The I.Q. of an Ant
Modern American humankind considers itself at the top of the evolutionary intelligence tree, so to speak, and scientists attribute that to the size of our brains. The average modern human brain is a few cubic centimeters larger than Neanderthal, Australopithecus, or any other known human predecessor, so scientists have based their perceived superiority on brain size. Aside from the fact that there is no correlation between modern human brain size and intelligence (a tiny human is not necessarily less intelligent than a huge one; a five-year-old is not necessarily less intelligent than a twenty-year-old), it only takes a couple of minutes to survey the world to demolish that theory. For instance, I’ll bet elephants have a larger brain than humans. Of course, they may be more intelligent, too, but we are only at the edge of beginning to think seriously about commonalities among humans and other life forms.
My attention was first brought to the subject of animal intelligence when I lived on my farm in Oregon and I was amused and bemused by the actions of horses, chickens, ducks, pigs, cats, and Sassy, the border collie. But I didn’t really think about the subject until two simultaneous events. My daughter became an animal rights activist and I observed a colony of ants in Burbank, California. My daughter told me way more than I ever wanted to know about animals’ reactions to negative human actions toward them and for two years I walked past the ants on my way to catch the bus home from work. At that time there was a strip of grass with trees and vendor kiosks instead of a street for a couple of blocks and the ants lived across the sidewalk from a bakery. The sidewalk was brick cobbles with roundish tops so that the mortar was like a sunken road to the ants.
The ants went in a steady stream to the bakery shop and back again. They walked in the sunken road. Once in a while I would see an individual or two on top of the cobbles but the overwhelming majority stayed on their road. How did they know it was dangerous to walk on the cobbles? How did they know they would be safe on their road? They must have some concept of danger and safety. That means that they must have some concept of death and life.
I was sure that the bakery and the cobbles hadn’t been there long enough for the ants to develop an instinctive fear of walking on the cobbles. Then there must be some sort of intelligence functioning. I’m a little hazy on insect anatomy but if ants have brains, surely they can’t be much more than a few neurons. Yet here’s a whole colony of them with intelligence enough to recognize the danger of traffic and to circumvent it. This is much more than a great many humans have shown themselves capable of.
A TV documentary that showed some ants in Africa who use mud to roof their trail up a tree trunk confirmed my assessment of ant intelligence. The roof protects them from the predation of birds and other insects. Then I learned a little about how ants construct their colonies; go to war; and how they control herds of aphids, actually milking them for ant food. Scientists attribute these behaviors to something called “instinct,” which is “hard-wired” in the brain. Whatever that means. The fact is, animals are intelligent and they respond to problems in creative, imaginative ways that illustrate some of the concepts and understandings of phenomena that undergird their actions.
Now, if ants can do all that with a few neurons, brain size cannot be the reason for humankind’s perceived intellectual superiority. We’d have to have a brain the size of a baby blimp in order to match the ants’ intelligence.
My attention was first brought to the subject of animal intelligence when I lived on my farm in Oregon and I was amused and bemused by the actions of horses, chickens, ducks, pigs, cats, and Sassy, the border collie. But I didn’t really think about the subject until two simultaneous events. My daughter became an animal rights activist and I observed a colony of ants in Burbank, California. My daughter told me way more than I ever wanted to know about animals’ reactions to negative human actions toward them and for two years I walked past the ants on my way to catch the bus home from work. At that time there was a strip of grass with trees and vendor kiosks instead of a street for a couple of blocks and the ants lived across the sidewalk from a bakery. The sidewalk was brick cobbles with roundish tops so that the mortar was like a sunken road to the ants.
The ants went in a steady stream to the bakery shop and back again. They walked in the sunken road. Once in a while I would see an individual or two on top of the cobbles but the overwhelming majority stayed on their road. How did they know it was dangerous to walk on the cobbles? How did they know they would be safe on their road? They must have some concept of danger and safety. That means that they must have some concept of death and life.
I was sure that the bakery and the cobbles hadn’t been there long enough for the ants to develop an instinctive fear of walking on the cobbles. Then there must be some sort of intelligence functioning. I’m a little hazy on insect anatomy but if ants have brains, surely they can’t be much more than a few neurons. Yet here’s a whole colony of them with intelligence enough to recognize the danger of traffic and to circumvent it. This is much more than a great many humans have shown themselves capable of.
A TV documentary that showed some ants in Africa who use mud to roof their trail up a tree trunk confirmed my assessment of ant intelligence. The roof protects them from the predation of birds and other insects. Then I learned a little about how ants construct their colonies; go to war; and how they control herds of aphids, actually milking them for ant food. Scientists attribute these behaviors to something called “instinct,” which is “hard-wired” in the brain. Whatever that means. The fact is, animals are intelligent and they respond to problems in creative, imaginative ways that illustrate some of the concepts and understandings of phenomena that undergird their actions.
Now, if ants can do all that with a few neurons, brain size cannot be the reason for humankind’s perceived intellectual superiority. We’d have to have a brain the size of a baby blimp in order to match the ants’ intelligence.

