Did Ancient Humans Reject Alpha Males?

By: Greg Schmalzel

There are many myths and misconceptions in the popular understanding of human evolution.
But few are as deeply rooted—or as misunderstood—as the idea of the alpha male. You’ve heard the story: in prehistoric times, the biggest, strongest man ruled the group. He dominated the others, took control of resources, and led through force and fear.

It’s a simple narrative. And like most simple narratives, it falls apart under closer scrutiny. Because when we examine the actual evidence—archaeological, anthropological, evolutionary—a different picture begins to emerge. One that doesn’t fit neatly into the alpha/beta binary we’ve projected onto the past. 

Reality has proved to be much more complicated and nuanced, especially when it comes to a species as complex as Homo sapiens.

Early humans developed tools, weapons, language, and most importantly, cooperation. Each of these has influenced the evolutionary trajectory of our social world. Importantly, this suite of traits came with changes in power dynamics.

Dominance hierarchies gave way to something far more intricate, where leadership wasn’t just about force and intimidation.

So today, we’re peeling back the myth to ask a deceptively simple question: Did ancient humans really have alpha males? Or have we been looking at our ancestors through the wrong lens entirely? What were the leaders of our primitive past really like?

Because humans didn't evolve to follow tyrants.

We evolved to challenge them.

Watch the full YouTube video HERE.

Where Did the Idea of the Alpha Male Come From?

The term alpha male has become a cultural shorthand for dominant, assertive men who command respect through confidence and control—sometimes with a hint of arrogance or aggression. While this idea has roots in animal behavior studies, its application to humans is often misguided.

The concept gained popularity in the 1970s through the work of wolf biologist David Mech. In his early research on captive wolves, Mech described “alpha” individuals who dominated their packs. But these wolves were in artificial environments, not natural family groups. When Mech later observed wild wolves, he realized that packs typically consist of parents and their offspring—not unrelated individuals fighting for dominance. He eventually retracted the alpha terminology altogether, calling it “a misunderstanding.”

Despite this, the idea of the alpha male stuck—seeping into pop psychology and masculinity discourse, often without scientific nuance. It's true that many primates do live in dominance hierarchies, with “alpha males” maintaining status through aggression or alliances. But humans are different.

So where do ancient humans fall on the spectrum? Were they like gorillas with rigid male-dominated hierarchies, or more like wolves, where leadership is more familial and cooperative?

A compelling answer comes from a paper titled “Zoon Politikon: The Evolutionary Origins of Human Political Systems,” written by a team of experts from anthropology, economics, and primatology. Their conclusion? Early human leaders weren’t alpha males in the traditional sense. They were influential, but their authority was based more on respect, persuasion, and coalition-building than brute strength—the human kind of alpha.

Primate Politics

Humans are just one branch of a much larger primate family—and all primates, from monkeys to apes, live in socially complex groups. To understand human leadership and political behavior, it helps to look at the evolutionary lineage we inherited.

Most primates, especially those in open habitats like savannahs, live in large, multi-male, multi-female groups. Early hominins likely followed this model. In fact, genetic research suggests primate social systems are deeply rooted in evolutionary inheritance, not just shaped by immediate environmental pressures.

Long before humans appeared, primate ancestors evolved from solitary foragers into group-living animals. Over time, different social systems emerged—ranging from harems like gorillas to monogamous pairs like gibbons. Among our closest relatives, chimpanzees live in groups with loose hierarchies, where alpha males manage disputes but don’t truly “rule.”

Importantly, chimps rely on political strategy. Males form coalitions to gain or keep dominance, while others form “leveling alliances” to check rising power. Females may band together to resist coercion, especially in captivity. These behaviors show that even among non-human primates, power isn’t just about strength—it’s about alliances and social savvy.

This dynamic political landscape likely shaped early human evolution. Our ancestors took these instincts and added moral codes, norms, and deeper cooperation. Contrary to old assumptions that politics is purely cultural, the evidence suggests it’s also biological. The roots of leadership, resistance, and coalition-building run millions of years deep.

How Humans Flipped the Dominance Hierarchy

Unlike other primates, early humans didn't organize around the authority of a dominant alpha. Instead, we developed what researchers call a reverse dominance hierarchy—a social structure where the group collectively prevents any one individual from rising too far above the rest. Would-be tyrants could be taken down through gossip, ridicule, coalition-building, ostracism, or violence. In this system, power was distributed, and leadership was earned through trust and cooperation rather than brute strength.

This dramatic shift began with some of the earliest human adaptations. As our ancestors evolved to walk upright, they freed their hands for other uses—like carrying tools and weapons—and developed endurance-based hunting strategies. Unlike chimpanzees, who hunt as a group but compete over food, early humans likely hunted and shared food communally. This wasn’t just generosity—it was a survival strategy. Sharing reduced the risk of going hungry, strengthened social bonds, and discouraged hoarding. Cooking reinforced these dynamics by encouraging group meals and expectations of fairness.

Other evolutionary shifts deepened this interdependence. Humans began practicing cooperative breeding, where extended family and even unrelated individuals helped raise children. Given the long development period of our large-brained infants, this distributed parenting was essential—and further tied individual survival to group cooperation.

But the real game-changer was weaponry. As soon as humans could attack from a distance—with spears, atlatls, and eventually bows—physical strength alone no longer guaranteed dominance. A smaller or weaker person, or better yet a coalition, could challenge and even kill a bully. This drastically raised the stakes for would-be dominators. Violence was now a two-way street, and it deterred unchecked aggression.

Weapons even helped level the playing field between the sexes. While female primates are often at a disadvantage in dominance struggles, tools like the atlatl allowed women to launch projectiles with force comparable to men. This empowered more members of the group to participate in enforcing social norms.

As hominin groups became more interdependent, language and communication became central to maintaining order. Gossip emerged as a powerful tool for monitoring reputations and coordinating group responses to bad behavior. If that wasn’t enough, ostracism—social exclusion—served as a final check against those who disrupted the group.

Together, these developments formed the foundation of egalitarian human society. We didn’t eliminate power—we restructured it. And in doing so, we built communities where cooperation wasn’t just ideal—it was necessary for survival.

Implications for Modern Society

What can our evolutionary past teach us about modern politics?

First, it highlights how much things have changed. In small-scale hunter-gatherer societies, humans developed egalitarian norms enforced by social mechanisms like gossip, reputation, and, if necessary, collective violence. But with the rise of agriculture, material wealth became something people could hoard—and use to dominate others. Hierarchical power structures re-emerged, exploiting the same chimp-like instincts for control that evolution had once curbed.

Second, our political brains may be misfiring in the modern world. We evolved to manage relationships in groups of a few dozen to a few hundred people. Now we navigate nations of millions. Studies suggest we're better at understanding small, personal political scenarios than large, abstract ones. This mismatch might explain why modern politics feels so alienating—and why leaders often seem disconnected from everyday people.

Perhaps most controversially, there's a third lesson: the role of force in preventing tyranny. In our evolutionary past, weapons were a check on would-be dominators. And in the 20th century, totalitarian regimes like Nazi Germany, the Soviet Union, and Communist China all used disarmament as a tool of control. Stripped of the means to resist, populations were subjected to horrors they could no longer fight.

The U.S. Constitution’s Second Amendment—originally conceived not just for self-defense, but as a safeguard against tyranny—can be seen as a modern echo of humanity’s reverse dominance hierarchy. While our tools and context have changed, the principle remains: unchecked power is dangerous, and resistance must be possible.

Ultimately, this evolutionary perspective is both hopeful and sobering. Hopeful, because it shows our instinct for fairness and resistance to domination is deeply human. Sobering, because it reminds us that tyranny isn't an anomaly—it's a recurring threat whenever systems grow too large, impersonal, and unaccountable.

Understanding our political origins isn't just historical curiosity. It's a guide to building systems that align with who we really are.

Sources:

[1] Gintis, H., et al. 2019. “Zoon politikon: The evolutionary origins of human socio-political systems.” Behav Processes 161:17-30.

[2] Bebber, M.,et al. 2023. “Atlatl use equalizes female and male projectile weapon velocity.” Sci Rep 13:13349.

[3] Geher, G., et al. 2016. “The evolutionary psychology of small‐scale versus large‐scale politics: Ancestral conditions did not include large‐scale politics.” European Journal of Social Psychology 46(3):369–376.