Maybe We Are Supposed To Be More Like Elephants

​I saw this image widely shared on Facebook this week. It left me wondering if what separates humans from animals is also what separates humans from humans.

Our prefrontal cortex, our capacity to think and plan and rationalize and strategize. We have that; for the most part animals do not, and certainly not with the complexities that we have.

I thought about the garden of Eden. God and Adam and Eve. Paradise. God told these first humans, don't ever overthink this. What we have here, us, our shared togetherness, LOVE, it is more than enough.

There will never be a heaven more heavenly than togetherness, he assured them.

Of course a serpent came along and convinced the pair to 'think' about what God had told them. He had them consider the possibility that God was being irrational with his plan, certainly there must be more to paradise than togetherness.

And of course humans have been re-thinking God's plan ever since, determined to find something wiser, something that makes more sense than togetherness.

Elephants don't do that. Is it a gift that they really have no idea that there are options other than togetherness?

When a member of an elephant herd is sick or injured, elephants show remarkable care, often adjusting their pace to accommodate the weaker member. They’ve been known to assist struggling individuals by using their trunks to lift them or by forming a protective circle around vulnerable members, such as calves or the elderly. Their ability to mourn the dead—pausing by remains, touching bones, and even covering deceased members with branches—further demonstrates their innate sense of connection.

Humans can indeed show this kind of care to their herd. Humans, however, have spent a lot of time deciding who their herd actually is. They have largely decided there is a lot of screening of the herd that needs to take place before tending to the weak.

It turns out humans are far more picky about the definition of herd than elephants.

In the garden God's plan was for ALL humans to be included in the herd. Humans went off to a tree with a serpent and began redefining the herd.

But God's definition continues to look a lot more like the elephant's definition than the human's definition.

You know elephants communicate using low-frequency rumbles, touch, and body language—an instinctual language of survival. When danger is near, they don’t stop to think through an individual response; they rely on one another, moving as a unit, often placing calves in the center of the group. Their ability to sense distress in others—reacting with comfort, patience, and reassurance—reveals a depth of connection that doesn’t require analysis, only presence.

Somewhere along the way our low-frequency rumbles have become roars. Our longing for touch has been replaced by out of touch. Our body language is somehow more threatening these days than it is an instinctual invitation into survival.

I wonder - I wonder how much of the human herd crawled into their places of rest last night feeling a deep sense of connection to their herd.

I confess, I crawled in bed last night somewhat envious of the elephant.

I in some ways found myself longing to be one.

Elephants don’t overanalyze whether they should support one another; they just do it. Their survival depends on it. And maybe, in ways we often overlook, so does ours.