The human face evolved independently at least two
different times, originally dying out with Homo antecessor
some 800,000 years ago,
while even our typical ancestors from as recently as 80,000
years back,
though hardly warranting an extra glance on the subway,
would be considered pretty homely by most with their much
heavier brow ridges, further projecting, larger overall faces,
wider jaws, and underdeveloped or entirely absent chins.
In 2013, a team led by anthropologist Sarah Freidline
suggested the modern humanlike face evolved independently
several times among Homo.
The reasons for this appear to be at least threefold.
For one, chewing. With further processing of food through
fire and stone tools, jaws and teeth didn’t need to exert as much
force. The zygomatic arches, once wide and flared to anchor
masticatory muscles, flattened, and the whole face with it as the
jaw shortened too.
This restructuring was reinforced by lower hormone levels,
necessary for increased cooperation, which additionally reduced
the density and width of all the facial bones, especially around
the brow.
Finally, these finer cranial features allowed the development
of intricate facial muscles for dexterous expressions—imagine
the advantage gained by early humans able to convey complex
thoughts with a quick glance in the heat of a hunt or intergroup
conflict.
But what happened to Homo antecessors (Latin for “pioneer”)?
Well, back then, there were several closely related, competing,
and occasionally interbreeding but distinct human species
alive at any one time, only a few thousand of each, all hanging
on by a thread, set
to be snuffed out at a moment’s notice by
volcanic eruption, readily reversible local climate changes,
disease, competition with other groups, or whatever,
so it could have been anything, really, there’s a lot we haven't
been able to figure out yet—
And when we do, it often seems to lead to more questions than
answers, our human family tree slowly becoming, if not a muddy
river delta, its many channels branching out and braiding back
together, then a bush, burning through time but not consumed.
James Cariddi works as a school psychologist and lives with his wife, two cats, and two dogs in Middletown, CT, where he enjoys growing vegetables and flowers in his small urban garden. His poems have recently appeared in I-70 Review, Hawai`i Pacific Review, Wilderness House Literary Review, and Tofu Ink Arts Press.
