Humans have proven to themselves their own superiority over the species of the earth time and time again. Using prodigious problem solving abilities and exemplary brain power, they have overcome biological lack and can now fly through the air, live under the sea, travel to space. They have such delicately technical things as the electron microscope or the Large Hadron Collider as examples of their superiority over the Earth, and it seems that their assumption of the role of dominant species over the rest of the animal kingdom was the correct one. But what of animals that seem to mimic our behavior, and what is more, have done so for hundreds of years before we even knew there was a problem to manipulate? Such as a type of wasp that has discovered and cultivated a "cocktail of nine different antibiotics" to protect its young (1), much like our own use of the organism? Or perhaps a pod of orcas that demonstrate the passing of discovered knowledge specific to their own group to their progeny (2)?

Science in art defines and bolsters the "clear separation between humans and other species" (M&R 236), but even with the rising popularity of transgenic imagery, I feel humans and animals have more in common than we as a species are willing to give them credit for. Yet it seems that only a true human connection--the ability to scientifically identify genetically human parts in other creatures--is what it would take for us to truly 'see ourselves' in them. Let us look at the transgenic work of Patricia Piccinini: her humanoid mammals evoke a kind of uncanny humanity, a spark that most can only approach through facial features (the sculpture, of course, has human eyes for this express purpose {Robertson 264}). Her work forces us to re-evaluate our relationship to the so-called lesser creatures, and in doing so, ask many questions of the nature of that relationship.

"As people, we have no taboos against eating many species of animals, we force animals to do our work for us, we use their fur and skin in clothing, and we confine them for our convenience. Would we do similar things to beings that are part human?" (Robertson 265)

If we are shown clear examples of our own non-uniqueness, why do we still harbor the illusion of it? As a species, we have three specific pillars of identity that we use to argue for a separation from the beasts: proliferation (in offspring and labor), self-identity, and language.

Proliferation is an easy pillar to topple--there are more ants in the world, both in numbers and sheer mass, than the same statistics for humans. In a much shorter time frame, their highly specialized working units can build structures comparable to our own huge structures (3)--complete with air conditioning and CO2/O2 level control.

Self-identification can, as we have studied previously, be disproved as illusion. How in control of your own thoughts are you? Where have your motives originated--from yourself, society, or genetics? At what specific levels of self-image and personality can we say for sure comprise identity, if all it takes to assume the humanity of other creatures is similar ocular structure and simply an inkling of human behavior?

Yet perhaps the strongest argument we have for a unique "humanity" we have is our thousands of language structures, used to define and control the world around us. Language not only describes the world, but can be used to discuss abstract ideas. But again, this is not unique to our own species, as proven by whales and prairie dogs. Orcas are highly intelligent creatures, with their own complex language structure. Like humans, their language is even regional: "the calls of each pod has unique differences, indicating that each pod has its own dialect. Transient group calls are so different from resident calls that they may speak a different language" (4). Studies show humpback whales use grammar and syntax, and "are the only other animals beside humans to use hierarchical structure in language, in which phrases are embedded in larger, recurring themes" (5). According to Professor Con Slobodchikoff, prairie dogs "have the most complex natural language that has been decoded so far. They have words for different predators, they have descriptive words for describing the individual features of different predators, so it's a pretty complex language that has a lot of elements" (6). In fact, their language is so complex that they can convey the identification of different animals (including humans), their shape, size, color, direction, and speed, all within a short series of modulated barks. Prof Slobodchikoff even believes they are capable of "gossip" (7).

It is in language that I argue contains the true seeds of humanity. Here is how we can express our deepest inner workings. Yet, it seems we are not alone in doing so. How does the knowledge of a translatable animal affect our relationship with it? With translation comes the realization of language in another species, the assumption of their own self-identification, and the application of "human" qualities--the same steps it took many imperialist nations to realize their conquered subjects were indeed people, and not savage animals. With all of this evidence, why is trangenics in art what it takes to make us see the humanity in others?

Robertson, Jean and Craig McDaniel. "Themes of Contemporary Art". New York. Oxford University Press. 2010. pp 232-271.
(1) "Beewolves Protect their Offspring With Antibiotics".
(2)" Orcas are Better Than You, unbelievable footage of Orcas teaching their Pup's".
Originally CNN. < i="0cab6157e7">
(3) "Worlds Biggest Ant Hill AMAZING".
(4)"Communication". <>
(5) Khamsi, Roxanne. "Whale Song Reveals Sophisticated Language Skills."
(6) Walker, Matt." Burrowing US prairie dogs use complex language".
(7) " Scientist: Prairie Dogs Have Own Language".