Reason for Hope: The Spiritual Journey of Famous Biologist Jane Goodall

Author: Jane Goodall et al. (English), translated by Qi Aihong
Translator: Qi Aihong / Country:
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2001-09-01
Features: We arrived at Olduvai Gorge before dusk. We quickly set up our tents and lit a campfire. I really regret not keeping a journal back then; otherwise, it would have been great to have a written record after all these years. What were my feelings in the early days of arriving at Olduvai? I had been dreaming of going to Africa and living among wildlife in the savanna since I was in my late 80s or early 90s, which means it has been about 14 years. When I woke up in the morning, I suddenly found myself living in the world of my dreams, it had come true: animals were there, around our tents. After dinner, we often sat by the campfire and could hear the roar of lions in the distance. Gilian and I shared a tent. Later, when we lay on the small beds in our tent, we sometimes heard some high-frequency, very strange bleating sounds, like the mournful cries of cats, and different kinds of whimpers, which we knew were the sounds of spotted hyenas. After finishing our work every day, Gilian and I would wander around freely. Sometimes we would even go down to the bottom of the gorge. There were acacia trees and plants like the sword-shaped Sansevieria and agave. Sometimes we would climb the steep slopes to the plains for a walk. The grass had been scorched by the fierce summer sun, the leaves were almost yellow, only the patches of dust stirred up by the ruthless wind still had some vitality. The large herds of wildebeest, zebras, and Thomson's gazelles had already disappeared from the plains. Their migration was related to their need for water, and they would move according to the rainfall. But we found that many animals still lived in the gorge and its surroundings because they could get enough water from the juicy leaves and roots of plants. We often startled pairs of small antelopes. They were no bigger than rabbits and were very cute. Sometimes we would encounter Grant's gazelles, and occasionally we would see one or two giraffes roaming the plains. We also had a couple of real adventures, for example, we once encountered a black rhino. Rhinos have poor eyesight, but that rhino had sensed us nearby. Fortunately, the wind was blowing in our direction. It sniffed with its nose, stomped the ground with its hooves, and looked around with its small pig-like eyes, then turned around, raised its tail, and swaggered away. I was so excited that when it left, I felt my legs go weak, and my heart was pounding in my chest. We had actually seen a rhino, and while we were walking! Another time, Gilian and I went to the thorny bushes at the bottom of the gorge, and suddenly I felt very uncomfortable, as if someone were watching me. I turned around and saw a young male lion standing about 40 feet away! It was looking at us with great interest. Gilian wanted to hide in the dense bushes, but I thought we should climb up to the open plain. We backed away cautiously from the lion and slowly moved toward the edge of the gorge. That lion was about two years old and was already starting to grow a fluffy mane. Lions at this age are particularly curious, and that lion had certainly never seen creatures like Gilian and me before. It followed us for at least 100 meters, then watched us climb up from the edge of the gorge to the plain. Later, Louis told us that we were lucky; if we had run away, it would have chased us relentlessly—because it couldn’t resist the curiosity of chasing us as prey, just like a kitten chasing a yarn ball. The reason I went to Gombe was neither to prove that chimpanzees are better nor worse than humans, nor to give myself a platform to deliver an aggressive lecture about human "true" nature. I went to learn, to observe, and to record my observations; I only wanted to share my observations and thoughts with others as clearly and honestly as possible. Of course, my attitude was very clear: whatever how uncertain the facts were, we should face them rather than deny them. After the details of the conflicts between Gombe chimpanzee communities were published, several writers cited the information and claimed that this permanently proved that violence is deeply rooted in our genes, inherited from our primate ancestors. They concluded that humans are inherently bloodthirsty, and therefore violence and war are inevitable. With the publication of Richard Dawkins' "The Selfish Gene" in 1976, this view became even more credible. Dawkins studied human motivations from the perspective of sociobiology and believed that our behavior is primarily determined by our genes. Since the main "purpose" of these protein particles is self-reproduction, most of our actions are driven by the need to ensure the survival of our genes, achieved either through our own successful reproduction or through the successful reproduction of our relatives, because we share some genes with them. This means that to ensure the continuation of our genes, we may help our relatives, especially those closest to us, such as brothers and sisters. What if we help non-relatives? This is not because humans have a sense of compassion, but because we (or more accurately, our genes) "hope" that our kindness will be rewarded. I saved you from drowning today, hoping that one day you can save me or my relatives. We are naturally selfish—we do everything for the survival of our genes. In a later paper, Dawkins further commented that we should not expect any God to help us, because we live in a universe dominated by "blind, ruthless indifference." I believe part of the reason Dawkins' book was so popular is that it provided an excuse for many who believe humans are selfish and cruel. This is because of our genes. We are helpless. Meanwhile, medical research has revealed that many psychological disorders are caused by physiological reasons. Perhaps denying responsibility for our own ugliness can bring some comfort. I remember the inhumane and cruel tortures described by survivors of the Nazi Holocaust. A country considered cultured and civilized could commit such large-scale massacres and genocide. Can Dawkins' theory explain this? My conclusion at the time, and still now, is that it is meaningless to deny that humans have an inherent tendency toward aggression and violence. For example, when my little baby Grab seemed to be in danger, I couldn’t help but feel angry. This is a very convincing example. Many scientific experiments have shown that aggressive behavior patterns are at least very easy to imitate. In the early 1970s, when I was an associate professor at Stanford University, psychologist Robert Benchley was conducting an experiment to test the extent to which children imitate aggressive behavior patterns. He took a doll and placed it among a group of two- or three-year-old children, then beat and kicked it. He did each action very slowly, repeating each move several times. Later, at different times, he gave the children opportunities to approach the doll and recorded their reactions. As expected, his young subjects all wanted to hit the doll a few times, and many of the actions were the same as those he had demonstrated. This provided strong evidence for the argument that children should not watch violent scenes on TV. (I wish someone would conduct a similar experiment, one in which the doll is kissed, hugged, or stroked. But no one has ever done such an experiment.) The behavior of the Gombe chimpanzees has fueled many theories, and many scientists have debated them. Using it—or not using it—to support or refute the theories they have proposed about human aggression. But my work at Gombe was to better understand the aggression of chimpanzees. My question was: how far have chimpanzees come on the path similar to that of humans toward hatred, evil, and total war? After Derek's death, I stayed at Birch for a while before returning to Tanzania. Derek's wish was to be cremated, and his ashes scattered into the sea, into the Indian Ocean at a place he loved—we often dove underwater there, marveling at the breathtakingly beautiful coral world. I felt so terrible, especially when I reached Heathrow Airport and they handed me the box containing his ashes. A living person now only had this little bit left. I took the ashes in both hands, my heart aching, and the scene was still vivid in my mind even after nearly 20 years had passed since his death. Later, I scattered the ashes and let them drift away with the wind. That was my dear husband’s body, purified by the intense flames. It was raining, and it was cold, and I felt short of breath. The ashes drifted onto the surface of the sea and were soon absorbed by the vibrant life of the underwater coral world. A week later, I returned to Gombe. I had been away for several months. The people working there were all sad to hear the news of Derek’s death, which was understandable, and it also included their concerns about the future. I hoped that the ancient forest could heal my soul, give me strength, and that contact with the chimpanzees could ease my pain, because they accepted everything life had given them. The first two days, I was indeed heartbroken, especially at night, when I was alone in the house—Derek, Grab, and I had shared so much joy here. It was once full of life, but now it felt eerie. On the morning of the third day, something happened. I sat there feeling miserable, watching the changing colors of the lake, and after drinking my coffee alone, I prepared to go find the chimpanzees. As I climbed the slope toward the feeding station, I suddenly laughed: the path I was walking on had once been too difficult for Derek, who couldn’t walk properly, but now only I, a mere mortal, was struggling to climb in this heat—he had been relieved, free. He was laughing at me, so I laughed out loud too. Something even more strange happened that night. I lay on the bed we once shared, and the sound of the lake waves lapping against the shore, the chirping of crickets, and other familiar night sounds filled my ears. I didn’t expect to fall asleep quickly, but I did. I woke up at some point in the night. Was I awake? Anyway, Derek was there. He was smiling, vivid. He was talking to me. It seemed like he had been talking for a long time. He told me some important things, things I should know, and things I should do. As he was talking, I suddenly felt my body stiffen, and I felt blood rushing through me, my ears buzzing. The blood was flowing, flowing, flowing through my stiff body. I slowly relaxed. “Well, anyway,” I said when I could speak, perhaps quite loudly. “At least I know you’re really here.” Almost immediately, the feeling returned. My body stiffened again, and the buzzing sound started up again. I remember thinking at the time: I must be dying. But I wasn’t afraid at all. After everything stopped, I remembered nothing—only that Derek had come, he had brought me some news, and I was happy. That’s all. No grand pronouncements. Almost at the same time, I fell into a deep sleep again. Later, I returned to Bournemouth and wrote a letter to an old friend who had psychic abilities. She had once given a great deal of help to my grandmother. She had retired and was also grieving the death of her husband. But she promised to call me. After I told her what had happened, she was silent for a moment, then she said, “When my husband died, I experienced the same thing. Anyway, if it happens again next time, don’t get out of bed.”