Evolution Doesn’t Plan—And Neither Should Learning

I was volunteering at the zoo recently and ended up having one of my favorite kinds of conversations—the kind where someone asks a question that seems simple but opens the door to something bigger.

We were talking about convergent evolution and mangabeys.

Mangabeys are a group of monkeys that scientists originally thought all belonged together because they look remarkably similar. Same general body shape. Similar lifestyles. Similar features.

Makes sense, right? Except… later genetic research showed something surprising. Not all mangabeys are actually each other’s closest relatives. 

Some mangabeys are more closely related to mandrills. Those in blue. 

Others are more closely related to baboons Those in orange and green. What is even crazier is that the one in green is more closely related to baboons than to the ones in orange.  Our species at the Chattanooga Zoo is the Black Crested Mangabey. 

Scientists originally grouped them together because, based on what they could observe, it seemed obvious. And then they learned more. Turns out different evolutionary branches arrived at similar solutions.

Why?

Because that body shape works really well for the ecological niche they occupy. Different animals evolving stumbled into that shape and form and teeth and enzyme creating saliva more than once.

That’s convergent evolution.

Once you start noticing it, you see it everywhere.

One of my favorite examples is the Tasmanian tiger. Despite the name, it wasn’t a tiger. It wasn’t even a cat. It was a marsupial.

But it evolved a body plan that looked remarkably similar to placental predators because those features worked for the job.

Different starting points. Similar destination.

The Big Question About Evolution

At that point in the conversation, one of the parents asked me a question I hear a lot: “But how do animals know how to change?”

And I love that question. Because the answer is simple and profound. They don’t. What they do is survive. 

Evolution doesn’t have goals. Animals don’t decide to grow longer legs or sharper teeth. Nothing is planning ahead.  They just survive. 

Every generation's DNA contains variation. Mutations happen naturally. Some help. Some hurt. Most don’t matter much.

If a variation helps an individual survive long enough to reproduce, it has a better chance of showing up in the next generation. If it doesn’t, it tends to disappear.

No intention.

No foresight.

Just survival. 

Given enough time and changing conditions, those that survive, may change into different shapes. Sometimes those shapes converge, like mangabeys. 

Sometimes those shapes diverge.  Like camelids in North America. When the ice age happened it disrupted the climate. Some camelids migrated to Asia to survive and evolved into modern camels. Others headed south and evolved into alpacas and llamas. The ones that stayed in North America - didn't survive and went extinct because of the changing climate. This is why even though this family of animals evolved on the North American continent for 10s of millions of years (there were tall giraffe types, and smaller types and giant ones), we have no camelids in North America anymore. Most didn't survive climate change. 

The Joy of Learning

What struck me afterward wasn’t just how interested this family was in the evolutionary biology which is super cool. It was the question I got after explaining how cool mangabeys are and the craziness of their convergent evolution.  

How do animals KNOW how to evolve. What shape will work for them? 

Because that question—that willingness to say “Wait… how does that actually work?”—is something I deeply admire.

That father could have nodded politely and moved on. Instead, he got curious. And curiosity changes everything.

Humanism, to me, starts there. With the recognition that the world is under no obligation to match our assumptions.

Sometimes what looks obvious turns out not to be true. Scientists thought mangabeys were all one close family. They asked more questions and learned otherwise.  And what they learned was even more amazing than their predecessors could have imagined. 

I’ve been interpreting for our black crested mangabeys for a year. I only learned their evolution recently. I volunteer at the zoo all the time and I still discover things I didn’t know.

That’s not failure. That’s the joy of learning.

The world is full of things we think we understand. Until we ask one more question. 

So stay curious.

Ask the question.

Be willing to discover you were wrong.

Be excited when reality turns out to be more interesting than you expected.

Because learning isn’t evidence that you didn’t know enough before. Learning is evidence that you’re paying attention. And that, to me, is one of the best parts of being human.

Beyond “I Love You”: Practicing All Forms of Love in Relationships and Life

 When most people think of love, they immediately think of eros—passionate, romantic love. And yes, eros is wonderful. It makes our hearts race, our palms sweat, and our Netflix nights feel electric. But here’s the truth: eros alone is not enough. Relying solely on eros can make relationships transactional—because desire can be conditional, fleeting, or tied to “what you do for me.”

Love is far richer than just eros. Philosophers and psychologists have identified many types:

• Philia: deep friendship and companionship
• Storge: familial, nurturing love
• Agape: unconditional, selfless love
• Fraternity: loyalty and camaraderie
• Ludus: playful, flirtatious love
• Pragma: practical, long-term love
• Self-love: recognizing your own worth and boundaries

A thriving relationship isn’t just built on one kind of love—it’s the combination of them all. Think of it as a recipe: too much eros without philia, storge, or agape, and your relationship is sweet but unstable. Too much pragmatism without playfulness, and you risk feeling like roommates rather than lovers.

Someone once asked me, “What’s a way to show your spouse you love them without saying the words, ‘I love you’?”

My answer: I want to be kissed on the neck—and then have him walk away. No words, no ulterior motive. Just a playful, spontaneous gesture. It’s eros, it’s agape, it’s philia—all wrapped into one moment. It says, “I love you—not because I expect anything, but just because.”

If you want to be a good spouse, practice all forms of love with your partner. Play. Care. Support. Nurture. Be loyal. Be practical. And don’t forget to love yourself along the way. Relationships thrive when love is multi-dimensional—and when it’s shared freely, without expectation, and with a dash of playful mischief.

Practicing all forms of love isn’t just good for relationships—it’s central to humanism itself. Humanism reminds us to love everyone, including ourselves, even in difficult moments. While eros—the romantic, passionate spark—may not always fit into this framework, the other forms of love—philia, storge, agape, fraternity, ludus, pragma, and self-love—are deeply aligned with humanist practice. By nurturing friendship, compassion, loyalty, playfulness, practicality, and self-respect, we cultivate a worldview grounded in empathy, mutual care, and the belief that all humans deserve dignity. Just as a thriving relationship depends on the richness of diverse love, humanism flourishes when love in all its forms guides our actions toward ourselves and others.

Late Stage Capitalism, Extinction Bursts, and What Comes Next

Everywhere online, people are declaring that we are living through “late-stage capitalism.” Usually, what they mean is simple: things feel unstable, exploitative, unequal, and increasingly absurd.

They’re not wrong. Societies unstable, business is exploitative, income inequality is bad, and politicians are doing increasingly absurd things.  

But I think many people misunderstand what “late stage capitalism” actually means — especially if we look at capitalism through the lens of Das Kapital and modern behavioral science.

Ironically, what we are experiencing may not be the end of capitalism, but rather one of the predictable crisis points in its evolution.

And understanding that matters because panic rarely helps societies evolve wisely.

Marx Wasn’t Predicting Stability

One thing Marx understood correctly is that capitalism is not a stable system. It expands, concentrates wealth, generates inequality, experiences crisis, adapts, and then expands again.

The boom-and-bust cycle is not a bug in the system. It simply is something that is predicted to happen from time to time as capitalist systems grow, evolve and adapt. 

Over time, capital tends to become concentrated. Wealth and power becomes concentrated too because large concentrations of capital can outcompete smaller ones. But eventually that concentration creates instability:

• consumers lose purchasing power,
• workers lose security,
• institutions lose legitimacy,
• and economic shocks become larger and more widespread.

At that point, correction becomes unavoidable.

Historically, those corrections are painful:

• unemployment,
• market collapses,
• political unrest,
• social anxiety,
• institutional distrust.

But history also shows something else: societies often emerge from these crises with reforms that improve life for large numbers of people.

The Great Depression helped produce Social Security, banking reforms, labor protections, and stronger safety nets. The 2008 Financial Crisis triggered major conversations about financial regulation, inequality, healthcare access, and economic precarity.

Progress rarely happens because systems voluntarily surrender power during times of comfort. More often, systems change because instability forces adaptation.

The Extinction Burst

This is where behavioral psychology provides an interesting lens.

In behavioral science, there is something called an extinction burst. When a behavior that used to work stops producing the desired result, the organism often responds by intensifying the behavior before finally changing course.

A child screams louder before giving up a tantrum.
A gambler doubles down after losses.
A toxic workplace becomes more controlling when employees begin resisting.

Systems do this too.

When capitalism encounters instability, it often intensifies its own core behaviors:

• more extraction,
• more monetization,
• more consolidation,
• more financialization,
• more pressure for growth,
• more concentration of wealth.

This can feel terrifying when you’re living through it. And understandably so.

But intensification is not always evidence that a system is permanently winning. Sometimes it is evidence that the system is struggling to maintain equilibrium.

That does not mean collapse is guaranteed.
It does not mean utopia is guaranteed either.

It means we are living through a period of pressure and adaptation.

Is it Really Late Stage Capitalism?

It is worth noting that what many people online call “late-stage capitalism” is not what Das Kapital actually predicts. Marx did not argue that capitalism would simply become miserable and then suddenly collapse. He believed capitalism would continue evolving by increasingly socializing production itself — creating vast interconnected systems where labor becomes more collective, coordinated, and interdependent over time. 

In Marx’s framework, the truly “late” stage would likely involve much broader forms of communal or worker ownership of the means of production than we currently see. Interestingly, we are beginning to see early versions of this emerge through employee-owned companies, cooperatives, profit-sharing models, open-source collaboration, and highly networked forms of collective production. But these models are still relatively limited within a system where ownership remains heavily concentrated with individuals. 

In other words, if Marx’s model is even partially correct, and so far everything he predicted would occur has, we may still have significant instability and painful corrections ahead before a more genuinely communalistic economic structure becomes dominant.

Stay Calm — But Prepare

I suspect another correction is coming.

Not because I think civilization is ending, but because concentrated systems eventually destabilize themselves. Historically, they always have.

The important question is not whether change is coming.

The important question is:
What kind of change will follow?

History shows that crises can produce remarkable human progress:

• stronger protections for workers,
• better public health systems,
• more democratic participation,
• broader access to education,
• expanded civil rights,
• stronger social safety nets.

But crises can also produce fear, scapegoating, authoritarianism, and cruelty.

That is why preparation matters.

Not panic.
Preparation.

We need emotionally resilient people who can think clearly during instability.
We need communities that cooperate instead of fracture.
We need leaders capable of long-term thinking rather than reactive fear.
And we need humanistic values guiding what comes next.

Because economic systems are not forces of nature. They are human creations. They evolve according to the incentives, behaviors, and values we reinforce.

If a correction is coming, then this is not the time to surrender to doomscrolling and despair.

It is the time to ask:

• What systems actually help people thrive?
• What structures reduce unnecessary suffering?
• How do we preserve freedom while increasing stability?
• How do we ensure technological and economic progress benefits humanity broadly instead of concentrating into fewer and fewer hands?

Those are the real questions of the future.

What Comes Next Is Not Automatic

One of the biggest misunderstandings people have about history is believing that progress is inevitable.

It isn’t.

Progress requires participation.

Every major improvement in human society came from people who chose to build better systems after periods of instability:

• labor organizers,
• reformers,
• educators,
• scientists,
• policymakers,
• community leaders,
• ordinary people trying to solve practical problems compassionately.

The future is not predetermined.

But history suggests that periods of instability often become turning points. They force societies to reconsider what is sustainable and what is not.

So yes — stay calm.

But prepare.

Because corrections create openings.
And what fills those openings depends on us.

What Comes Next, Matters!

 When crisis hits, most people flail.

That’s not a judgment—it’s a description. It’s human. Something breaks, something shocks us, something changes faster than we can process, and we react. Emotionally. Urgently. Loudly.

But flailing is not planning.

And what comes next depends on whether we stay in reaction…or move into intention.

Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, crisis destroys what was—but it also creates the conditions for something new to emerge. The fire doesn’t just consume; it clears away what no longer works. What rises next isn’t accidental—it depends on what we choose to rebuild. If we approach hardship with intention, clarity, and purpose, we don’t just recover—we transform, shaping a stronger, wiser future from what was lost.

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The Question That Changes Everything

In any crisis—personal, professional, or societal—the most important question isn’t:

“How bad is this?”

It’s:

“What do we want to come next?”

Because naming the problem, even accurately and passionately, does not create a better future. Saying “this is horrible” may be true. It may even be necessary in the moment.

But it doesn’t move us forward.

At some point, we have to ask:

• What good could come out of this?
• What do we want to build from the ashes?
• What would “better” actually look like?

Without those answers, we’re not responding to crisis—we’re just experiencing it.

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Humanism and the Responsibility to Build

From a humanist perspective, there is no external force coming to fix things for us. No cosmic reset button. No guarantee that things will “work out.”

That can feel daunting. But it’s also empowering.

Because it means the future is, in part, ours to shape.

I often come back to a version of the Serenity Prayer:

Have the courage to change the things you can,
the patience to accept the things you can’t,
and the wisdom to know the difference.

The hardest part isn’t courage or patience.

It’s knowing the difference.

That’s why humanists rely on tools like science, logic, and skepticism—to help us accurately assess reality. To figure out where we actually have influence, and where we don’t.

Because here’s the danger: if we assume everything is out of our control, we may accept situations we could have changed. We may surrender agency where action was possible.

Humanism pushes in the opposite direction. It asks us to be thoughtfully optimistic—to assume change is possible, test that assumption, and act where we can.

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From Reaction to Intention

Moving from flailing to planning requires one critical shift:

You must have some idea of the future you want.

Not a perfect plan. Not a guaranteed outcome. Just a direction.

Because once you know what you want to come next, you can begin asking better questions:

• What would make this situation meaningfully better?
• What specific changes would prevent this from happening again?
• What systems, structures, or behaviors need to evolve?

This applies at every level of life.

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In Society and Politics

If a crisis exposes a systemic failure, then the question becomes: what structural changes would lead to a better outcome next time?

Vague outrage won’t get us there. Concrete ideas might.

For example:

• If we’re concerned about unchecked executive power, what specific safeguards would reduce that risk?
• What laws, policies, or even constitutional changes would create better accountability?

Not all ideas will be good ones. Not all will be feasible. But the act of generating tangible, testable proposals is how progress begins.

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At Work

When something goes wrong professionally—a failed project, a toxic dynamic, a broken system—the same principle applies.

• What worked, even a little?
• What didn’t?
• What do we want to be different next time?

Crisis can become a catalyst for better processes, clearer communication, and stronger boundaries—if we choose to extract those lessons and act on them.

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In Relationships

Conflict, loss, and disruption in relationships are some of the hardest crises we face.

And yet, even here:

• What kind of relationship do you want going forward?
• What behaviors need to change—yours or theirs?
• What boundaries or expectations would create something healthier?

You may not control the other person. But you always have some influence over what you bring into the next chapter.

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A Simple Framework for Moving Forward

No matter the situation, you can ground yourself with three questions:

1. What good do I want to come out of this—for myself?
2. What good do I want to come out of this—for others?
3. What good do I want to come out of this—for my community?

(In that order.)

Then ask:

What can I do—right now—to start moving in that direction?

Not someday. Not when things calm down. Not when someone else fixes it.

Now.

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Start Where You Have Control

Nothing in life is guaranteed. Even the best plans can fail. That uncertainty is real—and yes, it’s stressful.

But uncertainty doesn’t remove responsibility. It clarifies it.

We don’t control outcomes.
We do influence them.

So when crisis hits:

• Accept what is real.
• Decide what you want next.
• Identify what you can control.
• Start working toward it.

Because what comes next doesn’t just happen.

It gets built.

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Learn More: 

If you want to move from flailing to planning, this is exactly the skill set I teach in Reality Based Decision Making for Effective Strategy Development. The core idea is simple but powerful: you can’t build a better future if you’re not grounded in reality. Instead of reacting emotionally or getting stuck in overwhelm, you learn how to assess what’s actually happening, identify what you can control, and make intentional, strategic choices about what comes next. It’s a practical framework for turning crisis into clarity—so you can stop reacting to events and start shaping outcomes.