It seems the more we learn about the animals we share this
planet with, the more difficult it is to pinpoint just what
separates us from them. Over the years the definitions have
changed. We've touted humankind as the only species who makes
tools until anthropologists like Jane Goodall observed
chimpanzees making tools out of sticks and other everyday
objects. We've asserted our unique abilities to think, learn,
and develop languages. But we now know that gorillas can learn
and communicate with human sign language and dolphins clearly
communicate with a sophisticated system of signals.
Anthropologists, again have discovered that many social
animals have cultures and hierarchical relationships.
Emotions, altruism, a sense of shame have all been observed in
animals from elephants to mice, and on the negative side, both
chimpanzees and ants are known to wage war. Goodall's studies
of wild dogs and chimpanzees even revealed apparent
pathological behavior and murder.
The last barrier separating us from other creatures - and our
place in nature - is our spiritual nature, which many people
still believe is uniquely human. Are we the only species who
have a conscience, self-awareness, or a soul? A growing number
of serious researchers are coming to believe we are not alone
on this last frontier, either.
In Part I of this article
on the inner life of animals, I
reviewed journalist Eugene Linden's intriguing and
thought-provoking book, The Parrot's Lament, which reveals
the
range of animal emotions and intellect through anecdotes,
scientific research, and first-hand experience of
professionals who work with animals, and Kristin von
Kreisler's The Compassion of Animals, which presented stories
and anecdotes about animal courage, compassion, and altruism
that supported the existence of a moral sense in many species.
Part II picks up the discussion with Gary Kowalski's The Soul
of Animals and When Elephants Weep, by Jeffrey Moussaieff
Masson and Susan McCarthy, which use a variety of moving,
intriguing, and sometimes astonishing stories illustrating the
spiritual and emotional lives of animals.
Chimpanzees have been observed using stick tools, which they
poke into termite hills to reach the tasty residents. They had
to use reasoning to develop the technique, finding objects
around them to manipulate into a useful tool. Octopus studies
show that an animal who doesn't know how to remove the stopper
to reach food in a jar can learn to do it by observing an
octopus who does know.
Elizabeth Marshall Thomas' best-selling studies of dogs and
cats (The Hidden Life of Dogs; The Tribe of the Tiger)
suggest
that our closest companions have rich cultures, traditions,
and probably a moral sense. Her observations of a group of
African lions over a period of years indicated that their
traditions adapted to nearby human societies, and these
traditions were lost when the human cultures are destroyed.
Dolphins and elephants, among many other species, have been
seen to protect their injured and sick colleagues, and even
vampire bats are known to share their food with others in the
community. Every species has its own language, but primates
who learn to communicate using human sign language or
computers show a great depth of feeling and understanding.
Koko, the subject of the longest ongoing ape language study,
is a good example. Asked what she'd like for her birthday one
year, Koko requested a kitten. She named her little gray,
tailless companion All Ball, and carried her everywhere,
gorilla style.
When All Ball was killed by a car, Koko at first acted like
she didn't hear the news. Then she sobbed, and expressed
sadness at her loss. For a week she cried whenever anyone
talked about cats. Koko understood that gorillas, too, die
when they are old, sick, or injured. When they die, she
believed, they don't feel happy, sad, or afraid, but simply
"sleep."
At least our fellow primates understand and maybe contemplate
their own death. Unfortunately, other species are capable of
killing each other in organized warfare, too. The chimpanzees
Jane Goodall studied engaged in bloody wars, and ant societies
studied by O.E. Wilson fight over territories, using
strategies and chemical weaponry so sophisticated, the
Pentagon is interested.
Gary Kowalski, a Unitarian Universalist minister and graduate
of Harvard Divinity School, questions the last bastion of the
human determination to set itself above and apart from all
other species in his eloquent little book, The Souls of
Animals. This is no dry philosophical treatise, but a very
personal exploration of what it means to be human, a spiritual
being, and a part of a living world that encompasses many
alien consciousnesses.
In a few short chapters, Kowalski raises many profound and
ultimately unanswerable questions - Do the beautiful and
sometimes elaborate songs of birds express joy as well as more
practical messages? Do animals know right from wrong? Do they
have a sense of the mysterious and uncanny? Do they feel
playful or appreciate beauty in their environment? But his
central theme is our need to relate to and understand other
animals to become fully human.
"As society becomes increasingly urbanized and animals
disappear from our daily lives," Kowalski writes, "and
as more
and more species slip into the long night of extinction, our
humanity will inevitably be diminished.... In spite of our
material plenty, our inner world will be impoverished....
Without animals, the bright, reflective qualities of the world
will become inanimate and dull.... And when we look into the
mirror there will be less and less to love."
[The Soul of Animals, by Gary Kowalski, Stillpoint Publishing,
Walpole, NH, 1991.]
In a typical scientific experiment, researchers placed baby
rats on a cage floor to see if mother rats would "rescue"
them
and take them to their nest. They did. They rescued unrelated
babies as quickly as their own. Even female rats who weren't
mothers often rescued the helpless kits They crossed
electrified grids to bring the little ones to their nests. One
supermom rodent retrieved a total of 58 babies.
The scientists were intrigued. How far could they take the
experiment? Would rats rescue baby mice and rabbits? Yes.
Helpless kittens? Yes, though their efforts to nurse the alien
babies were frustrated by interspecies differences. They
"eagerly and repeatedly" tried to tuck young bantam
chicks
safely into their nest, over the strenuous protests of the
feathered adoptees.
Scientists generally explain this kind of altruistic behavior
in animals as purely instinctive, but it's illogical to ignore
the mother rats' emotional response that made them willing to
risk painful electric shocks to help the young of even natural
enemies.
When Elephants Weep is a powerful, carefully reasoned
assault
on scientists' stubborn insistence that animals are nothing
more than instinct-driven automatons, incapable or reasoning,
emotions, or truly altruistic behavior. Of course, most of us
would agree with Masson. But considering some of the horrific
experiments conducted in the name of science, it's easy to
understand why some researchers prefer to believe animals
can't feel or experience pain, emotional or physical, as we
do. How else could anyone conduct experiments like the one
described by Martin Seligman:
. . . a wild rat, being held in the hand of a predator like
man, having whiskers trimmed, and being put in a vat of hot
water from which escape is impossible produces a sense of
helplessness in the rat.
This experiment in learned helplessness is quite tame compared
to others conducted on monkeys and other animals to study
fear, aggression, and social isolation. But the appalling
abuse of animals in the name of science is not the focus of
Jeffrey Moussaieff Masson's book. The point he makes so
persuasively is that, though we can't truly know what it is to
be a rat, a dog, an elephant, or even a close relative like
the chimpanzee, when they behave as we would in similar
situations, it's reasonable to assume they share similar
emotions.
Alex, an African gray parrot being, left at the vet's office,
called out to his owner, "Come here! I love you. I'm sorry,
I
want to go back." He seemed to understand the words he was
using.
Naturalists encountered a family of wolves howling and
frantically trying to release one of its members from a leg
trap. They appeared to be deeply upset and concerned about
their comrade's pain.
Two male bottle-nosed dolphins at an oceanarium, after being
separated for 3 weeks, spent hours hurtling around the tank,
side by side, and leaping out of the water, when the missing
dolphin returned. It's hard to avoid calling their reunion
joyful.
Pigeons, encouraged to be creative to win rewards, suddenly
began laying on their backs, standing with both feet on one
wing, and hovering in the air 2 feet off the ground. They
seemed eager to exercise their imagination.
Animals experience humiliation, pain, guilt, fear, jealousy,
anger, and hatred as well as love, joy, a sense of beauty and
wonder, creative impulses, a desire for freedom, and possibly
spirituality. Masson concludes that we can't ignore the
emotional lives of the animals. As Jeremy Bentham wrote in
1789,
The day may come, when the rest of the animal creation may
acquire those rights which never could have been withholden
from them but by the hand of tyranny . . . What . . . is it
that should trace the unsuperable line? Is it the faculty of
reason, or, perhaps, the faculty of discourse? But a
full-grown horse or dog is beyond comparison a more rational,
as well as a more conversable animal, than an infant of a day.
. . . The question is not Can they reason? nor, Can they talk?
But, Can they suffer?
[When Elephants Weep: the emotional lives of animals,
by
Jeffrey Moussaieff Masson &Susan McCarthy, Delacorte Press,
1995.]
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