When Elephants Weep: The Emotional Lives of Animals

From Publishers Weekly When Masson searched modern scientific literature on the subject of emotions in nonhuman animals, he found very little. So the psychoanalyst turned his attention and analysis to these other species. With science writer McCarthy, he shows that animals of all kinds lead complex emotional lives. This subject is avoided by many behavioral scientists for fear that they will be accused of anthropomorphism; the authors look carefully at that issue. They argue that scientists use a double standard, depending on whether the behavior is human or nonhuman ("a cheetah is not frightened by a lion; it shows flight behavior"). The authors are sharply critical of animal research in psychology, which they liken to torture. Most human emotions can be observed in other animals?grief, anger, dominance, jealousy, compassion, altruism, gratitude; the book offers examples. "If we wish to learn about other animals, they must be taken on their own terms, which includes their feelings," stress the authors, who make a compelling case for animals' having feelings to begin with. First serial to Cosmopolitan and New Age Journal; BOMC, QPB, Nature Book Study and National Wildlife Federation selections; audio rights to Recorded Books and Books on Tape. Copyright 1995 Reed Business Information, Inc. From School Library Journal YA?Animals do in fact lead emotional lives, according to Masson. He has managed to find hundreds of anecdotes from the published works and field studies of such noted behaviorists as Jane Goodall, Dian Fossey, and Cynthia Moss that support his theory. It seems that, despite the fact that anthropomorphism is among the worst of scientific taboos, these respected scientists cannot help but notice the similarities between human and animal behavior. Chapters are organized by topic, such as fear, love, grief, and even compassion and beauty. An index provides access by species and by personal name of both people and animals. An excellent resource in psychology, this title will also be a useful addition for animal research. Its clear and conversational style makes it interesting for general readers as well. A well-documented, compelling, and thought-provoking defense of animal emotions.?Robin Deffendall, Prince William Public Library System, Manassas, VACopyright 1996 Reed Business Information, Inc. From Booklist In his new book, erstwhile Freudian scholar and psychoanalyst Masson gathers, with the help of McCarthy, the evidence to date for the existence of emotions and, hence, something approaching human consciousness in animals. The various researchers' observations on the feelingful behaviors of dolphins, apes, bears, lions, elephants, and other well-studied creatures that Masson and McCarthy recount will not be news to those who keep even desultorily abreast of ethology--something that, given the plethora of naturalist TV programs, books, and reportage, isn't hard to do. Masson and McCarthy do a commendable job of synthesizing the material they tackle, however, making it efficiently readable. Finally, Masson succinctly and without any radical breast-beating makes, arguably as well as anyone ever has, the moral case for ceasing the exploitation and slaughter of animals. Ray Olson "Fascinating...Compassionate...A book to be read more than once...A kind of nature lover's rendezvous with reality."-- Philadelphia Inquirer "In this impassioned volume [Masson and McCarthy] argue their case with intriguing examples culled from scientific literature...In addition to offering a fascinating array of animals, it convincingly argues that their emotional life is an area worthy of scientific exploration."-- People From the Trade Paperback edition. From the Publisher "This is not only an important book, it's marvelous! If animals could read, they would be filled with joy and gratitude to the authors--as I am. It is scholarly, vivid, and compelling. Please read it." -- Jane Goodall For over 100 years a chasm has separated animal lovers--who know that their dog, cat, horse, or parrot have complex emotional lives--and scientists, to whom attributing any emotions to animals has been equivalent to heresy. And while a groundswell among a new generation of scientists has begun chipping away at this traditional taboo, and animal lovers eagerly consume whatever they find about the subject, no one book has yet gathered all the available information into an engaging and authoritative portrait of animals' emotional lives. Not, that is, until now. With chapters on love, joy, anger, fear, shame, compassion, and loneliness, all framed by a provocative reevaluation of how we treat animals, When Elephants Weep is the first book since Darwin's to explore the full range of emotions throughout the animal kingdom, and it features a cast of hundreds. Meet Siri the Indian elephant, whose expressive sketches have been praised by artists Willem and Elaine de Kooning. Meet Koko, a bashful gorilla proficient in sign language who loves to play house with dolls--but only when no one is looking--and Michael, another signing gorilla, who cannot be disturbed whenever Pavarotti sings on television. Then there's Moja, the joyful mongoose who waltzes with squirrels; Toto, the steadfast chimpanzee who literally nursed his malaria-stricken human observer back to health; and Alex, an African grey parrot with an astonishing vocabulary, who, when left at the veterinarian's office, shrieked, "Come here! I love you. I'm sorry. I want to go back." By contrast, you'll also meet scores of biologists, ethologists, and animal behaviorists whos anecdote-rich field notes and studies paint compelling portraits of their subject s' rich emotional lives, yet whos conclusions frequently appear as fancy footwork around the obvious. When Elephants Weep also draws upon the illuminating experiences of animal trainers--from Sea World and the Ringling Bros. circus to Guide Dogs for the Blind--and is sprinkled with insights from pet owners, literature, myth, and fable to create a riveting and revolutionary portrayal of animals' lives that will permanently change and enrich the way you look at animals. From the Inside Flap l bestseller exploring the complex emotional lives of animals was hailed as "a masterpiece" by Elizabeth Marshall Thomas and as "marvelous" by Jane Goodall.The popularity of When Elephants Weep has swept the nation, as author Jeffrey Masson appeared on Dateline NBC, Good Morning America, and was profiled in People for his ground-breaking and fascinating study. Not since Darwin's The Expression of Emotions in Man and Animals has a book so thoroughly and effectively explored the full range of emotions that exist throughout the animal kingdom. From dancing squirrels to bashful gorillas to spiteful killer whales, Masson and coauthor Susan McCarthy bring forth fascinating anecdotes and illuminating insights that offer powerful proof of the existence of animal emotion. Chapters on love, joy, anger, fear, shame, compassion, and loneliness are framed by a provocative re-evaluation of how we treat animals, from Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Prologue: Searching the Heart of the Other "The Indian elephant is said sometimes to weep." --Charles DarwinAnimals cry. At least, they vocalize pain or distress, and in many cases seem to call for help. Most people believe, therefore, that animals can be unhappy and also that they have such primal feelings as happiness, anger, and fear. The ordinary layperson readily believes that his dog, her cat, their parrot or horse, feels. They not only believe it but have constant evidence of it before their eyes. All of us have extraordinary stories of animals we know well. But there is a tremendous gap between the commonsense viewpoint and that of official science on this subject. By dint of rigorous training and great efforts of the mind, most modern scientists--especially those who study the behavior of animals--have succeeded in becoming almost blind to these matters.I was led to my interest in animal emotions by experiences with animals--some traumatic, some deeply touching--as well as by the seeming opacity and inaccessibility of human feelings compared with their undiluted purity and clarity, at times, in my animal friends, and especially of animals in the wild.In 1987 I visited a south Indian game reserve known for its wild elephants. Early one morning I set out with a friend to walk in the forest. After a mile or so we came across a herd of about ten elephants, including small calves, peacefully grazing. My friend stopped at a respectful distance, but I walked closer, halting about twenty feet away. One large elephant looked toward me and flapped his ears.Knowing nothing about elephants, I had no idea this was a warning. Blissfully ignorant, as if I were in a zoo or in the presence of Babar or some other story-book elephant, I felt it was time to commune with the elephants. Remembering a Sanskrit verse for saluting Ganesha, the Hindu god who takes elephant form, I called "Bhoh, gajendra" --Greetings, Lord of the Elephants.The elephant trumpeted; for a second I thought it was his return greeting. Then his sudden, surprisingly agile turn and thunderous charge in my direction made it all too clear that he did not participate in my elephant fantasies. I was aghast to see a two-ton animal come hurtling toward me. It was not cute and did not resemble Ganesha. I turned and ran wildly. I knew I was in real danger and could feel the elephant gaining on me. (Elephants, I later learned in horror, can run faster than people, up to twenty-eight miles an hour.) Deciding I would be safest in a tree, I ran to an overhanging branch and leapt up. It was too high. I ran around the tree and raced into tall grass. Still trumpeting menacingly, the elephant came running around the tree in close pursuit. He clearly meant to see me dead, to knock me down with his trunk and trample me. I thought I had only a few seconds to live and was nearly delirious with fear. I remember thinking, "How could you have been so stupid as to approach a wild elephant?" I tripped and fell in the high grass.The elephant stopped, having lost sight of me. He raised his trunk and sniffed the air, searching out my scent. Fortunately for me they have rather poor vision. I realized I had better not move. After a few long moments he turned away and raced off in another direction, looking for me. Soon I quietly picked myself up and, trembling, made my way slowly back to where my terrified friend had stood watching the whole episode, convinced she would witness my death.Rudimentary knowledge of elephants would have kept me safe: a herd with small calves is particularly alert to danger; elephants don't like their space invaded; flapping ears are a direct warning. The encounter itself was nothing but a projection of my own wish that a wild elephant would want to meet me.It was wrong to think that I could communicate with a strange elephant under these circumstances. Yet he communicated very clearly to me: he was angry and I should leave. I believe this is a realistic description.By contrast with animals, people's emotions are often distanced. For example, I experience heightened emotions in dreams--anger, love, jealousy, relief, curiosity, compassion--to a degree of intensity that is not paralleled in waking life. To whom do those emotions belong? Are they mine? Are they what I imagine a feeling to be like? In the dream there is nothing abstract about them: I feel extraordinary love, always for people for whom, in fact, I do feel love, just not to that degree. As a former psychoanalyst, I thought that these were feelings I had somehow repressed in my day life, and only had access to the real feelings in my night life. I theorized that the feelings were real, only access to them was barred. The feelings were always there, but could only become conscious at certain moments when some part of me was off guard--asleep, as it were. Somehow my ego had to be circumvented, an end run needed to be made, and they were there waiting, pure, unsullied, ready. Might animals have the more ready access to this feeling world that was largely denied my waking self?Then there is the question of the feelings of others. What could be more interesting than what others feel? Do they feel the same things I do? I have found it hard to find out by talking, or even by reading. Songs, poems, literature, walking in the woods, evoke certain feelings. Sometimes they are strange, complex, inexplicable, even bizarre, often intense beyond comprehension. Where does this come from? I have long wondered. Why am I feeling this? What am I feeling? How could I name this?In my training as a psychoanalyst, I discovered that analysts were not really all that interested in emotions. Or rather, they confined their interest to interpreting an emotion's meaning to the psyche or discussing whether an emotion was appropriate or inappropriate. I thought appropriateness was a ridiculous category. Emotions simply were. Moreover, they seemed to come unbidden. They were mysterious guests, hard to capture. Sometimes I thought I could feel something for only a brief second, or fraction of a second, but then it was gone and could not be recalled. Sometimes I would wake up in the middle of the night and remember a feeling I had once had and experience a kind of loss.Psychoanalysis purports to be about feelings, especially deep feelings. For psychoanalysts the essence of a person is not what is thought or achieved, but what is felt. The standard, almost humorous, therapist question, "How do you feel about that?" turned out to be quintessential and hard to answer. We do not always know--hence the notion, early in Freud's work, of unconscious emotions, ones to which we are denied access. The early goal of psychoanalysis to make the unconscious conscious was directed toward bringing feelings into awareness, raising submerged emotions to the surface. Yet the question of emotions in dreams was and is barely touched in the psychological literature.What fascinated me about animals was the ready access they seemed to have to their emotions. No animal, it seemed to me, needed to dream to feel. They demonstrated their feelings constantly. Annoy them, they have no hesitation in showing it. Please a cat, it purrs and rubs itself against you. What could appear as contented as a cat? A dog wags its tail and looks more genuinely pleased to see you than any human. What could appear as happy as a dog? Could anything seem as peaceful as a cow? Or are these merely human projections?As a child, I had a duck that seemed to think I was its mother. It followed me everywhere. When we went on vacation, a neighbor offered to care for it. On our return, I eagerly asked how my duck was and he replied, "Delicious." I became a vegetarian that day. I still cannot bear to eat anything with eyes. The reproach is too deep.I love dogs; it has always been clear to me that they lead extremely intense emotional lives. "No, Misha, no walk just now." What? The ears would cock. Can I have heard right? "Sorry, Misha, but no." Unmistakable. The ears flop. Misha would throw himself onto the floor. There was no mistaking the pure disappointment he was feeling. Just as unmistakable was his intense joy when I would say, "Okay, get your leash, we're going for a walk" and the sheer pleasure Misha felt on his walks, his delight at racing ahead, chasing leaves, doubling back, tearing off into the forest and returning behind and ahead of me. The contentment when we got home, built a fire, and I sat down to read, he to rest next to me, his face on my knee, was equally apparent. As he grew old, and could no longer walk as well, I could almost see him visit the scenes of his earlier life in his imagination. Nostalgia, in a dog? Well, why not? Darwin thought it possible.In his book The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals , Charles Darwin had dared to imagine a dog's conscious life: "But can we feel sure that an old dog with an excellent memory and some power of imagination, as strewn by his dreams, never reflects on his past pleasures in the chase? and this would be a form of selfconsciousness." Even more evocatively, he asked: "Who can say what cows feel, when they surround and stare intently on a dying or dead companion?" He was unafraid to speculate about areas that seemed to require further investigation.Another reason I began thinking in some depth about animal emotions was the common experience of going to a zoo. We have all seen the look of forlorn sadness on the face of an orangutan, wolves pacing nervously up and down, gorillas sitting motionless, seemingly in despair, or perhaps having abandoned all hope of ever being free.A pivotal book in my thinking about animal emotions was Donald Griffin's The Question of Animal Awareness . Attacked in many quarters upon its publication in 1976, it discussed the possible intellectual lives of animals and asked... Read more