There is a lot we can learn from observing animals. Some are naturally courageous whereas others are timid. Some animals travel solo and others in herds. Some use teeth to fight and defend whereas others use horns or hooves, etc. We’ve learned about singing from the birds and to use Dictamnus herb when removing darts from harts and goats.

We learned to use celandine to improve eyesight from swallows, who smear it on their young, same as fennel for serpents. Dogs eat grass to purge themselves, as swine will eat river lobsters and various birds eat bay leaves.

Goats remove cataracts from their eyes by scratching it off against thorny bushes. Hippos will bleed themselves by rubbing their thighs against a sharp rock to open a vein, then cover it up with mud when they have bled enough.

The ancients discovered from birds that to protect themselves from lightning, they should put wreathes of feathers on their heads. The seal is another animal that doesn’t get harmed from lightning, so wearing sealskin will protect us from it as well.

We are beholden to beasts not only for the skill of curing diseases, and of preservation of health, but for our food, clothing, and ornamentation.

When lambs and rams butt at one another with their horns, and playing wantonly kick up their heels, we know a change is coming.

The same is thought when the ox licks himself against the hair, and suddenly fills the air with his lowing, smell the ground, and when he feeds more greedily than usual. 

The cry or screeching of owls portends a change of the present weather, whether foul or fair. 

If bats fly in the evening, they foreshow wet weather. 

The spider spins her web with remarkable artistry, skillfully attaching it to every nearby anchor or support. She weaves her threads, moving both upward and downward in every direction. Even when the diligent chambermaid disrupts and damages this delicate, newly constructed masterpiece, the spider remains undeterred. In a remarkably brief time, she creates an even greater expanse of web, surpassing the remnants of her previous work, which cannot be undone without considerable effort. So that from hence all cloth and linen weavers, all embroiderers, and workers with the needle, have learned their arts.

They elect a king who stands out above all others, both in physical prowess and striking appearance. He is characterized by his short wings, straight legs, and dignified gait. Rather than bearing a traditional crown or diadem, he either lacks a sting or chooses not to wield it, which serves as the weapon among his peers.

He never leaves the hive without an entourage, always surrounded by a regal retinue and accompanied by loyal followers. He ventures out only for matters of significant importance to the entire community. His arrival is announced by the sound of trumpets and songs, drawing everyone close. Each individual strives to get as near to him as possible, and when he becomes fatigued from flight, they offer support with their own bodies.

Wherever he lands, they promptly set up their tents. Should he die, they do not venture out to feed; instead, they encircle his body in mourning. They carry him out of the hive, follow his hearse in solemn procession, and lay him to rest. After dutifully performing all the necessary rites and funeral ceremonies, they select a new king, for they cannot thrive without one.

When flying in a storm, if the conditions remain violent, they ballast themselves with a small stone, flying close to the ground to prevent being tossed about by the force of the wind.

Aristomachus, the philosopher, proudly claims that for 58 consecutive years, he diligently nurtured bees, all in order to enhance his understanding of their habits and conditions.

In Florida, which is part of the West Indies, there exists an animal so remarkable in its variety and peculiarities that it deserves mention; the locals refer to it as “succarath,” while the cannibals call it “Su.” This creature primarily inhabits riverbanks and coastal areas, sustaining itself through predation. When it senses that a hunter is in pursuit, it climbs onto its back with its young ones and uses its long, broad tail to shield them. In this way, it escapes, ensuring both its own safety and that of its offspring. The only method by which these animals can be captured involves pits dug by the indigenous people, which the unsuspecting beast falls into. The illustration provided here is drawn from Thevet’s Cosmography.

Equally impressive is the ingenuity of the hedgehog. When pursued by a fox, and the predator is nearly upon him, the hedgehog curls itself into a tight ball, encasing its body in sharp prickles like a chestnut in its shell. This clever maneuver renders it nearly impervious to harm, allowing it to escape unharmed. The hedgehog also displays resourcefulness in providing for its young. During the grape harvest, it approaches the vines and uses its feet to knock down the branches laden with grapes. Once the fruit falls, it rolls its body to impale the grapes on its spines, effectively carrying its burden back to its den. To an observer, it may appear as though the grapes are moving of their own accord. The hedgehog then shares its bounty, dividing the fruits between itself and its offspring.

The hen, when in any kind of danger, gathers her chickens under her wings, and with that guard, defends them as well as she can. For their sake, she exposes herself to the cruelty of the fiercest beasts, and will fly in the eyes of a dog, a wolf, or a bear, that by chance offers to meddle with her chickens.

Turtles share a deep mutual bond of love; when one dies, the surviving turtle refrains from seeking another mate and chooses instead to remain on a dry, withered bough.

Among the beasts of the field there is none more vast, more strong, or more to be feared than the elephant. His strength is sufficiently shown by those towards castles of armed men, which he carries and fiercely rushes with into battle. The Roman soldiers, being otherwise of undaunted spirit, yet in that battle which they fought against Antiochus III, being terrified with the vastness and immanity of these bodies which they had never seen before, presently turned their backs and fled, which notwithstanding, it is a wonderful thing what stories natural philosophers tell of the virtues of elephants.

Pliny notes that elephants possess an impressive capacity for understanding human behavior and exhibit a primitive form of language comprehension. Their remarkable ability to learn and their unwavering obedience are equally astonishing. Regarding their spiritual practices, elephants are said to pray to the gods, purify themselves with saltwater, and, with great reverence, worship the rising sun by lifting their trunks toward the heavens in the absence of hands.

Pliny further observes that elephants similarly show reverence when worshiping the moon and the stars. According to Arabian histories, it is reported that during the new moon, herds of elephants make their way to the rivers, where they cleanse themselves with water. After this purification ritual, they kneel in worship of the moon before returning to the woods, with the eldest leading the group and the others following in accordance with their age.

Plutarch reports that among the elephants which were taught at Rome, there was one that was somewhat dull and not as docile as the rest, which made him despised by his fellows and often beaten by his master. But this elephant was often observed at night, by the light of the moon, to be practicing and conning what he had learned of his master in the daytime. For they were wont to be taught to make letters, and also to present garlands to the spectators, and other such tricks.

André Thevet (1560-1590) reports that the emperor of the Turks has at Cairo (formerly called Memphis) and at Constantinople, many savage beasts kept for his delight: lions, tigers, leopards, antelopes, camels, elephants, porcupines, and many others of this kind. They use to lead them around the city to show off. Their handlers wear a girdle with little bells, so the people are forewarned to keep themselves from being hurt by these beasts. But in hope of reward and of gifts, they show them to ambassadors of strange nations, before whom they make these beasts do a thousand delightful tricks while they play their country tunes upon their pipes and other instruments and make many sports in hope of gain.

But it is far more wonderful that the creatures of the water should be made tame and be taught by the art of man. Among which, the chiefest are held to be the eel. The same things are also reported of the lamprey. Marcus Crassus had a lamprey in his fish pool that was so tame and so well taught that he could command her at his pleasure. Therefore, as a domestic and tame beast, he gave her a name, by which when he called her, she would come. And when this lamprey died, he mourned for her in black, as if she had been his daughter. Which when his colleague, Cnasus Domitius objected to him, by way of reproach, he replying, told him, that he had buried three wives, and had mourned for none of all them three. 

Soldiers are careful to keep their weapons from rust, and therefore they carry them to the armorers to be polished. But in this care, many beasts are nothing inferior unto them; for boars whet their tusks against the fight. And the elephant, knowing that one of his teeth is doubled with digging at the roots of trees to get meat, keeps the other sharp, and touches nothing with it, preserving it for his combat with his enemy the rhinoceros, but the craft of the rhinoceros is very remarkable, that being in continual enmity with the elephant, at the time

when he prepares for the battle, he whets his horn against a rock, as if it were with a whetstone; nor (if he can choose) will he strike any other part of the elephant but the belly, because he knows that part of the elephant is so tender that it may be easily pierced. This beast is in length equal to the elephant, but in height he is inferior to him, due to of the shortness of his feet; he is of a pale yellow color and full of many spots.

Conies have demonstrated the skill of burrowing beneath the earth, a technique that can lead to even the grandest cities and towering structures being reduced to rubble when their foundations are compromised.

Marcus Varro (116-27 BC) reported that in Spain, there was a town built on sandy soil, which had been so extensively undermined by a colony of conies that all the houses collapsed to the ground. As a result, the inhabitants were compelled to leave and seek new places to live.

Men have drawn inspiration for the art of warfare from wolves. These cunning creatures often travel in packs and strategically position themselves near selected towns. One wolf ventures into the town, provoking the local dogs. By feigning flight, it entices the dogs to give chase, leading them into a carefully concealed ambush. At the opportune moment, the rest of the pack emerges, launching a sudden attack on the unsuspecting canines. In this way, they are able to capture and consume as many dogs as they can catch.

In both cunning and skill, the fox surpasses all other creatures. When pursued and the dogs are hot on his trail, he urinates on his tail and deftly whips it across the faces of the pursuing hounds, momentarily blinding them. In that crucial moment, he gains a significant advantage and escapes their grasp.

When swine hear a member of their herd calling out, they immediately come to a halt. As if summoned by the sound of a martial trumpet, they swiftly organize themselves into a straight line and rush to assist their companion.

Plutarch reports that when a Scarus fish happens to swallow a hook and gets caught, its fellow fish of the same kind come to its aid. They work together to bite through the line, setting their companion free.

The geese of Sicily, with considerable caution, ensure that their searching and vocalizations do not draw the attention of predatory birds. Plutarch notes that when they fly over the Taurus Mountains, fearful of the eagles in that region, they carry stones in their mouths to silence their gaggling until they reach a safe location.

In truth, geese will eat stones, known as gastroliths.

The dragons are equally cunning, as they manage to conquer the formidable and seemingly invincible elephants. They lie in wait, launching surprise attacks on the elephants when they least expect it. With their tails, they ensnare the elephants’ legs, preventing them from moving forward and blocking their nostrils with their heads, making it impossible for them to breathe. They gouge out the elephants’ eyes and target the most vulnerable areas of their skin, biting and draining their blood until the mighty creatures collapse. Pliny reports that in Ethiopia, dragons can be found measuring ten cubits in length, while in India, there are dragons that reach an astonishing 100 feet long, soaring so high that they snatch birds from the skies, capturing their prey even from amidst the clouds.

Plutarch recounts the story of a remarkable dog actor that garnered particular admiration for its portrayal of death. After taking a soporific medication, it convincingly played dead. It began by trembling as if dizzy, then fell to the ground, curling its body as if it were dying, ultimately becoming stiff as though truly lifeless. When it was time for him to rise, the dog gradually moved its legs as if awakening from a deep slumber, then lifted its head to glance around, much to the amazement of the audience. Finally, it stood up and approached the juggler cheerfully and familiarly. This captivating performance left Emperor Vespasian (69-59 BC), who was present in the Marcellus Theater (13 BC-300s), thoroughly delighted, having never witnessed anything quite like it before.

The ape is a comical creature that often provides amusement for humans through its antics. There have been instances of apes that could play musical instruments, sing, dance, and even attempt to write, as well as imitate many other activities typically associated with people.

I recall seeing a large and troublesome ape in the house of the Duke of Somerset (possibly Edward Seymour, 1st Duke of Somerset, 1500-1552). His hands were amputated due to the trouble he caused. However, after enduring treatment for his wounds and once they had healed, he became more gentle and manageable.

Thus, dressed in a green coat and adorned with a girdle at his waist, he carried a case of spectacles, a pair of knives, and a child’s handkerchief hanging from it. He was entrusted to the master cook for instruction, as he had made his home in the chimney corner. Under the master’s guidance, he learned many amusing tricks and feats.

If at any time he swerved from his doctrine and precepts, in a trice the whip was upon his back and loins, and much was abated of his daily allowance, for as Persius (34-62 AD) says, the belly is the master of arts and sharpener of wit. 

Through these efforts, he thrived and, before long, surpassed all the apes of his era in the brilliance of his wit. None were regarded as more skilled in leaping, dancing to the pipe, swiftly climbing poles, or deftly leaping through his master’s legs. In summary, he executed all the feats of a robust ape, diligently carried dishes alongside the waiters and serving men, cleaned the plates by licking them, and undertook much other menial labor. Consequently, he became widely known as Master John Do-All.

During dinner and supper, seated in a chair, he offered grace, raising his eyes towards heaven, rolling them from side to side, and striking his breast with the stumps of his hands in a display of lamentation. He mimicked prayer by gnashing or clashing his teeth. When offended, he would turn up his tail (for his coat scarf covered half his buttocks in case he filled it). He engaged in various antics, always walking upright due to the amputation of his hands, unless fatigue compelled him to sit on his hindquarters.

The camel is a notably domestic and gentle creature, easily tamed and trained for various forms of obedience and service. Remarkably, they show no ill effects from spending the night outside; in the morning, they are fully capable of bearing their burdens. Typically, camels are not tasked with carrying loads until they reach four years of age. The Arabians geld them at a young age to prolong their capacity for work, and even without this procedure, they do not exhibit overwhelming desires related to mating.

In spring, camels endure hunger and thirst for up to eight days, displaying an extraordinary level of obedience; at the command of Turkish handlers or even with just a gentle touch on the neck from a twig, they promptly kneel to accept their burdens, only rising again once they perceive that an adequate load has been placed upon them. They have a particular fondness for beans, yet they are content to subsist on just four handfuls of beans a day. 

Nightingales are exquisite singers, producing a tapestry of notes characterized by intricate variations and delightful sounds. Their melodies are so enchanting and sweet that human skill struggles to match their beauty through any number of musical instruments. Thus, we often say a person sings “like a nightingale” when they showcase a wide array of vocal variations. In this regard, birds surpass humans, as their remarkable gift for song is innate, requiring no arduous effort to learn. In contrast, humans often find it challenging to achieve such natural sweetness in music, despite enduring countless trials under the guidance of a harsh instructor.

Just as humans possess the ability to speak, birds have their own natural vocalizations that serve a similar purpose. Birds of the same species, much like people from the same region, chirp and sing to one another. However, humans often struggle to comprehend the speech of those from different cultures, much as a Scythian language holds little value to someone living in Egypt. For the Egyptian, the Scythian tongue might as well be silent; neither could understand the other, rendering the Egyptian metaphorically deaf and dumb to the Scythian.

Travelers are acutely aware of the challenges and dangers posed by this communication barrier, as they often find it difficult to articulate their needs and express themselves. In the absence of a common language, we resort to using other means: gestures with our heads, eyes, hands, and feet to convey our thoughts. In truth, the plight of animals is less tragic; members of the same species can communicate effortlessly with familiar calls, regardless of their location. If someone were to overhear a German, Briton, Spaniard, Englishman, Pole, and Greek conversing in their respective languages, they might struggle to determine whether they were listening to humans or animals, given the linguistic divide.

Plutarch discusses the crocodile, which we see depicted here, noting that when tamed and trained by humans, it not only responds to human voices but also willingly allows itself to be touched. It even opens its mouth, permitting its teeth to be scratched and cleaned with a towel. The knowledge of medicine possessed by animals is quite limited when compared to that of humans, who, through diligent study and practice over a few years, can master the entirety of medical science and apply it for both personal benefit and the greater good of society.

But why do animals not achieve a similar understanding of medicine as humans do? The reason likely lies in the complexity of such a profound discipline; its intricacies may simply exceed the cognitive capacities of animals.

Regarding the subject of elephants and their purported religious practices, it must be stated that, in truth, we cannot assert that they worship God or possess any awareness of divine majesty. How can they grasp the concepts of transcendence or deity when their primary concern is the pursuit of sustenance, leaving them incapable of contemplating celestial matters? Although they may gaze at the moon at night and the sun in the morning, this behavior is not an act of worship or an indication of recognizing the divine. Instead, it is a natural response: they derive joy from the light, and their physical instincts draw them toward it. Thus, when we attribute a sense of religion to elephants, this notion is more a reflection of popular opinion than a statement of fact. It serves, rather, as an encouragement for humans to engage in the worship of God, rather than evidence that elephants possess any innate understanding of divine reverence.

Just as the human body is naturally naked and unarmed, so too is the mind like a blank slate—smooth, devoid of markings, and lacking engravings. However, to compensate for this nakedness, humans possess hands, and to address their ignorance, they have been granted reason and speech. Through these three faculties, serving as agents of infinite variety, individuals clothe and protect their bodies with all that is necessary and enrich their minds with knowledge of the arts and sciences.

Had humans been born with tools innate to them, they would rely solely on those; if they were born already skilled in all trades, they would not need to acquire knowledge. Therefore, it is essential that humans enter the world lacking and unaware, as Aristotle astutely referred to the hand as the ‘instrument of instruments.’ In a similar vein, one might rightly assert that reason is the ‘art of arts.’ Just as the hand surpasses other tools in value because it can create, manipulate, and adapt them for use, reason and speech—though they are not specific arts themselves—encompass and enhance all forms of artistry.

Given that humanity’s mind is instructed through art, or reason, it follows that the body must be defended with a weapon or tool, namely the hand, which is superior in agility and capability to any other instrument. Thus, humans employ their hands as substitutes for all types of weaponry, usable in both warfare and peace as instruments of various arts. They lack the horns of a bull, the tusks of a boar, or the hooves of a horse, as they are equipped with hands capable of wielding far more effective and safer arms, such as lances, swords, spears, and halberds. Moreover, they can engage from a distance using bows, slings, and firearms, while the horn and hoof are limited to close quarters.

Some might argue that a lion is swifter than a human. But does this imply that man is inferior? Certainly not. With the aid of his hands and the guidance of his reason, a human can harness and ride a horse, outpacing the lion. Victorious, he may pursue the lion or, if outmatched, retreat and strike from the horse’s back—as from a vantage point—wounding the lion with his chosen weapon.

In conclusion, humanity is more than adequately equipped to defend against the aggression of all other beasts. Not only does he arm himself with metaphorical walls of defense, but he also constructs ditches and bulwarks. By utilizing his hands, he crafts various weapons, weaves garments, and employs nets for fishing. Ultimately, he undertakes all endeavors to his satisfaction. With this divine privilege bestowed upon him by God, he reigns over all the earth—commanding dominion over all that lies hidden beneath the soil, traverses the ground, swims in the sea, soars through the air, or exists within the vast expanse of the sky.

This appears to be the reason why humans, by the instinct of nature, lack the ability to foresee future seasons and changes in the weather. Although they have received certain sparks of prudence from God, which guide them to knowledge through a reliable, unwavering judgment, they remain unaffected by the cyclical conditions and transformations of times and seasons that govern the animal kingdom. Thus, equipped with minds capable of understanding, humans respond to the shifts in weather according to their mental desires. They revel in merriment during wet, stormy, and dark weather, while conversely engaging in sincere and contemplative meditation during clear and pleasant seasons.

In contrast, animals adjust to the present atmospheric conditions without any judgment, simply responding to the temperaments and dispositions of their bodies as influenced by the changing air and the fluctuating humors within them. Accordingly, we should not criticize humans for imitating the sounds of beasts; rather, we should commend them for their remarkable ability to manipulate and vary their voices. Humans can bark like foxes and dogs, grunt like pigs, grind their teeth like wild boars, roar like lions, bellow like bulls, neigh like horses, chatter like apes, howl like wolves, bray like donkeys, bleat like goats and sheep, lament like bears, pigeons, and turtles, cackle and gabble like geese, hiss like serpents, cry like storks, caw like crows, crow like roosters, cluck like hens, chat like swallows and magpies, sing like nightingales, croak like frogs, and mimic the sounds of wasps and the buzzing of bees, even meowing like cats.

The song of birds scarcely seems worthy of being called musical in comparison to the harmonies achieved by humans, who possess and create a vast array of vocal variations. With their artistry, they can capture the attention of kings and princes, tempering their anger and transporting their minds beyond themselves, thus transforming them into whatever states of mind they choose. However, if those ferocious beasts exhibit any semblance of humanity, they owe it all to man, for he has the power to tame lions, elephants, bears, tigers, leopards, panthers, and similar creatures.

It is reported that while strolling with a group of friends in a field, Apollonius observed a sparrow fluttering and chirping animatedly towards a group of other sparrows perched on a tree. He remarked to his companions that the visiting bird was conveying a message in its own language—that an ass laden with corn had collapsed at the city gate, spilling its load onto the ground. Intrigued, Apollonius and his friends proceeded to the city gate, where they confirmed that the sparrow’s message was indeed true: they found the birds gathering the scattered grains of corn that had fallen to the ground as a result of the ass’s misfortune.