I hope you realise that this is arrant cobblers. We haven't "evolved from animals to humans"; we're still animals - animals which have evolved from earlier ancestors, but still animals. Only the desperate desire on the part of some people to deny this copper-bottomed fact led them to create a 'special' category called humans who are supposedly set apart from the rest. The evolutionary kinship of all life on Earth is a fact, but the vast majority of humans go about their days either not knowing of it or, even when they are aware of it, purposely ignoring it.
I don't think much of this idea that we're supposed to try to deny our animality; that leads to the sort of moronic human exceptionialism (beloved of much religion and theistic religion especially) which sees humans as not merely quantitatively but qualitatively different, and in every case that has been the pseudo-justification for every kind of use and abuse of other animals ever perpetrated.
It reminds me of this poem by Alfred Noyes
The New Duckling
'I want to be new,' said the duckling.
'O, ho!' said the wise old owl,
While the guinea-hen cluttered off chuckling
To tell all the rest of the fowl.
'I should like a more elegant figure,'
That child of a duck went on.
'I should like to grow bigger and bigger,
Until I could swallow a swan.
'I _won't_ be the bond slave of habit,
I _won't_ have these webs on my toes.
I want to run round like a rabbit,
A rabbit as red as a rose.
'I _don't_ want to waddle like mother,
Or quack like my silly old dad.
I want to be utterly other,
And _frightfully_ modern and mad.'
'Do you know,' said the turkey, 'you're quacking!
There's a fox creeping up thro' the rye;
And, if you're not utterly lacking,
You'll make for that duck-pond. Good-bye!'
'I won't,' said the duckling. 'I'll lift him
A beautiful song, like a sheep;
And when I have--as it were--biffed him,
I'll give him my feathers to keep.'
Now the curious end of this fable,
So far as the rest ascertained,
Though they searched from the barn to the stable,
Was that _only his feathers remained_.
So he _wasn't_ the bond slave of habit,
And he _didn't_ have webs on his toes;
And _perhaps_ he runs round like a rabbit,
A rabbit as red as a rose.
Alfred Noyes :
Wanting to be something more
