worried about this whale with whom I had formed such a strong bond. A few years later I received the very sad news that Humphrey had died. Numerous unanswered questions remained after our encounter with this elusive visitor who moved us in so many ways.
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In the more than two decades that have passed since Humphrey's misadventure, scientists' understanding and appreciation of the character and capabilities of minds other than our own species' has been dramatically transformed. Prior to the 1950s, it was commonly held that all creatures other than humans were mere unthinking automatons, devoid of intentionality and devoid of any spark of self-awareness. Researchers studying animals' ability to communicate with humans were expected to keep the animals at arm's length, literally and figuratively. Developing a relationship with one's subject of study was unacceptable because it was believed that subtle cues might influence both the animal's behavior and the scientist's interpretation of that behavior. The perils of anthropomorphizing were lurking everywhere, it was said, and were to be avoided. There were still strong echoes of this stance in the 1980s.
Yet at the same time, since the 1960s there has been a growing awareness and concern for the plight of whales. After the discovery in the early 1970s of the hauntingly beautiful songs of the humpback whale, our appreciation of them soared and probably contributed to achieving a successful yet all too brief moratorium on whaling by the International Whaling Commission.
People rally to save individuals. They seem to want to help individuals more than they want to help entire populations. This was the case with Humphrey. And yet, whole populations of humpbacks, made up of individual whales just like Humphrey, are still hunted in many parts of the world. The problem is that the idea of a population is abstract, whereas one or two individuals that we can see and even name become real to us. Real individuals can experience pain, fear, and suffering, and we want to help. I have dedicated my career to understanding dolphins—one species of small whale, that is—and to rescuing them. This book summarizes my life's work, along with the research of others and dolphin lore through the ages, in order to make a bold claim: Dolphins are among the smartest creatures on the planet—fully conscious, creative, and highly communicative, with an intelligence rare in nature. And yet, despite this and the fact that many people and entire cultures have loved and revered dolphins for centuries, mankind is slaughtering dolphins at astonishing rates.
We would never slaughter chimps, and there are laws against slaughtering elephants throughout Africa and Asia. Yet their sentient, empathetic cousins in the ocean are subject to mass killings. My hope is that everyone who reads this book will be motivated to support increased protection of dolphins and whales globally.
1. Minds in the Water
The hunting of dolphins is immoral, and that man can no more draw nigh to the gods ... or touch their altars with clean hands, but pollutes those who share the same roof with him, who willingly devises destruction for the dolphins. For equally with human slaughter the gods abhor the deathly doom of the monarchs of the deep.
—O PPIAN , Greek poet, in Halieutica, approx. 200 C.E.
T EN YEARS BEFORE my close encounter with Humphrey, the idea of studying dolphins (much less whales) was absolutely not in my life plan. As a young child, I had felt very connected to animals, had an innate compassion for them, it's true. I had a dog, Rusty, and a younger brother, Bob, and although I loved my brother dearly I now sheepishly have to admit that in some ways I always felt closer to my dog. I really believed I could hear him thinking and that we shared a very direct form of communication that I didn't have with my brother. I can only imagine now that I was very attuned to Rusty's body language, and my childhood fantasies