The Souls of Animals. Gary Kowalski

us face the end of life with some of the same primary emotions. It is wrenching. It makes us sad. Although of different species we are not so separate as we seem.

      I feel richer knowing that gorillas love—not just like human beings, but in their own meaningful way—and that elephants also share feelings of tenderness and grief—not just like ours, but not so different, either. Such knowledge reminds me that my own private loads of anguish and my own private moments of intimacy and joy are not so private after all. The realization that we share tears and affection tells me that you and I and Tina and All Ball are interconnected. We are part of a larger world: not an inert or unfeeling world but a world full of pain, healing, passion, and hope.

      In such a world we find the consolation of companionship. As Helen Keller writes, “We bereaved are not alone. We belong to the largest company in all the world—the company of those who have known suffering.” The company of the bereaved may be much larger than we once imagined. It may include not only gorillas and elephants but many others in the nonhuman realm whose thoughts and emotions about the end of life are similar to our own. A friend of mine who raised cattle on a small farm in Central America told me how one day a calf was slaughtered by a band of campesinos, who roasted the flesh for an impromptu fiesta. For weeks afterward, until the onset of the rainy season, the remainder of the herd gathered each afternoon and stood lowing in a circle around the spot where the young one had been butchered. How can we heedlessly take the life of another animal? How can we kill without wondering what agony that creature feels, or what heartbreak besets its mate and offspring? Knowing that our pain is shared might make us more careful, less callous, in our dealings with other creatures.

      Concern for the distress of animals is a time-honored precept of many religious traditions. Accounts of elephants shedding tears can be traced all the way back to the Ramayana, one of the ancient scriptures of India, and ahimsa, the principle of non-injury toward other living things, has been a part of Hindu philosophy for thousands of years. Buddhists, similarly, vow to free all sentient beings from suffering. Jains refuse to kill even the smallest organism. Western religions have not always been so attuned to the plight of other creatures. Yet the prophet Mohammed is said to have awakened from his nap one afternoon to find a small, sick kitten sleeping on the edge of his cloak; he cut off his garment rather than disturb the pathetic creature. Hebrew scriptures contain numerous admonitions to care for creation, as in Deuteronomy, where the law forbids harnessing a bull and-a donkey together, since “the weaker would suffer in trying to keep up with the stronger.” In the New Testament, the apostle Paul tells us in characteristically mythic language that “the whole created universe groans in all its parts” under the burdens of suffering and death. Perhaps if we listen intently we can hear the groaning of the animals, who beg for our mercy and forbearance.