I myself am a caveman. Or at least, I have been.
Maybe it's partisan, but I like to think I was a civilized one, though.
But 'civilized' is a word, like any other loaded term, that means different things to different people.
On the one hand, it is about the highest state a human can aspire to, yet on the other, it has very little to recommend it.
It was suggested, moments ago, that cavemen have their uses, and this is true.
Caves would suffer the depredations of all kinds of critters and creepy-crawlies, were it not for the domestic instincts of cavemen (and cavewomen). They even inspire cavemen to resort to art, to while away those dreary ice-ages.
Out of caves come civilized humans.
Caves are quiet, dank places of reflection and contemplation. They embody nature, and its permanence.
They enfold, like a chilly womb. They provide shelter and safety, or at least the illusion of it.
I often look up at the night sky, and see it as a vast cave in which everything lives.
Once, it might have scared me. But now, I feel only wonder, and safety.