WomensStudies hf. Forum, Vol. 14, No. 5, pp.

44349, 1991
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SCIENCE, FEMINISM AND ANIMAL NATURES I
Extending the Boundaries
LYNDA I. A. BIRICE
Department of Continuing Education, University of Warwick, Coventry, United Kingdom
Synopsis-Feminist theory has relied implicitly on separating humanity from other animals. This
has underlain, for example, feminist rejection of biological determinism, and is embedded in the
distinction between nature and culture and its relationship to gender. Yet that implicit assumption
is problematic, this paper argues, both for the way we view animals and their place in nature, and
for feminist theorising. At the heart of the assumption is the dichotomy between ourselves and
other animals; this boundary rests on a universalism and denial of difference (among animals)
that feminist theory rejects for women. There are grounds, I argue, for breaching the boundary.
In Western culture, we locate ourselves in op-
position to animals. We pride ourselves on
our culture-on what we have achieved that
sets us apart from all other species. Even
when we acknowledge similarities-as in the
phrase humans and other animals- we do
so in ways that imply some degree of setting
us apart.
Yet who is it to whom culture is credited
as a uniquely human achievement? Women
tend to occupy a somewhat ambiguous place:
On the one hand, women are obviously part
of the human side of the duality. On the oth-
er, women have generally been seen (at least
in relatively recent Western history; see Jor-
danova, 1980; Marchant, 1982) as somehow
closer to nature and animals. I refer to ani-
mals in general, although we are, of course,
mammals. But my concern here is to look at
the way that concept of animals-as a
counterpoint to what is human- has been
used: This use of animals rarely distinguishes
between them.
Culture, moreover, as counterpoint to na-
ture, more closely defines what men do. And
the nature/culture duality not only is a prod-
uct of Western culture itself, it has served to
define who is most closely allied with that
culture. Women, and all non-European peo-
I am very grateful to Ted Benton and to Gail Vines
for helpful comments on earlier drafts of the manu-
script; Gail and our various four- and two-legged friends
also supply inspiration.
ples, have at different times been linked to
nature.
Many feminist writers have explored those
linkages between nature and culture (see,
e.g., McCormack, 1980). My intention here
is not to go further over this ground, but
rather to explore some of the assumptions
that feminist theory makes about animals
and our relationship to them. These in turn
carry certain implications, both in terms of
how we think about science in particular, and
about nature more generally. They have im-
plications, too, for how we theorise about
gender. Raising questions about how we view
animals in turn raises questions about how
we conceptualise biology, for the study of
animals is a large part of that discipline.
Feminist critics of science have inevitably
made generalisations about biology and its
practice (e.g., Birke, 1986; Bleier, 1984;
Fausto-Sterling, 1985). Sometimes, these
generalisations are right-it is often true that
biology tends toward reductionist explana-
tions (for example, that our behaviour might
be explained by or reduced to the ups and
downs of our hormones). But these generali-
sations are not always valid, and one of the
problems I have as a feminist biologist is that
I do not always recognise clearly the notion
of biology that is portrayed in feminist ac-
counts. So, one facet of my exploration of
concepts of animals is to consider what as-
sumptions we make, in turn, about biology
and biological explanation.
443
444 LYNDA I. A. BIRKE
ANIMALS AND BIOLOGICAL
DETERMINISM
One important reason that feminism has had
to deal implicitly with the question of our
relationship to the animal kingdom is our
opposition to biological determinism. We are
all too familiar with the force of arguments
stating that behavioural differences between
women and men are rooted in genetic and/or
hormonal differences. As a result, gender be-
comes immutable, fixed by biology. Typical-
ly, parallels are drawn with other animals
(usually, but not always, other mammals):
So, for example, the effects of hormones on
rats brains might serve to defend beliefs in
fundamental differences between the brains
of men and women (see Moir & Jessel, 1989,
for a recent example). The most common re-
actions to such arguments among feminists
are to point to the inadequacies of the under-
lying science, and to emphasize the extent to
which gender is socially constructed (e.g.,
Birke & Vines, 1987; Bleier, 1984; Lambert,
1987).
But this approach has been problematic.
In the first place, biological models seem
more scientific than social accounts, with all
the credibility which that brings. Second, an
overzealous rejection of biology along with
the crass determinism has left feminists with
two puzzles unsolved; there remains uncer-
tainty as to how to theorise about the body
and our experiences as embodied individu-
als, and about our relationship to the rest of
the living world.
In emphasising the power of sociocultural
influence, feminism has left no place for our
bodily functions: They are relegated to a
catch-all category - biology - having ap-
parently no relationship to our social world.
Social construction, Donna Haraway has
pointed out, loses the body as anything but
a blank page for social inscriptions including
those of biological discourse (Haraway,
1988). It is no answer to point, as some femi-
nists have done, to the construction of bio-
logical discourse itself, to the way that social
values enter the way we describe bodily func-
tions; this still leaves the body itself inacces-
sible to our theories (see Sayers, 1982 for fur-
ther discussion of this point).
The second consequence of the approach
followed by many feminists-challenging bi-
ological determinism by denying a role to bi-
ology in the development of gender-is that
it has cut us off from the rest of the animal
kingdom. Feminists have objected to the idea
that behaviour, notably human behaviour
and capabilities, is the product of some un-
derlying biological urge: We have also ob-
jected to the ready extrapolation from ani-
mals to humans characterising biologically
determinist arguments.
In these objections, the behaviour of ani-
mals, by contrast, is not seen as problematic;
we might, for instance, object to the notion
that human gender differences are deter-
mined by hormonal effects on the brain
while accepting a similar notion from labora-
tory studies of other species. So, from this
perspective, human behaviour is fundamen-
tally different from (discontinuous with) our
biology, and human experience is radically
different from that of other animals.
One difficulty with assuming human be-
haviour and abilities to be different is that it
leaves the lives of all other organisms firmly
within the jurisdiction of biology. Books
on the biology of rats, for instance, are likely
to include something about their behaviour
and social organisation. This allocation has
two problematic effects. First, locating ani-
mal, but not human, behaviour within the
realms of biology can distort our perception
of the behaviour of animals. And second,
because the predominant mode of explana-
tion within biology still tends towards reduc-
tionism, it is all to easy to see that behaviour
and social structure as caused by an underly-
ing biology-genes, hormones, or whatev-
er. (This is, however, more obvious in popu-
lar accounts. Some areas of biological
research have moved away from such simplis-
tic models, towards a recognition that ani-
mals do not fit readily into the deterministic
picture either. My purpose here is to draw
attention to the fact that, if the behaviour of
some species is called biological, then that
behaviour is more easily attributed to bio-
logical underlying causes.)
This distinction between bodies and be-
haviour underwrites the sex/gender dichoto-
my on which much feminist theorizing is
founded. Sex is the biological domain, the
physical body, while gender is socially con-
structed, firmly in the cultural domain. Only
the former is shared with other animals (they
Extending the Boundaries 445
have sex differences in much of the scien-
tific literature). Our analyses of gender, then,
depend on that separation between what is,
or is not, biological, between the behav-
iour/abilities of other animals and our own.
Feminist beliefs about our (gender-specif-
ic) behaviour, then, seem to rest on a belief in
evolutionary discontinuity-the idea, that is,
that in evolutionary terms, humans are quite
different from other species. Darwin not-
withstanding, such beliefs are popular, from
philosophers arguing that without language,
animals can have no comparable mental life*
(or even that, without the ability to make
sense of it, animals cannot feel pain; Harri-
son, 1989), to arguments that animals do not
labour as we do (but see Benton, 1988; In-
gold, 1983). People tend to be very con-
cerned to shore up the defences that separate
us from brute creation. Yet few would try
to deny evolutionary continuity in relation to
the physical body: That remains firmly with-
in the bounds of what we accept as biology.
It is just human behaviour (particularly so-
cial behaviour) and abilities that are differ-
ent, somehow separated from the body-and
other animals-in our critiques. The disci-
pline of biology, too, is built on some ambi-
guity: on the one hand, it emphasises conti-
nuity-as indeed it should if it is to rely on
evolution as a theoretical basis. Yet at the
same time, the justification for much ani-
mal-based research in biology rests on argu-
ments that humans are different and special.
Scientists experiment on animals precisely
because they believe that animals are suffi-
ciently different to make the experiment ethi-
cally acceptable (see Rollin, 1989; Birke,
1991).
Our critiques of biological determinism,
then, make certain assumptions about the re-
lationship between humans and other ani-
mals, and in particular, about what consti-
tutes the biological. They seem to assume,
first, that humans are unique, to the point
that no other animal possesses certain traits;
and second, that human social organisation
(including gender divisions), also unique,
emerges from possession of those traits.
I want now to examine two particular con-
sequences of those assumptions for how we
view animals, before returning to the general
question of the uniqueness -or otherwise -
of humans and its significance for feminist
theorising. One is that the human/animal
distinction rests on a notion of animal na-
ture that is overgeneralising, and untenable.
The second is that, if reductionism and de-
terminism are problems for how we interpret
our own behaviour, then they should also be
a problem for how we see other animals.
ANIMALS AS OTHERS
In rejecting biological determinism (however
right our arguments may be) while not ques-
tioning what that means for animals, we are
setting ourselves up as different from or su-
perior to or apart from them: The assump-
tion that our behaviour has nothing to do
with biology is aligned with one saying that
theirs has everything to do with their biology.
What we are saying, in effect, is that we are
not like animals. What we have not looked at
is why we should want to say this.
To say we are not like animals carries a
subliminal message that we are, in some
sense, better than, or superior to, other spe-
cies. It is not, of course, too surprising that
we want to believe this: Two millennia of the-
ological justification of human ascendan-
cy -dominion over the rest of creation-
must take its toll, at least within the
Judeo-Christian traditions (other religious
traditions have different views on the nature
of animals and their relationship to us; see,
e.g., the essays on animal sacrifice in Regan,
1986).
Partly as a result of the hierarchical view
of our relationship to nature, European my-
thologies and languages are full of represen-
tations of animals as evil incarnated, and we
deplore the beast within in our own behav-
iour (Midgley, 1978). At least when we over-
come the beast and behave humanly (or
humanely), we separate ourselves from other
beasts. So, one consequence of asserting our
dissimilarity to animals is that it reinforces
our belief in our ability to transcend our own
beastliness. (There is a parallel with gender
in our denial of the beast within; masculin-
ity in our culture involves strong denial of the
feminine within. To deny femininity is in
part to deny the uncontrollable, the ill-un-
derstood - rather like the beast within.)
Yet what does it mean to assert our differ-
ence or superiority? Humans are certainly
different in some senses, and there is little
446 LYNDA I. A. BIRKE
doubt that it is desirable that we overcome
such beastly behaviour as warmongering
or child abuse. But such a claim is not neces-
sarily incompatible with a belief in evolu-
tionary continuity (and nor does evolution-
ary continuity mean that we are necessarily
the same as other animals) for two reasons.
In the first place, whenever anyone advo-
cates the specialness of human nature (and
by this phrase I mean to include our cultural
forms; I do not mean a fixed, essential na-
ture), they typically counterpose it to ani-
mal nature. We are not like animals is a
case in point. But whatever is animal nature?
If we are trying to elaborate a case for our
specialness, then we should not, I trust, be
counterposing our natures to the mythologi-
cal beasts-which are, after all, a product of
our own cultures (including cultural assump-
tions about gender).
Yet if we are counterposing ourselves to
real animals, then I cannot find anything I
recognise in vague references to animal na-
tures. There is no one animal nature against
which we can compare our wonderful
achievements. Each species, including our-
selves, is more or less well adapted to its envi-
ronment. And each and every one is different
(or, as Bailey, 1986, put it, describing her
work comparing animal intelligences: every
animal is the smartest). There is truth, then,
in the claim that humans are different, just
as there is in the claim that dogs are differ-
ent, or chimpanzees, or sharks or whatever.
This is not to diminish the significance of
human cultural achievements; I want simply
to stress that patting ourselves on the back b_v
comparison with the alleged failures of other
species to match up makes inappropriate as-
sumptions about animal natures.3
The tendency to universalise other ani-
mals is apparent even in the work of those
who advocate animal rights. Just as some
feminists have argued from a specific wom-
ens standpoint (e.g., Hartsock, 1983) that
gives women a privileged perspective on their
own oppression, so the advocates of animal
rights argue for an animal standpoint. And
both can be criticised for their false univer-
sality; as feminist critics have pointed out,
there cannot be a uniquely feminist stand-
point, simply because different women have
different experience (Haraway, 1988; Hard-
ing, 1986; Hawkesworth, 1989). Likewise, to
counterpose ourselves to other animals is
to universalise (on both counts). Which hu-
mans are we talking about? What kinds of
behaviour, abilities, or social organisation?
And which animals?
We do tend to judge other species with
respect to ourselves; other animals are more
or less clever at solving problems that we
have set, according to our own criteria.
Whole generations of students have encoun-
tered scientific reports comparing the al-
leged intelligence of different animals (see
Clark, 1982; Thomas, 1986, for criticisms of
these simple comparisons). The resulting
scales of intelligence can even provide moral
justification for certain kinds of treatment of
animals; most people seem to feel that the
fate of rats and mice do not matter quite as
much as (say) dogs or monkeys; rats are held
to be vermin and not particularly intelligent.
Yet species cannot be so readily compared:
there are radical differences between species
behaviour and abilities, that reflect their
widely differing evolutionary histories. I sus-
pect that we cannot know what it means to
live in the (predominantly olfactory) world
of dogs, say, or rats. I simply cannot imagine
moving around in a world whose landmarks
and calling cards consist principally of
smells. Indeed, I rather think that dogs and
rats do somewhat better in adapting to our,
mainly visual, world, than we would to
theirs.
There is a danger, too, in pleading for hu-
man specialness by comparison with some
universal animal nature, that we will conve-
niently ignore those bits of ourselves we do
not like. In his early writing, Marx distin-
guished humanity from other animals on the
grounds of human historical potential, both
individual and collective. But what does re-
cognising human potential entail? Far too
often, it means seeing predominantly nice
things in ourselves (in humans vs. animals,
say, or women vs. men); any nasty traits can
be symbolically transferred to the other cate-
gory. As Benton (1988) has pointed out, ei-
ther at least some animals have these poten-
tials too (in which case, we are not so special
after all), or we have to accept that hum-
an specialness has historically included the
potential for mass destruction, genocide,
and other atrocities.
Animals in Western culture are other,
Extending the Boundaries 447
objects of scientific enquiry (Halpin, 1989).
We have defined ourselves in opposition to a
generality of animals, irrespective of the
qualities of individual species. In writing
about the prevailing belief in reason as male
in Western philosophy, Genevieve Lloyd
(1984) pointed to the dilemmas raised by a
feminist insistence that men and women pos-
sess reason equally: Women cannot easily
be accommodated into a cultural ideal which
has defined itself in opposition to the femi-
nine (p. 104). Similarly, when humans de-
fine themselves as non-animals, as other,
animals cannot be admitted to any cultural
ideal. It seems paradoxical that at a time
when feminist theory is moving beyond sim-
ple dualisms of gender (putting great empha-
sis on difference- between women, say), it
should do so by implicitly building its analy-
ses on another simple dichotomy-humans
versus other animals. A more consistent
approach, indeed, might be to extend the em-
phases on plurality and difference to the (pu-
tative) boundaries between us and other spe-
cies.
DETERMINED ANIMALS?
Biological explanations do tend towards re-
ductionism, a point underscored by feminists
often enough. But if reductionism impov-
erishes our understanding of human behav-
iour, then surely it must also do so with re-
gard to animal behaviour? I have argued
elsewhere (Birke, 1986, 1989) how different
assumptions underpin questions about gen-
der difference in humans and sex differ-
ences (a telling phrase; for it implies fixity)
in animals. In animal studies, scientists may
note a sex difference in some mode of behav-
iour; usually, this means a difference in the
frequency of some kind of behaviour be-
tween populations of males and populations
of females. Occasionally, the frequency in
one population is almost zero; more often,
the populations differ merely in the relative
frequency of that behaviour. Thus, male rhe-
sus monkeys may play more often, on aver-
age, than females.
Now none of these differences are abso-
lute, and they are statements about popula-
tions. The next step in reductionist logic is to
extrapolate backwards within the develop-
mental histories of individuals, and to look
for antecedent causes within those individu-
als. Because each sex produces different lev-
els of certain sex hormones, those are a pop-
ular candidate. Once the hormone has been
implicated in, say, laboratory rats, then it is
likely that someone, somewhere, jumps to
conclusions about people.
But why assume that hormones within in-
dividuals are the direct cause of any differ-
ence between populations? If we can point to
variation as a result of social influences in
ourselves, why not in other animals? Many
of those who study animal behaviour do so,
but not all, and the popular image of animal
societies as machinery writ large persists. We
do not know enough about how sex/gender
differences emerge in animals out of their
previous experience of social interactions. I
would certainly accept that hormones are in-
volved in behavioural development in some
animals, yet that is not to say that the role is
determining: Within a large litter, anything
that happens hormonally to one pup before
or after birth has repercussions on the oth-
ers. It is not an individual that the hormone
affects, but a social system (see Birke, 1989;
Moore, 1984). From this perspective, we can
allow behaviour, even in other animals, to
become more than the product of internal
biology. We are also, significantly, break-
ing down the logic that locates animal behav-
iour in a reductionist biology, while retaining
human (gender) behaviour in the social do-
main.
REWRITING SUBJECTS
So where does all this leave the specialness
of humans, and the assumptions made about
that specialness by feminist criticisms of bio-
logical determinism? We can certainly argue
for human specialness -there may well be
features of our social life and culture that no
other species presently possess (just as we
may lack certain features that other species
possess). But we should not, I have argued,
do so by creating an animal mythology. Ani-
mals are not mere automata, subject only to
the dictates of biological laws; nor are we
merely social constructs, beings without a bi-
ological body.
If we are effectively to counter biological
determinism, we have to examine the various
assumptions we make about our relationship
448 LYNDA I. A. BIRKE
to the natural world. We cannot simply es-
cape them by dumping some bits, but not
others, into a rubbish bag called biology.
Feminists have tended to deny biology alto-
gether in our zeal to avoid determinist argu-
ments, which serves only to root us further in
the nature versus nurture antagonism. To ac-
knowledge a role for our biology-as bodies,
or our part in the natural world-has seemed
a dangerous move for feminists. And so it is,
if we leave unchallenged the assumptions
about what constitutes the biological or
about what animals are.
We must, of course, continue to challenge
crudely biologically determinist arguments.
But we must also remember that determinist
arguments do not work even for the other
animals that form the implicit counterpoint
to our rejection of biological arguments
about women. Our understanding of the
natural world has, as a result, been impover-
ished. One of the main problems for femi-
nists about biologically determinist explana-
tions of our behavior is that these
explanations deny us agency, as Helen
Longino (1989) has pointed out. And they
deny agency and subjectivity to other ani-
mals, too.
In her recent book, Humans and Other
Animals, Barbara Noske (1989) suggests
that, rather than adopting the objectifying
stance of laboratory science (as feminists im-
plicitly do toward the animal world), we
should seek to define an anthropology of
animals, which allows them to be active sub-
jects (Noske, 1989). Biological determinism
relies on picturing animals as crudely driven
by biological imperatives; at its worst, these
imperatives are simply attributed to humans
too. Neither is true. It is not enough for us to
rebut only the human version of the story:
for that tale relies heavily on an animal fable.
ENDNOTES
1. Emily Martins The Woman in the Body (1989) is
an interesting exception to this. Several French feminist
writers, such as Lute Irigaray (1980), have stressed the
significance of the body for feminist theory; Irigarary
stresses particularly the shape of the genitals in our gen-
dered experience. The problem, however, remains of de-
scribing the body without slipping into biological deter-
minism. See Sayers (1986, pp. 42-48) for this criticism
of Irigarays thesis.
2. There is much debate about this issue, particularly
with respect to primates and some other mammals, and
considerable stress is now placed on the cognitive abili-
ties and possible self-awareness of animals. See, for ex-
ample, Griffin, 1981; Walker, 1983, and the collection
edited by Weiskrantz, 1988.
3. There are all kinds of things that animals dont
do- they dont write plays, for example. But we should
be careful not to assume a priori that this means they
lack intelligence. Feminists particularly should beware
this kind of argument: For how often have we heard the
argument that only men possess genius?
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