The Shared World

The Shared World

The first sign of civilization was not

a coin minted from precious metal

with the face of some long-gone leader,

not the coffer made to hold such gold.

The first sign was the currency

of kindness—a few berries offered

to someone in need, a hunk of meat

passed across the crackling fire. It was

the spark of flint given to a stranger

rubbing his hands, the matted pelt

of fur wrapped around a shivering

mother and child. Once it happened,

it kept happening again and again,

spreading like a positive contagion

among the members of every tribe.

There were still wars, still fools,

still cruelties too numerous to name.

But now, there was also this—

the shared world, the handful

of gathered mushrooms traded

for nothing more than the grateful

look on someone’s face, little

bow of thanks as he ate.



Others might have us think that we can trace the origins of human civilization to the invention of the wheel, the discovery of fire, or the development of language that gave us consciousness and the power to name. But what if the first true sign of our civilized nature was the inclination toward kindness and compassion for each other? What if the first evidence was the healed bone that showed one person cared enough about another to carry them away from danger, and tend to the break until it mended, bringing food and water to the injured, protecting them from the elements as they could not protect themselves? Our culture often perpetuates the myth of the brutal human, imagining us as driven by instinct and competition to survive and overtake each other. As Elise Powers points out in “The First Sign of Civilization,” which served as the seed for my own poem: “But we humans have a capacity for compassion that interrupts instinct.” Perhaps this pull toward empathy is part of the make-up of our authentic instinct, what sets us apart from the rest of nature. And so, we can imagine that the first sign of civilization was not the drawing of an animal on a cave wall in ochre, or the bones of some impossibly large kill from a successful hunt. It was the moral beauty of inviting a stranger from outside into the warm flare of a crackling fire, or wrapping a soft pelt around a shivering mother and child who lost their way. Maybe it was a few berries and an extra hunk of meat handed to someone clearly in need. But once the habit of kindness and mercy began to take hold, I can imagine it passing among the members of every tribe like a positive contagion, each person now chasing that inner glow that comes of giving love, offering abundance without expectation of reward or reciprocity. Maybe the first sign of civilization was not an alphabet or coins minted in precious metal with the face of some leader, but the handful of gathered mushrooms traded to a fellow traveler for nothing more in return than the grateful look of surprise on his face as he ate. As the poet Naomi Shihab Nye has put it: “This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.” Isn’t it our inheritance, after all, this shared world we help create when some inner compass arrow clicks, and we follow the true north of our compassion for each other?


Invitation for Writing & Reflection: Write your own version of this poem. Begin with the phrase, “The first sign of civilization was…” and see what unfolds for you.


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photo credit: Photo by Vitor Paladini on Unsplash