"There are other forms of intelligence on Earth [than ‘people’], Doctor.”—Spock, Star Trek IV
I have always been a cognitive
pluralist—by prejudice, if not by conviction.
I never saw any reason to insist that mankind alone should possess
consciousness to any significant degree.
Part of it has to be due to growing up in a church that, on account of
its great respect for the scriptures, always acknowledged the existence of an
unseen world of angels and demons, even if our general fear of all things
Catholic led us to declare that the age of miracles—including angelic visions
and demonic influences and exorcisms—was over. I have since gotten over that fear, and no
doubt one small reason for this was the second contributing factor to my cognitive
pluralism: my second home in the world of pure imagination. From Eternia to Tatooine, from Cybertron to
Vulcan, from Asgard to Lothlorien—and yes, even the digital world of Automan—I spent so much time in worlds
where it was taken for granted that thinking was not an exclusively human
activity.
And now—for those among us, at
least, who needed it—we have proof, and it comes in the form, not surprisingly,
of communication from beyond the world of “people” narrowly defined. In her new book How Stella Learned to Talk, speech therapist Christina Hunger tells
us a true story of communication between species that warms the heart even as
it expands the mind, showing us how true were Hamlet’s words to Horatio: “There
are more things in heaven and on earth…than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
Ms. Hunger works with children who have difficulty communicating using the spoken word. She begins her book by telling us about this work. One of the techniques she uses with her clients is called AAC, Augmentative and Alternative Communication, in which the user has access to a device that can speak certain words for them at the press of a button. These children, who for whatever reason, cannot speak words themselves, can learn to use this device to communicate their thinking in words, used in isolation or in groups of varying complexity. When Ms. Hunger and her future husband adopted a dog, she wondered whether their new pet—whom they named “Stella”—could be taught to use AAC to communicate various needs, such as her need—so very pressing for a new puppy—to go outside before her bladder control failed her. What began as a curious experiment blossomed into a wonderful adventure, as Ms Hunger watched Stella discover how to use her numerous word buttons not only to convey basic needs and expectations for water or food or the facilities, but to express in new and original combination all sorts of nuanced feelings and desires. Readers of this book can follow along as Stella’s verbal repertoire expands towards that of a young child, allowing her to communicate with her human companions in ways that would be the envy of anyone who has ever been close to an animal, especially a dog.[1] Perhaps my favorite moment of this sort occurs when Christina is trying to call Stella away from the group of new human acquaintances who are busy fawning over her, and Stella simply says, “Christina, later.”[2]
I will not seek to spoil the fun by telling any more of the stories the book contains. Instead, I would simply urge the reader to check it out. This is a book for anyone who has ever loved a dog, a cat, a horse, or any of the other animals we can become so close to, and whom, we can sometimes suspect, understand a lot more than they let on. As I read this book, my thoughts continually went back to the fourth Star Trek film—one of my all-time favorite films, a quote from which heads this essay—which features communication between mankind and another sentient species native to Earth: humpback whales! As the movie begins, an alien probe from deep space arrives in Earth orbit and begins probing the oceans with a powerful energy beam which has the unfortunate side-effect of rapidly ionizing the atmosphere. When it is realized that the energy beam carries a message intended for the humpback species—sadly extinct in the 23rd century of the film’s setting—our heroes must travel back in time to the mid 1980’s and find some humpbacks, so they can “bring them forward in time, drop them off, and hope to hell they tell this probe what to go do with itself” (in the memorable words of Dr. Leonard McCoy). It is Spock—the only non-human among the crew—who first suggests the signal from the probe is an attempt at communication. When Dr. McCoy scoffs, asking “Really? You think this is its way of saying ‘Hi there’ to the people of the Earth?”, Spock responds, in an epic and alliterative application of the Copernican Principle (that we are not the center of the universe, literally or figuratively), “There are other forms of intelligence on Earth, Doctor. Only human arrogance would assume the message must be meant for man.”
It is a great movie, not least of all because it recognizes the possibility that other terrestrial life forms could have real intelligence, and even real opinions about how they are being treated, as Spock learns of the whales’ displeasure with man’s treatment of them and their species when he communicates with them. The choice of cetaceans as an example is an excellent one, since they are definitely intelligent, and among the best candidates for those seeking other intelligent life here on Earth, as recorded in a recent cover story in National Geographic:
Come home, all is forgiven.
And while I’m thinking of Star Trek and animals, I wonder how breakthroughs like those in How Stella Learned to Talk could affect our relationships with animals in our real and imagined futures. I think of the more prominent human-animal relationships in the world of Star Trek:
Jonathan Archer and his dog Porthos:
and Captain James Kirk (or William Shatner, for that matter) and his horses:
And then, finally, there is Miles Edward O’Brien; husband, father, and owner, at least at one point, of a pet tarantula. I personally doubt tarantulas could benefit very much from AAC training—even with 350 years of further development—but the funny thing is, O’Brien gave his tarantula a name; and here we come full circle, for he named her “Christina” (cf. Star Trek: the Next Generation 6.2, “Realm of Fear”). This was way back in 1992, so, externally, this is mere coincidence; but I would like here to propose a new internal interprétation du texte: perhaps Miles O’Brien named his pet after Christina Hunger, the scientist who, way back in the Pre-First Contact days of the early twenty-first century, began to show us how intelligent animals can be.
Such work deserves no less than to be remembered for centuries[4]—although, perhaps we can do better for a namesake than a spider, yes? Maybe one of Kirk’s horses? Yes, that would be better.
[1] For me, it was a yorkie named “Alvin.” He will be missed.
[2] Which puts me in mind of another quotable line from the very quotable Star Trek IV: “Not now, Madeline!” (Trust me: in context, it’s funny).
[3] Fittingly, her name means “star.”
[4] And while on the topic of communication across species barriers that will be remembered for centuries, I have to mention—even if I can only fit it in a footnote—this line from Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure (1989): “You see, eventually, your music will help put an end to war and poverty. It will align the planets, and bring them into universal harmony, allowing meaningful contact with all forms of life, from extraterrestrial beings to common household pets. And—it’s excellent for dancing.”
