went to bed the previous night. A baby changes into a toddler, then into a child, then into an adolescent; then a young adult, then a middle-aged adult, then an old person. And the change happens so gradually that there never is a day when you can say, ‘This person has suddenly stopped being a baby and become a toddler.’ And later on there never comes a day when you can say, ‘This person has stopped being a child and become an adolescent.’ There’s never a day when you can say, ‘Yesterday this man was middle-aged: today he is old.’
That helps us to understand our thought experiment, which takes us back through 185 million generations of parents and grandparents and great-grandparents until we come face to face with a fish. And, turning round to go forwards in time, it’s what happened when your fish ancestor had a fishy child, who had a fishy child, who had a child … who, 185 million (gradually less fishy) generations later, turned out to be you.
So it was all very gradual – so gradual that you wouldn’t notice any change as you walked back a thousand years; or even ten thousand years, which would bring you to somewhere around your 400-greats-grandfather. Or rather, you would notice lots of little changes all the way along, because nobody looks exactly like their father. But you wouldn’t notice any general
trend
. Ten thousand years back from modern humans is not long enough to show a trend. The portrait of your ancestor of ten thousand years ago would be no different from modern people, if we set aside superficial differences in dress and hair and whisker style. He would be no more different from us than modern people are different from other modern people.
How about a hundred thousand years, where we might find your 4,000-greats-grandfather? Well, now, maybe there would be a just noticeable change. Perhaps a slight thickening of the skull, especially under the eyebrows. But it would still only be slight. Now let’s push a bit further back in time. If you walked the first million years along the shelf, the picture of your 50,000-greats-grandfather would be different enough to count as a different species, the one we call
Homo erectus
. We today, as you know, are
Homo sapiens. Homo erectus
and
Homo sapiens
probably wouldn’t have wanted to mate with each other; or, even if they did, the baby would probably not have been able to have babies of its own – in the same way that a mule, which has a donkey father and a horse mother, is almost always unable to have offspring. (We’ll see why in the next chapter.)
Once again, though, everything is gradual. You are
Homo sapiens
and your 50,000-greats-grandfather was
Homo erectus
. But there never was a
Homo erectus
who suddenly gave birth to a
Homo sapiens
baby.
So, the question of who was the first person, and when they lived, doesn’t have a precise answer. It’s kind of fuzzy, like the answer to the question: When did you stop being a baby and become a toddler? At some point, probably less than a million years ago but more than a hundred thousand years ago, our ancestors were sufficiently different from us that a modern person wouldn’t have been able to breed with them if they had met.
Whether we should call
Homo erectus
a person, a human, is a different question. That’s a question about how you choose to use words – what’s called a semantic question. Some people might want to call a zebra a stripy horse, but others might like to keep the word ‘horse’ for the species that we ride. That’s another semantic question. You might prefer to keep the words ‘person’, ‘man’ and ‘woman’ for
Homo sapiens
. That’s up to you. Nobody, however, would want to call your fishy 185-million-greats-grandfather a man. That would just be silly, even though there is a continuous chain linking him to you, every link in the chain being a member of exactly the same species as its neighbours in the chain.
Turned to stone
Now, how do we know what our