The concept caught me by surprise. I had never encountered it before, even though it aligns closely with my interests and reflections on knowledge.

 

Al Gore mentioned it in Santiago a few weeks ago. He spoke about a lesser-known form of AI: ancestral intelligence. As the name suggests, this wisdom has accompanied humanity for millennia. It emerged from close observation and interaction with the environment surrounding people and their communities.

 

This intelligence has manifested in practices handed down from generation to generation, in teachings about territorial sustainability, because their lives and livelihoods depended on it. They lacked the ability to unleash destruction far from home without consequence. On the contrary, everything they did had immediate effects on themselves or their descendants.

 

This intelligence found expression in myths, rituals, and even in place names. It guided their decisions. They did not build on riverbanks or certain locations simply out of tradition: these places were seasonal wetlands, floodplains, or areas at risk of lava flows. Some fruits were avoided because they were believed to harbor the spirit of suffering—in reality, they contained cumulative toxins. Certain species were only hunted after they had reproduced. Planting and harvesting followed the rhythms of the cosmos: the light of the moon and sun played a crucial role.

 

Such is the path of our history.

 

When humans gazed at the heavens, they sensed that the sky might have something to say about their lives—present and future. They believed its elements shaped personalities and could influence mood and mental balance. Thus, astrology was born.

 

Centuries passed, and we invented tools to get closer to the heavens. Mathematical calculations enabled us to predict orbits, trajectories, and dimensions. Thus, astronomy was born.

 

The scientific revolution five centuries ago established the scientific method as the preeminent path to knowledge. In the process, it dismissed Indigenous peoples’ approaches as trickery, superstition, and ignorance to be eradicated.

 

Science—and especially its applications—progressed by both illuminating and destroying. Eventually, it was recognized that the moon, like the sun, influences the tides. On a planet covered 70% by water, this is no minor detail. Today, we understand that the absence of natural light affects human mood and vitamin D production. During pregnancy, this impact extends to the fetus through the mother.

 

Farmers have long known this: the light of the full moon influences seed germination and sap flow in trees. A 2020 FAO report stated, “Farmers who still plant according to each lunar phase achieve high crop yields, and the seeds can be saved for future plantings.”

 

It is telling: some Indigenous peoples who practiced ancestral wisdom were not far from the truth. The tragedy is that it took us millennia to recognize this, and in doing so, we marginalized and ridiculed them—and in extreme cases, exterminated them.

 

That is indeed a lesson we need to reclaim.