Michael Jawer,
AlterNet.org
[This article was originally published at
Aeon and has been republished
under Creative Commons.]
March 2018
One might even argue that other creatures are more cognizant of feelings than humans are, because they possess a primary form of consciousness: they are aware of themselves and their environment but are less burdened by complexities such as reflection and rumination that typify human consciousness.
In the end, soul may be a profound matter of fellow feeling. The stronger the capability of a given species for fellow feeling, the more that species can be said to exhibit soulfulness.
In common parlance, the word ‘soul’ pops up everywhere. We may speak of a
vast, soulless corporation or describe an athlete as the ‘heart and soul’ of
his team. Soul music gets us swaying. We want our lover, body and soul. In
each case, ‘soul’ connotes deep feeling and core values. ‘Feelings form the
basis for what humans have described for millennia as the … soul or spirit,’
the neuroscientist Antonio Damasio eloquently expounds in his groundbreaking
book Descartes’ Error (1994).
Today, studies increasingly show that many non-human beings feel. Elephants
appear to feel grief, while dolphins and whales express joy, or something
much like it. Parrots can become cranky, pigs and cows terrified, chickens
saddened, monkeys seemingly embarrassed. Experiments have shown that rats
become agitated when seeing surgery performed on other rats and that, when
presented with a trapped lab-mate and a piece of chocolate, they will free
their caged brethren before eating. There's even evidence that rats take
pleasure in being tickled.
None of this will come as a surprise to pet owners or anyone who has
observed virtually any kind of animal for any length of time. Science is
rediscovering what Charles Darwin, in his book The Expression of the
Emotions in Man and Animals (1872) concluded: that the variations between
humans and other species in their capacity to feel and express emotion are
differences in degree rather than in kind. It's a short step from there to
recognition that individual animals have personalities, and to reckon that
not only do they live – they have lives.
One might even argue that other creatures are more cognizant of feelings
than humans are, because they possess a primary form of consciousness: they
are aware of themselves and their environment but are less burdened by
complexities such as reflection and rumination that typify human
consciousness. They live closer to the bone, so to speak. Jeffrey Masson,
author of When Elephants Weep (1995), has remarked that animals possess
feelings of ‘undiluted purity and clarity’ compared to the ‘seeming opacity
and inaccessibility of human feelings.’ Furthermore, we should consider that
humans may not experience the full range of feelings found in the animal
kingdom. As ethologist Jonathan Balcombe points out: ‘In
light of their sometimes vastly different living circumstances and sensory
capabilities, other species may experience some emotional states that we do
not.’
Sentience – the capacity of an organism to feel – is fundamental to being
alive. If human beings have souls, they must be more about sentience than
consciousness. We are motivated far more by passion than by intellect – what
we feel deeply is what drives us, for good and ill. In his book Pleasure: A
Creative Approach to Life (1970), the late psychoanalyst Alexander Lowen
meditated on these connections, proposing that ‘The soul of a man is in his
body. Through his body a person is part of life and part of nature … If we
are identified with our bodies, we have souls, for through our bodies we are
identified with all creation.’As long as we are alive – and therefore
feeling – we are connected to one another and to the natural world. We are,
in a word, ensouled.
Extraordinary examples of ensoulment among non-human animals abound.
Ethologist Adriaan Kortlandt once observed a wild chimp in the Congo ‘gaze
at a particularly beautiful sunset for a full 15 minutes, watching the
changing colors’, forsaking his evening meal in the process. Elsewhere,
African elephants belonging to the same family or group will greet one
another after a separation with a loud chorus of rumbles and roars as they
rush together, flapping their ears and spinning in circles.
Thanks to the internet, there’s a steady stream of examples of animals
demonstrating compassion, from an ape saving a crow to a gorilla protecting
a 3-year-old boy when he fell into her enclosure. A particularly striking
case of animal gratitude occurred in 2005 off the California coast, where a
female humpback whale was found entangled in nylon ropes used by fishermen.
As recounted by Frans de Waal in The Age of Empathy: Nature’s Lessons for a
Kinder Society (2009): ‘The ropes were digging into the blubber, leaving
cuts. The only way to free the whale was to dive under the surface to cut
away the ropes.’ The divers spent an hour at the task, an especially risky
one given the sheer strength of the animal’s tail. ‘The most remarkable part
came when the whale realized it was free. Instead of leaving the scene, she
hung around. The huge animal swam in a large circle, carefully approaching
every diver separately. She nuzzled one, then moved on to the next, until
she had touched them all.’
Animals that express gratitude, play, contemplate nature, act to save a
fellow creature, or react mournfully to the loss of family members or other
close companions, are all, in my view, demonstrating aspects of
connectedness. Such connectedness is the root of spirituality – with the
capacity to feel and emote being central.
In the end, soul may be a profound matter of fellow feeling. The stronger
the capability of a given species for fellow feeling, the more that species
can be said to exhibit soulfulness. To view things in this way offers
another important step in humanity’s progression towards understanding its
place in creation – and to appreciate the inheritance we hold in common with
other sentient beings on this increasingly small, restive, and fragile
planet.