When I was a little one, the thing I wanted most was a pet monkey. I grew up in a household moderately interested in exotic pets--at various times we had miniature horses, llamas, African pygmy hedgehogs, parrots, foxes, a skunk, and Bengal cats, and had acquaintances who had emus, deer, zebras and even a serval cat that literally clawed its way through its owner's bathroom door. My family had toyed with the idea of getting a wallaby or a fennec fox. Yet my mother still didn't consider a monkey to be an appropriate pet.
In retrospect I am relieved that she didn't give in on that one (mostly because there is no ending for that kind of story that does not involve stitches), but at the time I found it unreasonable. Of course monkeys were safe, I thought; otherwise they wouldn't sell them! I didn't see what could be wrong with having a little organ grinder monkey to ride around on my shoulders wherever I went. I fantasized about it.
I would name it Marcel, after the pet capuchin monkey on Friends. I knew that, with a monkey, I would instantly be the most popular kid in town. Who wouldn't want to be friends with the kid who had her very own monkey? I would teach it to use the toilet, eliminating the dirty behavior that pet monkeys are so famous for. I would train it to do tricks.
Most importantly, it would be my little captive friend--smart like a person. I was familiar with Koko the gorilla. I thought I could teach a monkey sign language (after learning it myself, of course), and that this grand experiment would in turn yield the secrets of the universe to which I assumed all of the dumb animals had access. I didn't think Koko's keepers were asking the right questions. Who cares what a monkey wants to eat? Give him his stupid juice already and ask him if he believes in God.
As a reasonably intelligent grown-up I have (mostly) lost interest in asking monkeys what they think about God, because I'm convinced that, like most animals both human and non-human, monkeys are primarily concerned with meeting their immediate needs and being comfortable, and the thought of some purpose to life beyond the next banana doesn't even occur to them. I don't think non-human primates are capable of having an existential crisis. The child in me can't help but feel painfully disappointed.
But then there are apes like Kanzi, a bonobo whose aptitude in communication with humans is downright stunning. Language studies with other apes like standard chimpanzees and gorillas have met with limited success--even Koko's case is shady--but Kanzi, raised with a bonobo mother and a great deal of human contact, shows both a linguistic and emotional aptitude that is close to human. He learned a keyboard lexigram system by observing his mother's training sessions. He uses some kind of vocal vocabulary to communicate with other bonobos in his troop. I'm not sure if he understands syntax, but he understands the use of vocal words and visual symbols to represent a real object. He comes up with novel words for new objects. And he can manipulate fire and competently make Stone Age-type blades. Essentially, this non-human creature is like a primitive human, not because he evolved above other apes but because apes already had the capacity--he just had to be given access to communication with humans at a young enough age, and his natural curiosity did the rest. That's what is most striking to me. He learned language through observation of language use, like a human child would. This wasn't an animal coaxed with treats. He wanted to communicate with people, so he did.
I don't think we'll be having philosophical discussions with him any time soon, but I do wonder how complex his inner life is. I wonder how capable a bonobo is of understanding an abstract concept like religion. Do they want explanations for why things happen the way they do, or do they just accept them? Do the captive ones wonder what human beings think about? Do they think our customs are phenomenally goofy, or that we're kind of stupid compared to them? Or do the exceptionally clever ones like Kanzi want to be like us? I'm interested in the ape language studies, not so much for their own sake (though I do find the origins of language fascinating), but primarily because it brings us that much closer to answering these kinds of questions, and by proxy the ultimate question: How different are we from the animals, really?
There is a very cool RadioLab episode about this idea, including a segment about Kanzi. Listen here.
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