The Tallest Tree in The Forest
On Virtuous Growth and Its Enemies
A Mycorrhizal Foundation
There are several ways one might expect a tree to grow tall. It might pursue its own self-interest, engaging in forms of combat, sabotage, and niggardliness that stifle the ambitions of its neighbors. Or, it could play a positive sum game, collaborating rather than competing with other life. 1
The key in both cases is the mycorrhizal system. This is a network of underground, symbiotic connections between the roots of trees and sprawling cities of fungi. In this system, fungi take delivery of glucose from photosynthesizing trees. In exchange, the trees gain an ally that help them access water and nutrients like phosphorus and nitrogen that would otherwise be out of reach.
The network is the basis of all cooperation in the forest, since even the stingiest and most stalwart trees must engage in basic commerce.
What’s really interesting, though, is that the symbiosis can grow larger than simple connections from individual trees to fungi. In some cases, entire forests connect over the fungi medium. Wonderfully complex bonds can result. 2
The extent of connections between a dominant group of trees stems in large part from environment. An Oak tree, found in more arid and less hospitable climates, is often more of a loner. It depends less on its kin, instead using the mycorrhizal connections under its roots to synthesize energy and ward off attacks.
Birch trees, on the other hand, are found in more fertile areas. They more frequently share nutrients with one another, even going so far as to develop “friendships,” and “rivalries” with other trees in a display of dynamism once unthinkable to dendrologists.
It is in forests full of Birch trees where one can expect to find stumps of formerly great trees still alive years after they should have been dead, sustained by the relationships they formed in their rise to the top of the canopy. 3
An Oak succeeds by being big, strong, and bad — if you see its crown sticking above the rest, you can be sure that it has cracked a few eggs in its ascent, relying on self-serving policy and genetic excellence.
A Birch succeeds by being generous, open, and connected — playing most nicely with the other trees around it. Their height is a signal not of their domineering nature, but of the trust, so to speak, that other trees have placed in it to represent them at the highest point of the forest’s leafy embrace of sunlight.
And the reward for height is exactly this: abundant sunlight. For plant life in competitive environments, unobstructed paths to catching the units of free energy that pelt the earth are the holy grail, for a free path means energy abundance.
As we might expect, the way a tree spends its resources further reflects the road it traveled to achieve it. Whereas the tall Oak spends its surplus on itself, fueling its own growth and well-being, the tall Birch distributes its earnings generously to those around it, rewarding them for their support and deepening their bonds.
The Oak is not the worst actor, however. Some trees, such as the Black Walnut, go so far as to spend glucose producing junglone, a chemical that can outright kill or inhibit many surrounding plants. These trees grow by (literally) leveling their competition.
The tallest tree in any given section of the forest offers a clue to the dynamics of life underlying green and ancient worlds. If it is a birch whose crown rises above the canopy, we can expect a mycorrhizal network shaped by mutual benefit and nutrient exchange.
If, however, it is a Black Walnut that stands tallest in a given pocket, we may be witnessing a more localized system marked by chemical suppression — a strategy that secures advantage for the few by limiting the vitality of the many.
In the end, how a tree grows makes all the difference.
An Old Debate
There is a lot we can learn from trees. The lessons of the forest are not merely botanical curiosities — they offer a mirror, reflecting patterns that shape our own societies, values, and ambitions.
We tend to think in black and white about the direction humanity is going. Some think in vainglorious terms, likening our ascent and dominance to that of a chosen people realizing a fated destiny. Others are pessimistic, comparing our growth to that of a virus that drains the life force of its host.
Individuals are evaluated within a similar binary. An individual’s success is to these respective groups either an exercise in Machiavellian intrigue and exploitation or a shining house on a hill — an example of virtue to be replicated.
In western philosophy, the debate isn’t new. In an early dialogue in Plato’s the Republic, the character Thrasymachus encounters Socrates and claims to him that justice is a mirage. According to him, there is no inherent right or wrong; no moral North Star to guide the upstart in their journey to the summit. Rather, there is only a sort of post-hoc justice, constructed cynically by the rules of the powerful.
Socrates disagrees. Justice exists whether we abide by it or not, which means there is an objective standard by which the long term prospects of the powerful but unjust will be measured. Being unjust may pay for a time, but one will always come to regret a deal with the devil.
Who is right? It is a famously hairy question to answer in human systems. What of those of the forest?
It was mentioned that Oak trees and Black Walnuts, especially, rise through aggressive self interest and even outright treachery. They are the unjust that Thrasymachus spies at the top of the canopy and parades before Socrates, claiming victory for the wicked, and justice by the powerful. But in forests, it is quite clear that he is wrong.
You find very few living stumps of Black Walnut. And while they may dominate locally in the short run, they can suppress surrounding plant life and reduce biodiversity over time. No matter that there are forests full of Birch and other, cooperative plant life that Thrasymachus ignores.
If a forest dominated by Black Walnut were the only example we had to examine, we could, from first principles, explain why method still matters, and injustice will not ultimately pay. Such a forest, shaped by suppression, is less diverse, more fragile, and ultimately less resilient.4
Some deduction suggests the very same is true of human societies. I hope you’ll bear with me.
History is full of exploitative systems in which those at the top benefit only at the expense of those at the bottom — a condition that echoes Thomas Hobbes’ observation that life without a central authority is “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.” As the historical record shows all too clearly, this circumstance can arise not only in the absence of authority, but also under the presence of an unjust one.
From the old monarchs to the Bolsheviks, the fascists, the colonial empires, and apartheid regimes, every example of such a system has ended in moral — yes — but also economic failure.
What’s more, what not to do is not all we can glean from history. In Steven Pinker’s Enlightenment Now, the immense gains in well-being since the turn of the 17th century are examined with statistical rigor.
The conclusion is ringing, as is his diagnosis of the cause:
“Life expectancy, food availability, income, and education have all increased; disease, child mortality, and violence have all decreased. The risk of dying in a natural disaster has been reduced by 99% since the 1920s. Extreme poverty has fallen from 90% of the world’s population to less than 10%. Literacy has risen from around 12% to over 85%. The world is safer, healthier, wealthier, and smarter than ever before. And all of this progress is not the result of some mysterious force but the result of applying reason, science, and humanism — the core values of the Enlightenment.”5
These gains are the byproduct of something very specific: a political and economic system that is just, in principle — a systemization of Enlightenment values, as Pinker might put it.
Yet there was no instant vindication. In the early 19th century, economist David Ricardo took a grim view of capitalism’s prospects. In On the Principles of Political Economy and Taxation, he outlined a simple but damning relationship: as population grows and demand for food increases, crops must be planted on increasingly less fertile land. In Ricardo’s time, landowners held property by birthright and could charge farmers higher rents simply because of their lineage.
This “Theory of Rent” led Ricardo to conclude that as capitalism grows, rents rise, profits fall, and progress is ultimately choked by greed. In his view, capitalism was unstable — its success self-defeating in the long run. Might this be victory for Thrasymachus?
Many today would jump to full-throatedly vote “yay.” Thankfully, we needn’t speculate. The picture is clearer in hindsight.
Ricardo’s prediction of doom and stagnation failed to manifest. In fact, the opposite occurred. Capitalism evolved — and flourished. As a result, the landlords of today (broadly interpreted: tech entrepreneurs, real estate developers, capital holders) are decidedly not the landlords of yesterday.
The key difference is this: today’s wealthy are not a ruling class entitled to rent by birth. Instead, they are an economic class whose continued profit depends on innovation and value creation. If they do not add value, they lose their profit.
That’s not to say exploitation has vanished, or that all who are wealthy are virtuous. This is less a commentary on individuals than on the mechanisms of wealth itself. Unlike the passive rentiers of the 19th century, today’s capitalists cannot merely siphon value from others’ labor. The modern marketplace is dynamic, and profit increasingly depends on solving problems, creating tools, and streamlining systems. Crucially, this makes wealth cyclical — the rich today may be destitute tomorrow if they fail to stay ahead of the curve.
So, it simply pays more in our forest to cooperate rather than exploit. That, in turn, ensures growth is not throttled by its own progression. Even if you doubt that modern landlords intend to benefit their compatriots, it remains plain fact that their success is most often defined by cooperation and mutual gain. And that matters greatly. 6
Socrates is vindicated by the roaring success of democracy and capitalism in the modern age, which is rooted squarely in his justice, not Thrasymachus’ postmodern exploitation.7
The justice is not perfect, of course. But it is robust enough to ensure that the incentives of the modern system direct self interest towards mutual benefit, not treachery. That, more than any moral revolution, is what has kept the system from collapsing under the weight of its inequalities. It is very important that we do not confuse today’s landlords with Ricardo’s. The Birch triumphed in the west, and that triumph lies at the root of our prosperity.
However. It is also true that our forest is filled with rival trees. For every given group of Birches, we will find a Black Walnut who will succeed if a shift in conditions allows for it. As such, when extolling the virtues of a system that managed to buck the historical trend of exploitation as the root of all wealth, we should also be careful not to assume the inevitability of the logic of Socrates over that of Thrasymachus.
Whether our system is just and durable or virulent and doomed depends and always has depended on our collective decisions in real time. Poor choices mean regression. And Black Walnuts are eager to tower over us all.
Buyer Beware
If you are convinced that it is better to grow cooperatively instead of competitively, or to live in a forests where the “good” trees are those that reach towards the sky, you might still be unclear about how to say which is which. It is easy at first glance to identify different species of trees.
But there is only one human species. So which humans are bad, and which good? Whose example should we emulate, and whose reign should we oppose?
This is an especially important question in a democracy, whose primary function is to elect a candidate who works in the interest of the people. The worst mistake that can be made in such a system, then, is to elect a leader who works only in the interest of themselves.
Three characteristics of the corrupt will be examined here.
These are:
- False claims of scarcity
- Long histories of interpersonal failure
- Outright battles with the law
Let’s examine each briefly, and in turn.
First, evaluate resources; beware those that grow with reference to scarcity. Understand that if these people succeed, they like the Black Walnut will destroy everything around them — and not just other trees, but the other plant life in the forest, too. A proliferation of Black Walnuts can lead to a desert zone; a place where profit is stolen and squandered until the surplus is gone and the forest is dead.
A Black Walnut will try to convince you of scarcity because scarcity reduces the world to a zero sum game, with the prospects of every in-group pitted bitterly against every other. This is emotionally powerful and deeply founded as the world used to be that way.
And if they can convince you that it still is, the next step is all too easy — your well-being depends on the demise of the other, and the Black Walnut will be your bludgeon.
Environment dictates the dominant growth strategy in forests, but in human systems, the ever present danger of a false narrative about the environment can do the damage, too. The ability to recognize when claims of scarcity are false and manipulative rather than true or imperative becomes thus a moral skill.
Second, look to the roots; beware those that leave a trail of discontents in their wake, blaming the discontents for it.
How well does a successful individual treat those in their personal circle or under their employ? This is a measure of their regard for their fellow man and the principles that they live by, and that is a signal of the path they took to get there. Remember that in the forest, growth can be realized through both cooperation and biological warfare. The history of those in the close orbit of the tallest tree will know the score.
It is of course unreasonable to expect that anyone should be free of criticism. But when someone chronically burns through relationships — casting former allies aside and insisting they’re never at fault — they’re revealing their character. Even the most polarizing public figures usually have an inner circle that sticks with them through thick and thin. Constant defectors within the inner circle itself is thus a telltale sign of a miscreant.
Third, examine the rules; beware those who not only run afoul of justice, but wage war against it. These are not mere lawbreakers — they are adversaries of the very systems that make cooperation possible. Just as a forest cannot flourish where the soil itself is poisoned, no society can thrive where its laws are undermined from within.
The rule of law is imperfect, but it is also essential. In a system that has been immensely succesful, the law is a living scaffolding that lets trust grow tall. Its enemies are therefore those that stand to gain from the demise of trust and the erosion of institutions — particularly the justice system.
These people cannot succeed in the old paradigm, constrained by the rules that govern the just, because it is at odds with their growth strategy. So, they will try to break it.
There are of course many more ways to take the measure of those that grow unjustly, but these are three that repeat over and over again in the annals of history. They are consistent because each successful person is a “forest” in miniature, cultivating either internal systems of cooperation (habits, values), or allowing internal Black Walnuts (vice, fear, corruption) to dominate). This spills over to their interactions with the world and defines their rise.
One thing that the strong but corrupt often gleefully point out is the vulnerability of cooperative systems, which is an inherent risk of virtue. Growth built on alliance is open to disruption. A single defector in a forest can destabilize the whole system. Don’t be a sucker, you will hear — be the destabilizer instead.
What these misguided souls leave out is not only sophistication, but beauty. Systems built on exploitation are not only less sustainable and prosperous — they are also deeply ugly in a way that should matter to all but the most incorrigible nihilist. We both as individuals and as a species are in real time determining the meaning of our being here.
This meaning is not fated. It is not pre-determined. It is up to us.
As arid soil favors the solitary Oak and fertile ground invites the generosity of Birch, so too do our early choices — cultural, institutional, and personal — shape the kinds of growth we make possible. Environments are not neutral. They reward certain behaviors and punish others, locking us into feedback loops that can elevate or erode us over time.
Growing cooperatively is more difficult, to be sure. But if we with our choices favor environments that are more prosperous because they are more difficult, we are opting in to those that are infinitely more beautiful, too. Ecosystems full of promise and flourishing for the many instead of the few will be the reward.
If we cannot do this, but instead shrink to our worst instincts, we will drive ourselves unhappily to a bitter end. And not only that. We will also leave deep scars and barren wastelands that will define our legacy. No wealth or height earned by vicious means can change the markings carved from our path through the world.
So, be a Birch, and not a Black Walnut. Value those principles in others, too. Embody virtue in everything you do — especially growth. Through an intentional nature we resist those who cannot or will not bring themselves to do the same.
Footnotes
1 Peter Wohlleben discusses tree “friendships” and how certain species, like birch, support one another through shared root systems and nutrient exchange — including the phenomenon of living stumps kept alive by surrounding trees. See: Peter Wohlleben, The Hidden Life of Trees: What They Feel, How They Communicate
2 Sheldrake explores the astonishing complexity of mycorrhizal networks, particularly how fungi form mutualistic relationships with trees to enable nutrient exchange, resilience, and communication across entire forest systems. His work underpins much of our modern understanding of underground cooperation. See: Merlin Sheldrake, Entangled Life: How Fungi Make Our Worlds, Change Our Minds & Shape Our Futures
3 Simard’s research provides empirical evidence of inter-tree relationships, especially among birch, fir, and hemlock. She documents how nutrient-sharing can keep stumps alive long after their trunks have fallen, a phenomenon observed most often in cooperative, resource-rich environments. See: Suzanne Simard, Finding the Mother Tree: Discovering the Wisdom of the Forest
4 While Black Walnut trees can regenerate through stump sprouting under certain conditions, they are not known to exhibit prolonged stump survival sustained by mycorrhizal support — a phenomenon more common in species like birch or hemlock. Their localized chemical suppression can lead to decreased plant diversity and altered forest dynamics. See: and .
5 Steven Pinker, Enlightenment Now: The Case for Reason, Science, Humanism, and Progress
6 If you’d prefer not to take this on faith, puts the lie to the claim that we are mired in the regression or stagnation of the past.
7 An irony on both fronts given his philosophy on both politics and economy… though that’s something to be explored in a later post.
