Human Supremacy Begins Long Before Domination

When we hear the word supremacy, we often think of its most visible expressions: racism, sexism, colonialism, or ideological extremism. We recognize the violence of believing that one group of people is inherently more valuable than another. But lately, I have been wondering whether supremacy begins much earlier. Long before domination. Long before exploitation. Long before violence. Perhaps supremacy begins in the way we learn to see.

The First Story

One of the deepest stories shaping Western culture is the idea that humans stand above the rest of life. We are the intelligent species. The rational species. The chosen species. The species that rules. Whether expressed through religion, science, economics, or technology, the underlying assumption often remains remarkably similar: humans exist at the center, while everything else exists around us.

Nature becomes a backdrop. Animals become resources. Forests become timber. Rivers become water management. The Earth becomes property. Life becomes useful.

Perhaps this is the oldest supremacy of all. Not because it is historically the first but because it quietly establishes the logic from which many other supremacies grow. Once we accept that some forms of life matter more than others, hierarchy has already entered our imagination. From there, ranking humans becomes much easier. And history tells this story repeatedly. People described as «closer to nature» become easier to dominate. Women become irrational because of their connection to the body. Indigenous peoples become primitive. Rural communities become uncivilized. Animals become things.

Different stories. The same movement – The denial of relationship.

Before We Dominate, We Interpret

The more I sit with this, the more I wonder whether supremacy is less about power than perception. Because domination rarely begins with violence. It begins with interpretation.

We tell ourselves stories about what another being is. A forest becomes lumber. A wolf becomes a threat. A pig becomes food. A refugee becomes a problem, a child becomes something to shape. A dog becomes an animal that needs hierarchy.

Often, we are so convinced by our interpretations that we stop noticing they are interpretations at all.

They become reality.

Perhaps one of the deepest inheritances of colonial culture is not simply domination.

It is the certainty that we already know what another being is.

The Humility of Not Knowing

This realization has made me increasingly cautious with language. Take the word hierarchy. Sometimes hierarchy genuinely exists. Nature is astonishingly diverse. Some species organize through dominance, others through cooperation, fluid leadership, kinship, distributed intelligence, or forms of relating we barely understand. The point is not to deny hierarchy. The point is to become aware of how quickly we project it. For decades, even the science of wolves was shaped by assumptions about dominance and «alpha» leadership, interpretations that were later reconsidered as researchers observed wolves in their natural family groups rather than in captivity. That does not necessarily mean every earlier observation was wrong. It reminds us that observers also bring culture into their observations.

Perhaps the first act of anti-supremacy is not changing the world. Perhaps it is becoming suspicious of our certainty. Learning to ask:

What if I don’t yet know who—or what—I am meeting?

Dominion or Responsibility?

This same question has accompanied me back to one of the foundational stories of Western civilization. The biblical idea of dominion.

For centuries, dominion has often been interpreted as humanity’s right to rule over creation. Yet there are compelling theological voices that suggest something quite different.

Andrew Linzey, in Animal Theology, argues that dominion is fundamentally about responsibility rather than domination. The Concise Dictionary of Classical Hebrew points toward meanings such as governing through care, stewardship, and responsibility for the flourishing of others. Similar ideas appear in the Qur’an, where the human being is described as khalifa—a guardian or steward of the Earth. If these interpretations are closer to the original intention, then one small shift in translation may have carried enormous cultural consequences.

From servant to master.

From guardian to owner.

From relationship to control.

Whether or not this is the definitive reading matters less to me than the invitation it offers. What if our deepest task was never to stand above life, but to care for it?

A Different Way of Knowing

Animism is often understood as believing that everything has a spirit. For me, it has become something much simpler. And much more demanding.

It is the willingness to let another being reveal itself before deciding what it is.

To watch.

To listen.

To remain teachable.

Not only with animals.

With people.

With ancestors.

With rivers.

With grief.

With ourselves.

Animism asks something that supremacy cannot. It asks us to be changed by the encounter.

The Supremacy That Lives Within

This is also why I no longer believe that healing automatically dissolves supremacy. Someone can feel deeply connected to their ancestors and still unconsciously reproduce domination. Someone can have profound spiritual experiences and still occupy the subtle position of knowing better. I notice it in myself. The impulse to explain. The desire to teach. The quiet satisfaction of being the one who understands. Feeling slightly elevated when someone else appears uncertain. Mistaking emotional distance for grounded presence and healthy boundaries. None of these make me a bad person. They make me human. And they remind me how deeply colonial culture has shaped my nervous system.

Supremacy is not only political. It is psychological. It is embodied. It is relational.

The Grief of Letting Go

During a session, a client once looked at me with tears in his eyes and said, «Men just want to be seen for what they do.» His words have stayed with me. Because beneath supremacy there is often grief. If our worth has been organized around achievement, intelligence, gender, status, or superiority, then releasing those identities can feel like disappearing. Anti-supremacy work therefore asks much more than exposing harmful structures. It asks whether we can create enough belonging that people no longer need superiority to feel significant.

Perhaps this is why lineage work feels so important to me.

Not because it automatically dissolves ego—it doesn’t—but because it offers belonging that reaches deeper than identity. It reminds us that we are held by something larger than the stories our culture has taught us about who we must become.

The Opposite of Supremacy

For a long time I thought the opposite of supremacy was equality. Now I’m no longer sure. Equality matters profoundly. But it still lives within comparison. Perhaps the opposite of supremacy is relationship. Relationship asks different questions. Not: Who is above whom? Nor even: Are we equal?

But simply:

Who are you?

And…

How do we belong to one another?

These questions cannot be answered from a distance. They require attention. Presence. Listening.

They require us to allow another being to remain, at least partly, a mystery.

Learning to See Again

Perhaps this is the real work. Not becoming perfect. Not escaping our conditioning. But learning to notice the moment we stop listening. The moment we become certain. The moment another being disappears behind our ideas about them. Because every act of supremacy begins there. In the quiet conviction that we already know.

Maybe the deepest practice of anti-supremacy is therefore astonishingly simple.

To become a student again. To let the world surprise us. To meet life with enough humility that forests are no longer timber, animals are no longer objects, people are no longer categories, and even our own identities become softer around the edges.

Perhaps healing is not ultimately about becoming better people.

Perhaps it is about recovering our capacity for relationship.

And perhaps relationship begins every time we have the courage to ask, with genuine wonder:

Who are you?