In being more robust, and so having a greater energetic footprint per indi-
vidual, Neanderthals already suered from a relative demographic restric-
tion to the size of their living groups and to their capacities to reproduce
compared to modern humans in a similar ecological context. Fewer Nean-
derthals could survive on the same resources as modern humans, and it took
more energetic costs for each child raised to adulthood. An additional, indi-
rect eect may come from changes towards increasing tameness or friendli-
ness on reproduction. An extended period of fertility is one of the notable
side eects of increasing friendliness or tameness in other domesticated
animals, including in the silver fox study (see Chapters 4 and 5). Genetic evi-
dence suggests that the generational interval reduced in modern humans
418 HIDDEN DEPTHS
after 40,000 years ago (e.g. from around 30 to around 25 years between
generations) (Macià et al. 2021). Whilst Neanderthals may have been able to
give more care to each child, this increased child security would have come
at a demographic cost. Modern human populations were able to bounce
back more quickly after population declines (as shown from analysis of radi-
ocarbon dated sites following Heinrich events; Bradtmöller et al. 2012).
The comparative failure of early modern human incursions into Europe can
also be explained by their emotional dependence on social networks. Small
groups of humans, unusually dependent on regional interactions not only
for ecological resilience but also as part of their emotional support network,
would be disadvantaged in comparison to inward-focused and independ-
ent Neanderthal populations. Whilst signicant communities of modern
humans, after 40,000 years ago, may have been more successful than Nean-
derthals at times of shortfalls, early incursions of modern populations into
Europe or the Near East would in any case be at a competitive disadvantage
if isolated.
Whilst the demise of Neanderthals is perhaps most likely to relate to either
chance or subtle dierences in biology, the possibility also exists that one
inuencing factor in Neanderthal demise was not that they were vulnerable
but rather that, at least individually and emotionally, they were not vulner-
able enough. Without emotionally needing to form social networks, or seek
support in compensatory attachments, they will have had no need to go
to great costs to maintain social contacts at a distance and, in lacking large
social networks, may have been far more prone to resource shortfalls. That
our relative survival may have come about through emotional vulnerability
is a very dierent type of human evolutionary narrative.
Conclusions
The very presence of Neanderthals challenges us. We know that they were
dierent from ourselves anatomically, with their increased robusticity,
longer, lower crania and prominent brow ridges. Moreover, they were dif-
ferent physiologically and in their brain structures, even if these dierences
can be subtle and evident only at a population level. Furthermore, as argued
here, they seem to have been emotionally dierent in terms of their lev-
els of internal or external social tolerance, their social sensitivity and their
REfRAmINg NEANDERTHAlS 419
emotional vulnerability. Such dierences are hardly surprising since the line
that led to Neanderthals diverged from that leading to our own species per-
haps as far back as half a million years ago, albeit with some intermixing.
It has been all too easy to t this dierence within a narrative in which ‘we’
modern humans boast superior intellect and social abilities.
Rather than seeing modern humans as socially or cognitively superior to
our close Neanderthal cousins, it seems more appropriate to appreciate
that there are dierent ways of being social. Dierent evolutionary path-
ways between close-knit and approachable emotional dispositions explains
the distinctions we observe in the archaeological record of Neanderthal
and modern human behaviours in Europe. Whilst the former dispositions
led to strong internal bonds and high levels of individual emotional resil-
ience, the latter led to the formation of large social networks, resilient to
resource shortfalls but at the expense of individual emotional vulnerability
and sensitivities to loneliness or a lack of belonging. Neanderthals were no
less human and, like our own species, needed close emotional connections
to survive and thrive. However, the focus of these connections seems to
have diered.
If Neanderthals represent a humanity without our social loneliness, lack of
belonging, or sensitivity to what others think, and with the unquestioning
support and loyalty of a small social group, it is not surprising that we see
interbreeding between these two lineages. Rather than a sign of Neander-
thals being the same as modern humans, it might rather be a sign of what
was attractive about the dierences.
Key points
• Archaeological evidence for dierences in mobility patterns and com-
munity interactions, alongside other lines of evidence (discussed in
Chapter 8), suggest that Neanderthals and modern human communities
show contrasting inward and outward social focus in their community
relationships, described here as internally cohesive and approachable
emotional dispositions.
• Contrasting behaviours may not indicate any inferiority or superiority
but, rather, diering ways of being social.
420 HIDDEN DEPTHS
• Diering emotional dispositions may also explain previously enigmatic
aspects of the archaeological record, such as the characteristics of Nean-
derthal art.
• We are naturally tempted to impose concepts of progression when we
consider our human evolutionary past. Accepting dierences as neither
better nor worse may be important in moving past these narratives.
REfRAmINg NEANDERTHAlS 421
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