Until he was 40, Ben Kilham believed himself to be dyslexic-autistic and consequently able to contribute little to natural science, his great passion. Whilst the documentary about him (aired recently on 5 in the UK) left some intriguing blanks, it covers the 12 years from when Ben, at 40, discovered that his IQ was in the top 1% and that, more amazingly, he had a natural empathy with black bears. He became, back then, the first person ever to hand rear a pair of black bear cubs and in the dozen years since, Squirty, one of the cubs, has grown up, left home for the depths of the New Hampshire forests but tacitly 'agrees' to remain a part of Ben's family. The cameras followed Ben into Squirty's den (don't ask about the name) where she was emerging from winter hibernation. I don't know about you, but however well I thought I 'knew' a bear, casually strolling into it's den when it's just coming around from a winter sleep and likely to be a mite peckish and testy - as bears are well known to be - is something I would think twice about doing. What occurs is remarkable, and strangely glossed over by the film maker. Squirty eyes the approaching Ben (and his attendant camera crew a few very respectful paces behind) and grunts, then continues with whatever bear chore she is engaged in. There is a fleeting moment (and with the wonders of freeze frame you can pin it down) when you can see the recognition - of Ben and what he represents - and also a certain resignation. If a bear could sigh and shrug, this was it. Oh, great, nutty Ben's back, should be good for a snack though. Later, just to keep the pecking order straight - and it's a case of equals - Ben gets snarled at, butted and given a nasty bite. Just one though, just to make the point. And this is a fully grown bear quite capable of tearing a person's face off in one swipe.
Ben believes that Squirty 'allows' him to study her in return for food, that they have a social contract. His studies lead him to believe that bears are right up with chimpanzees in the intelligence stakes and he is testing bears towards proving his theory that they have a similar self-awareness as has been posited for chimps. The classic test for this is the 'mirror test'. The scientific 'community' regard Ben as a maverick but acknowledge the quality of his observations, if not his theories about which they remain sniffy (to be fair, the scientific community remains unconvinced about the self-awareness of chimpanzees too - Ben and Squirty have a long way to go).
It's far too easy to anthropomorphise animals: a documentary recently featured a pod of wild dolphins in New Zealand who proactively saved a group of swimmers from a great white shark attack. They clearly 'saw' the danger ahead, put a planned defensive action into effect and by putting themselves between the shark and the vulnerable humans could have been displaying altruism. Were they actually showing more than an instinctive reaction? Can we ascribe some deeper motivation? Scientifically, no we can't, but the questions it poses are fascinating.
My cat, regular readers will already know him as something of a technician, poses questions like this often. When still very young he demonstrated a sense of humour - unproven of course - and I'm not saying that he suddenly delivered 30 mins of observational stand up material. He'd been alone all day and was happy to see me return from work, engaging in a big 'play with me' display which I, with urgent chores to see to, cut very short. I set to beginning a letter which I needed to post within the hour, started it, then went to pour a coffee. I returned to find that BC had fetched a rubber cockroach (don't ask) from a bowl of odds and ends that was out of plain view atop a 7 feet high shelf unit. He had placed it in the middle of the page I was writing and was sitting at the end of the sofa facing away but with his head turned watching for my reaction. My point here is that this showed something more than instinctive behaviour. He could have fetched any one of several cat 'toys' strewn in the near vicinity. He chose to go for the rubber bug.
It could be argued that what he did was typical of the sort of cat behaviour that sees them leave 'gifts' of mice and other small creatures, neatly on display for 'their people' (I once had a female cat who would leave entire multi-generational arrays of shrews on the hearth in descending order of size, and had to be talked out of renaming her Pol Pot). BC was simply showing deferential, pecking order behaviour. He couldn't get out to catch me a mouse so he settled for the rubber bug. Hmm.
Ben Kilham clearly has a bond with Squirty and that one look of recognition said it clearly. Spend a lot of time with an animal and you see behaviours that stretch scientific explanation to the limits and beyond. While readers wonder what this has to do with tarot & astrology, I will leave the last word to Claude Levi-Strauss -
"When the spectrum or rainbow of human cultures has finally sunk into the void created by our frenzy [there becomes possible] a privilege coveted by every society, whatever its beliefs, its political system or its level of civilization; a privilege to which it attaches its leisure, its pleasure, its peace of mind and its freedom; the possibility, vital for life, of unhitching, which consists--Oh! fond farewell to savages and explorations!--in grasping, during the brief intervals in which our species can bring itself to interrupt its hive-like activity, the essence of what it was and continues to be, below the threshold of thought and over and above society: in the contemplation of a mineral more beautiful than all of our creations; in the scent that can be smelt at the heart of a lily and is more imbued with learning than all our books; or in the brief glance, heavy with patience, serenity and mutual forgiveness, that, through some involuntary understanding, one can sometimes exchange with a cat."
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