The best books to get you thinking about nonhuman minds

This book made me think even fruitflies might have minds. Before reading this, I didn’t have a good grip on how we could even start to connect whole-body behaviors with specific genes. I was drawn in by the elegance of the early experiments with fruit flies. I remained mesmerized by the fact that when these investigations began in the early twentieth century, scientists were not sure what a gene was or even whether they were really real.

To understand how genes relate to traits of whole fruit flies, such as eye color and wing shape, scientists had to figure out what genes were simultaneously. This is the kind of book I want to memorize in a way that makes the book somehow part of me, stitched into the fibers of my body, shaping how I think and perceive.

I admire this book’s ingenuity. Bennett wants to understand how human minds differ from other animal minds. To figure this out, he starts from the assumption that language marks the difference. He takes for granted that honeybees communicate with each other, but they don’t use a language.

From there, Bennett asks: what would have to be added to the dances to make them a language of the sort that humans have and use? Adding one ability at a time—such as the ability to “deny” a dance—Bennett asks whether the honeybees yet have language. This strategy is so powerful to me because it allows me to respect how sophisticated honeybees actually are while discovering specific and significant ways in which their dances are limited. 

I think computers don’t think, and this book taught me how to think about that. I admire it in part because it showed me, a professor of philosophy, how to do scientifically informed philosophy. Unlike so many books on the history of thinking about thinking, just the first chapter of this book is clear, accurate, insightful, and exciting. Equally so is Haugeland’s explanation of what a computer is, making an intellectual adventure of theoretical computer science.

Haugeland uses this to make a compelling case for thinking that computers could genuinely reason. And then he does something that we philosophers tend to love; he launches a provocative critique of that claim, contending that computers can’t think because they don’t “give a damn.” Although it’s now three decades old, this is the book to read if you’re curious about artificial intelligence. 

Psychology wasn’t always an empirical science; it became one; this book showed me how. What is an instinct? What is a reflex? What is an idea? How do we know what an animal is thinking? What is learning? What would be good evidence one way or another? Starting in the nineteenth century, Boakes tells the stories of several people who offered compelling answers to those questions, which continue to shape current discussions.

Although the book might appear to be a textbook, I experienced it more like a Netflix series with cliffhangers. Boakes portrays most of the people in the book—such as C. L. Morgan, Ivan Pavlov, and J.B. Watson—as explorers intrigued and perplexed by these questions, following up observations and experiments made by predecessors, raising further questions and challenges that made me want to turn to the next chapter. 

Bees, birds, frogs, and primates communicate with other members of their species, but this book helped me appreciate that they don’t use or have a language. I am fond of this book because Anderson works through the details of several different cases, taking pains to show how communication among bees, birds, frogs, and primates is impressive but still does not qualify as genuine language.

In doing so, Anderson offers an elegant and unique introduction to the science of linguistics. He makes it easy to see how this science is not only about the features of noises or gestures that creatures produce but also about their minds.