In class last Thursday, we talked a lot about how difficult it can be not to anthropomorphize an animal, to project human characteristics onto a non-human being. This is a tricky concept, because we have no other baseline of innate character and motive to work from. Yet it seems to be a lack of respect for the "otherness" of the animal, a failure to realize that we have absolutely no idea how their mind works. When Lowell visited Rosemary, he talked about his father's research. "Here's the problem. . . Dad was always saying that we are all animals, but when he dealt with Fern, he didn't start from that place of congruence. His methods put the whole burden of proof onto her. It was always her failure for not being able to talk to us, not ours for not being able to understand her." (Fowler 202) Rosemary's father tried so hard to project human characteristics onto Fern, that he failed to recognize her intelligence any other way. Becoming more like a human became a yardstick by which he sought to understand her. No matter how hard he tried, Fern would never be human. Even if she herself believed that she was. When he finally realized this, he had Fern sent away, to a place for other chimps. But Fern did not act as a wild chimp either. Attempting to force her into this box of humanity made her ill equipped and unaccepted in both environments, the human and the wild. The same could be said of Rosemary. Growing up with a primate for a sister, she too lived in Fern's world, in some ways seeing experiences through Fern's lens. This is why they understood each other so perfectly, why their separation was so devastating, and why no one can ever fill the void left by the other's absence. From birth, they were tailored for the other. In a way, this may have eventually solved the issue of anthropomorphism, but the only end result was pain, and a lack of understanding for their own separate societies.
The recognition that Fern and any other animal should not be measured in relation to their humanity is one that will lead us to a greater respect for other life, yet that doesn't mean they can't feel pain or longing or depression or happiness or contentment as we do. The may not always exhibit the same signs, but the emotions are there. "Her is what I thought it meant. I'd thought Fern was apologizing. When you feel bad, I feel bad. . . My sister, Fern. In the whole wide world, my only red poker chip." (Fowler 203) So there it is. Empathy and compassion. As distinctly chimp as it is human. A few days ago, at our first to SARA, I met a very large, very muscular, and very intelligent pit bull named Axel. The woman in charge told me that he had a tendency to protect and parent the other dogs there, but I would've recognized that without any explanation. He cared about the animals around him. I was completely blown away. I sat down for a minute and simply looked at him. He stared back at me, not defensively, but almost in mutual respect. Never until that moment had I felt that a dog was truly wise, but that's the only word I could use to describe it. Strong, silent, caring, and wise. I hope that's not me playing the hypocrite, and seeing what I wanted to see, but it wasn't so much a thought as a gut feeling. He licked my face, I scratched his ears, and we sat. That is of course, until he saw another dog acting up and went to examine the situation. He and Fern may not be human, but they feel, they understand, and they love. That's all we need to know.
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