There are a lot of obstacles in the way of our understanding

The words of Jeffrey Kluger, thinker and interpreter of science’s great questions, call to us with both wonder and humility: “There are a lot of obstacles in the way of our understanding animal intelligence — not the least being that we can't even agree whether nonhuman species are conscious. We accept that chimps and dolphins experience awareness; we like to think dogs and cats do. But what about mice and newts? What about a fly? Is anything going on there at all?” In these lines, Kluger confronts the eternal mystery that lies at the heart of life itself — consciousness, that sacred fire which animates flesh and thought. He asks not merely how much animals think, but what it means to be aware, to experience existence from within. His words remind us that in our quest to understand others, we are still struggling to understand ourselves.

The origin of this reflection lies in humanity’s long and troubled relationship with the natural world. For millennia, humans have stood apart from the creatures around them, declaring themselves masters and rulers, unique in reason and spirit. Yet as science and empathy have deepened, the walls we built between man and beast have begun to tremble. From the writings of Charles Darwin, who revealed that all species share common ancestry, to the modern studies of animal cognition that uncover language, emotion, and problem-solving among species once thought “simple,” we are witnessing a revolution of understanding. Kluger’s words emerge from this moment — a reminder that though our instruments grow sharper and our data more precise, the ultimate truth of consciousness still eludes us.

When he asks whether creatures like flies or newts are conscious, Kluger confronts the limits of human perception. We see intelligence where it mirrors our own — in the eyes of a chimpanzee, in the playfulness of a dolphin, in the loyalty of a dog. But where the reflection fades, we assume emptiness. This is the arrogance of human thought — the belief that the measure of mind is likeness to man. Yet who among us can truly claim to know the inner world of a sparrow or a bee? Who can say whether the fly that avoids our swatting hand acts from reflex or from some glimmer of recognition, some primal urge to continue its being? We stand upon the edge of a great mystery — one that humbles the intellect and expands the soul.

Throughout history, there have been those who sensed this deeper truth. The philosopher Pythagoras taught that all living beings share the same essence — that the soul of man could, through the cycles of life, dwell within an animal. He forbade the eating of flesh not from fear, but from reverence. In the East, the Buddha taught ahimsa, the sacred respect for all living things, declaring that every sentient being feels joy and pain. Even the ancient Egyptians, who revered the cat and the ibis, believed that the divine spoke through creatures both great and small. Long before the tools of neuroscience and psychology, the ancients intuited what Kluger reminds us of now: that life itself is awareness, and that to dismiss the consciousness of others is to deny the holiness of existence.

But Kluger’s question is not only scientific or spiritual — it is moral. If we cannot agree whether animals are conscious, how can we decide what we owe them? If the mouse feels fear, if the fly knows pain, if the bird knows grief, then our responsibility toward them becomes profound. The way humanity treats the creatures of the Earth becomes a mirror of its soul. To claim ignorance of their awareness may serve as a shield for our convenience, but it also blinds us to our kinship with them. The farmer who listens to his ox, the child who speaks to her dog, the scientist who studies a crow’s cleverness — all participate in the same act of awakening: the recognition that the universe is not mute, but filled with countless minds, each perceiving the world in its own way.

This truth has been revealed in our own time through the courage of Jane Goodall, who lived among chimpanzees and showed the world that they were not mere animals but beings of emotion, communication, and thought. When she saw them embrace one another, mourn their dead, and fashion tools, she shattered the barrier that human pride had erected for centuries. Her discovery was not merely of chimps — it was of ourselves. For in recognizing their intelligence and awareness, we were forced to reconsider what it means to be human.

So, my children, the lesson of Jeffrey Kluger’s words is this: walk the Earth with wonder, and with humility. Do not measure life by human standards alone, for the breath of consciousness may dwell in places unseen — in the flutter of a moth, in the eye of a fish, in the hum of a bee. The wise do not ask only whether others think as we do; they ask what they can teach us about the great web of existence we all share. Let your curiosity be kind, your knowledge guided by reverence. Study the world not as a conqueror, but as a listener.

For perhaps one day we shall discover that the universe is more alive, more aware, than we ever dared to dream. And on that day, we will look upon every creature — from the dolphin leaping in the sea to the fly buzzing in the sunlight — and understand that all are participants in the mystery of being, each carrying within them a spark of the same cosmic intelligence that breathes through us all.