Reason for Hope: A Spiritual Journey

Reason for Hope: A Spiritual Journey

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by Jane Goodall

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Dr. Jane Goodall's revolutionary study of chimpanzees in Tanzania's Gombe preserve forever altered the very, definition of humanity.Now, in a poignant and insightful memoir, Jane Goodall explores her extraordinary life and personal spiritual odyssey, with observations as profound as the knowledge she has brought back from the forest.  See more details below


Dr. Jane Goodall's revolutionary study of chimpanzees in Tanzania's Gombe preserve forever altered the very, definition of humanity.Now, in a poignant and insightful memoir, Jane Goodall explores her extraordinary life and personal spiritual odyssey, with observations as profound as the knowledge she has brought back from the forest.

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The Barnes & Noble Review
Jane Goodall is one of the most celebrated women of our times -- her work with chimpanzees in Tanzania greatly advanced our understanding of human and animal behavior. She is also a popular and inspiring figure -- a friend of mine recalls that in high school she fantasized about one day living in the wild with a little son named Grub -- just like Jane, the National Geographic cover girl.

In Reason for Hope, Goodall offers a fascinating and candid look at her impressive life. She reveals what her private life was like during the time of her groundbreaking work, and she explores the environmental concerns that now keep her on a hectic lecture and fundraising schedule. What's most enjoyable -- and surprising -- about her memoir is how such a serious and important figure turns out to be vulnerable, romantic, and a bit of an emotional eccentric.

One might expect that Jane, as a little British girl, would have been deeply taken with animals and the natural world. And she was: She collected earthworms and hung around in the henhouse for hours. But one doesn't expect to find out that the young Jane was like a Brontë character, whirling around with intense passions -- "an aspiring poet and martyr." Preoccupied with torture and saints, she wrote poems about "oozing blood" and "red-hot metal bores." Then, at a "naive nineteen," she went off to London: "I met young men with whom I flirted deliciously and who took me out to dinner and the theater." This "fantastic and innocent" experience ended when she saved up her waitressing earnings and went off to meet a childhood friend in Africa.

Hired as personal assistant to the famed paleontologist Louis Leakey, Goodall might have merely transcribed notes and served coffee. She had no training, no degree, no academic credentials. Why did Leakey choose her to conduct important scientific research? Clearly, her passionate, enthusiastic personality worked in her favor. She was willing to take risks, to make original observations. Proper researchers would have never given names like "Fifi" and "Flo" to the chimpanzees, much less described them as having personalities. But this nontraditional approach was one reason Goodall's work appealed to so many average people. She refused to see science and nature as separate from humanity and passion.

In the post-Leakey era, Goodall faced events that might have made her more cynical or pragmatic. She became more aware of the intense aggression and cruelty chimpanzees were capable of. Her beloved second husband, a dashing member of Parliament, was stricken with a sudden and fatal cancer. Her career was hurt by the scandal that swirled around her after four students at her camp were kidnapped by rebels. In an honest, straightforward manner, Goodall reveals how these events devastated her -- we see her tearful and terrified and unsure.

As well as her own personal struggles, Goodall discusses larger concerns about environmental damage, genocide, and animal abuse. She shares her admiration for activists and spiritual leaders and her belief that kindness will triumph over evil and greed. But it's ultimately the lack of scientific jargon and political diatribes that make Reason for Hope such an enjoyable and original book. Who would expect that a revered scientist would speak so often of being "enchanted," "lost in awe at the beauty," and "experiencing the ecstasy of the mystic"? And as for poetry, she still writes it -- several of her most recent works are included here. Margot Towne

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Grand Central Publishing
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An Excerpt from Reason for Hope: A Spiritual Journey by Jane Goodall

Chapter 1


This is a story about a journey, the journey of one human being through sixty-five years of earth time: my journey. Traditionally, a story begins at the beginning. But what is the beginning? Is it the moment when I was born, with all the charming ugliness of the newborn human baby, in a hospital in London? The first breath I drew so that I could yell about the pain and indignity of my forced expulsion from the womb? Or should we start earlier, in the dark, moist secret place where one little wiggling sperm -- one out of millions -- managed to burrow into one little ovum -- the fertile egg that was biologically, magically, transformed into a baby? But that, really, is not the beginning. For the genes that were handed down to me by my parents were created long, long ago. And my inherited traits were molded by the people and the events surrounding my early years: the characters and position of my parents, the country into which I was born, and the era in which I grew up. So should the story start with my parents, with the historical and social events that shaped Europe in the 1930s, that molded Hitler and Churchill and Stalin? Or perhaps we should go back to the first truly human creature that was born of ape-men parentage, or back to the first little warm blooded mammal? Or should we go back and back through the mists of unknown time to when the first speck of life appeared on planet earth -- as a result of some divine purpose or cosmic accident? From there we could start my story, tracing the strange paths that life has taken: from amoeba, through apes, to minds that can contemplate the existence of a God, and strive to understand the meaning of life on earth and beyond the stars.

I do not want to discuss evolution in such depth, however, only touch on it from my own perspective: from the moment when I stood on the Serengeti plains holding the fossilized bones of ancient creatures in my hands to the moment when, staring into the eyes of a chimpanzee, I saw a thinking, reasoning personality looking back. You may not believe in evolution, and that is all right. How we humans came to be the way we are is far less important than how we should act now to get out of the mess we have made for ourselves. How should the mind that can contemplate God relate to our fellow beings, the other life forms of the world? What is our human responsibility? And what, ultimately, is our human destiny? It will serve my purpose to begin, simply, from the time when I drew my first breath and screwed up my face to cry my first cry, on April 3, 1934.

Through the years I have encountered people and been involved in events that have had huge impact, knocked off rough corners, lifted me to the heights of joy, plunged me into the depth of sorrow and anguish, taught me to laugh, especially at myself -- in other words, my life experiences and the people with whom I shared them have been my teachers. At times I have felt like a helpless bit of flotsam, at one moment stranded in a placid backwater that knew not, cared not, that I was there, then swept out to be hurled about in an unfeeling sea. At other times I felt I was being sucked under by strong, unknowing currents toward annihilation. Yet somehow, looking back through my life, with its downs and its ups, its despairs and its joys, I believe that I was following some overall plan -- though to be sure there were many times when I strayed from the course. Yet I was never truly lost. It seems to me now that the flotsam speck was being gently nudged or fiercely blown along a very specific route by an unseen, intangible Wind. The flotsam speck that was -- that is -- me.

Without a shadow of a doubt my upbringing, the family into which I was born and the events that unfolded in the world around my childhood, shaped the person I would become. I grew up, with my sister, Judy (four years younger than I to the day), in an atmosphere that had become gently permeated by the ethics of Christianity. Our family's religion was never rammed down our throats, we were never forced to attend church, and we did not say grace before our meals (except at school). However, we were expected to say our prayers at night, kneeling on the floor at the side of the bed. From the beginning we were taught the importance of human values such as courage, honesty, compassion, and tolerance.

Like most children before the age of TV and computer games, I loved being outside, playing in the secret places in the garden, learning about nature. My love of living things was encouraged, so that from the very beginning I was able to develop that sense of wonder, of awe, that can lead to spiritual awareness. We were by no means a wealthy family, but money was not important. It didn't matter that we couldn't afford a car, or even a bicycle, expensive holidays abroad -- we had enough to eat, some clothes to wear, and an abundance of love, laughter, and fun. Indeed, mine was the very best kind of childhood: because every penny mattered, everything that was extra such as an ice cream, a journey on a train, a cinema, was a treat, exciting, to be treasured and remembered. If only everyone could be blessed with such a childhood, such a family. How different, I believe, the world would be.

As I look back over the sixty-five years of my life to date it seems that things just fell into place. I had a mother who not only tolerated but also encouraged my passion for nature and animals and who, even more important, taught me to believe in myself. Everything led in the most natural way, it seems now, to that magical invitation to Africa in 1957, where I would meet Dr. Louis Leakey, who would set me on my way to Gombe and the chimpanzees. Indeed, I have been extraordinarily lucky -- although as my mother, Vanne, always says, luck was only part of the story. She has always believed, as did her mother, that success comes through determination and hard work and that "the fault... is not in our stars but in ourselves that we are underlings." I certainly believe that is true. Yet though I have worked hard all my life -- for who wants to be an "underling" if it can be avoided! -- I must admit that the "stars" seem to have played their part too. After all, I didn't strive (so far as I know) to be born into my own wonderful home. And then there was Jubilee, bought for me as a present by my father (Mortimer "Mort" Goodall), when I was just over one year old. Jubilee was a large, stuffed chimpanzee toy, created to celebrate the birth of Jubilee, the first chimpanzee infant ever born at the London Zoo. My mother's friends were horrified by this toy, thinking it would frighten me and give me nightmares. But Jubilee instantly became my most cherished possession and accompanied me on nearly all my childhood adventures. To this day, old Jubilee is still with me, almost hairless from all the loving, spending most of his time in my bedroom in the house where I grew up in England.

I was always absolutely fascinated by animals of all sorts. Yet I was born right in the heart of London, where animals were limited to dogs and cats, sparrows, pigeons, and some insect life in the small garden shared by the inhabitants of the mews where we lived. Even when we moved to a house just outside the city, from where my father would commute each day to his engineering job, nature was subjugated to pavement, houses, and manicured gardens.

My mother, Vanne, now aged ninety-four, has always loved to tell stories about my early fascination with animals and concern for their welfare. One of her favorites is of the time when, around the age of eighteen months, I collected a whole handful of earthworms from the London garden and took them to bed with me.

"Jane," she said, staring at the wriggling collection, "if you keep them here they'll die. They need the earth."

So I hurriedly collected up all the worms and toddled back with them into the garden.

Soon after this, we went to stay with some friends who had a house near a wild rocky beach in Cornwall. When we went down to the sea I was enthralled by the tide pools and their teeming life. No one realized that the seashells I carried back to the house in my bucket were all alive. When Vanne came up to my room she found little bright yellow sea snails crawling everywhere -- the bedroom floor, up the walls, behind the wardrobe. When she explained that the snails would die when taken from the sea, I became hysterical. The entire household, she says, had instantly to drop what it was doing and help me collect the snails so that they could be rushed back to the sea.

One story has been told many times because it shows how, even as a four-year-old, I already had the makings of a true naturalist. Vanne had taken me to stay with my father's mother, Mrs. Nutt (I called her Danny Nutt because I could not say "granny"), at the family farm. One of my tasks was to collect the hens' eggs. As the days passed, I became more and more puzzled. Where on a chicken was there an opening big enough for an egg to come out? Apparently no one explained this properly, so I must have decided to find out for myself. I followed a hen into one of the little wooden henhouses -- but of course, as I crawled after her she gave horrified squawks and hurriedly left. My young brain must have then worked out that I would have to be there first. So I crawled into another henhouse and waited, hoping a hen would come in to lay. And there I remained, crouched silently in one corner, concealed in some straw, waiting. At last a hen came in, scratched about in the straw, and settled herself on her makeshift nest just in front of me. I must have kept very still or she would have been disturbed. Presently the hen half stood and I saw a round white object gradually protruding from the feathers between her legs. Suddenly with a plop, the egg landed on the straw. With clucks of pleasure the hen shook her feathers, nudged the egg with her beak, and left. It is quite extraordinary how clearly I remember that whole sequence of events.

Filled with excitement I squeezed out after her and ran home. It was almost dark -- I had been in that small stuffy henhouse for nearly four hours. I was oblivious of the fact that no one had known where I was, and that the whole household had been searching for me. They had even called the police to report me missing. Yet despite her worry, when Vanne, still searching, saw the excited little girl rushing toward the house, she did not scold me. She noticed my shining eyes and sat down to listen to the story of how a hen lays an egg: the wonder of that moment when the egg finally fell to the ground.

Certainly I was lucky to be provided with a mother wise enough to nurture and encourage my love of living things and my passion for knowledge. Most important was her philosophy that her children should always try their very best. How would I have turned out, I sometimes wonder, had I grown up in a house that stifled enterprise by imposing harsh and senseless discipline. Or in an atmosphere of overindulgence, in a household where there were no rules, no boundaries drawn. My mother certainly understood the importance of discipline, but she always explained why some things were not allowed. Above all, she tried to be fair and to be consistent.

When I was five years old and my sister, Judy, was one, we all went to live in France, as my father wanted very much for us to grow up speaking fluent French. But this was not to be, for, within a few months of our arrival, Hitler occupied Czechoslovakia, an act that would lead to World War II. It was decided that we should return to England, and since our house near London had been sold we went to stay with Danny Nutt in the old manor house where my father had grown up. Built of gray stone, it nestled into the Kent countryside, surrounded by fields of grazing cows and sheep. I passionately loved my time there. On the grounds of the manor house were the ruins of a castle where King Henry Viii had held one of his wives -- crumbling blocks of gray stone filled with spiders and bats. Inside the manor house itself there was always the faint smell of the oil lamps that were lit each evening, for there was no electricity. Even now, more than sixty years later, the smell of oil lamps always takes me back to those magical days. But they did not last long. The impending horror of war was coming closer and, knowing my father would join the army at the first opportunity, Vanne took me to stay with her own mother at the Birches, an 1872 Victorian red-brick house in Bournemouth.

On September 3, 1939, it happened: England declared war on Germany. I was only five and a half years old at the time, yet I remember the occasion. The whole family was in the drawing room. The atmosphere was tense as everyone listened to the news on the wireless; after the announcement there was silence. Of course I didn't understand what was going on, but that silence, the sense of impending doom, was very frightening. Even now, half a century later, I cannot hear the chiming of Big Ben -- which always preceded the Bbc news -- without an involuntary shock of apprehension.

As expected my father enlisted immediately, so the Birches, just a few minutes' walk from the English Channel, became my home. It was there, on the south coast of England, that I would spend the rest of my childhood and adolescence. Indeed, this much loved house is still my home, my refuge, when I am in England. It is where I am writing this book.

My maternal grandmother, known to all as Danny (again because I could not pronounce "granny"), was the undisputed head of the extended family that shared the Birches. She was a strong, self-disciplined, iron-willed Victorian who ruled over us with supreme authority and had a heart big enough to embrace all the starving children of the world. Her husband, a Welshman, had been a Congregational parson and had died before I was born. He had also been a brilliant scholar, receiving degrees in theology from three universities -- Cardiff, Oxford, and Yale. And Danny, who survived him by more than thirty years, kept all his letters, tied up in red ribbon, and often read them before she slept. Also, she told us, she counted her blessings every night as she lay in bed, waiting for sleep. Above all, she had a horror of going to bed without making peace with those around her. There are always little upsets, minor rows, when many people live together -- these should be resolved before bedtime; "Let not the sun set on thy wrath" she would quote. And to this day I hear her voice, when I quarrel with a friend: "How terrible you would feel if he (or she) should die before you made it up, before you said sorry. " I think that is why the words of Walter de la Mare strike home when he bids us "Look thy last on all things lovely every hour."

We shared the Birches with my mother's two sisters, Olwen -- immediately dubbed Olly by me -- and Audrey, who preferred to be called by her Welsh name, Gwyneth. Their elder brother, Uncle Eric, who was a surgeon, came home from his hospital in London most weekends. And soon after the start of the war we took in two single women who, like hundreds of others, were left homeless by the ever-spreading chaos and destruction in Europe. All households were asked to find space for such unfortunates. And so the Birches, at that time, was an active place, filled with people of all sorts. We simply had to learn to get along with each other. The house had (and still has) a warm atmosphere; it was full of character and, despite the number of people, filled with peace. Best of all there was a big garden or backyard with many trees, and a green lawn and lots of secret places behind the bushes where, of course, gnomes and fairies lived and danced in the moonlight. My love for nature grew as I watched birds making their nests, spiders carrying their egg sacs, squirrels chasing each other round the trees.

My memories of childhood are almost inseparable from memories of Rusty, an endearing black mongrel dog with a white patch on his chest. He was my constant companion, and he taught me so much about the true nature of animals. There were other pets too at different times. A succession of cats, our two guinea pigs, a golden hamster, various tortoises, a terrapin, and a canary, Peter, who slept in a cage but was free to fly about the room in the daytime. For a while Judy and I each had our own "racing" snails with numbers painted on their shells. We kept them in an old wooden box with a piece of glass on the top and no bottom so they could eat the dandelion leaves as we moved the box around the lawn.

In one part of the garden there was a little clearing behind some thick bushes where Judy and I established a "camp" for the meetings of our club, a club which had just four members, we two and our best friends Sally and Susie Cary, who came to stay every summer holiday. In the camp we kept an old trunk containing four mugs, small supplies of cocoa and tea, and a spoon. We would light a fire and boil water in a tin can balanced on four rocks. Sometimes we went there for midnight "feasts"; during the war years almost everything was rationed, so we seldom had more than a biscuit or a crust of bread saved from our meals. It was the excitement, the silent creeping from the house, the lawn and trees ghostly in the moonlight, that we loved. Our feeling of achievement as we defied the rules provided the fun, not the insignificant bits and pieces that we gathered to eat. To this day, food is supremely unimportant to me.

Like most children who grow up in happy homes, I never had cause to question the religious beliefs of my family. Did God exist? Of course. God was as real to me then as the wind that rustled through the trees in our garden. God somehow cared for a magical world, full of fascinating animals and people who were mostly friendly and kind. It was an enchanted world for me, full of joy and wonder, and I felt very much a part of it.

Danny went to church every Sunday and at least one of us always went with her. Indeed, Audrey never missed a service, and Olly sang in the choir. But we children were never forced to go with them, nor did we go to Sunday School. Nevertheless, Danny tried to make sure that our beliefs weren't limited to the animistic worship of nature and animals. She believed deeply in God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit. She wanted Judy and me to share her belief for the comfort it would bring. And so she did her best to ensure that the ethics and wisdom of Christ's teachings influenced our lives. The rules that we had to obey were the simple ones contained in the Ten Commandments. She would sometimes quote texts from the Bible. Her very favorite, which I took as my own, was: "As thy days, so shall thy strength be." This has helped me through the hardest times of my life. Somehow we shall find the strength to get through a day of unhappiness, of suffering, of heartache. Somehow, I always have.

As a child I was not at all keen on going to school. I dreamed about nature, animals, and the magic of far-off wild and remote places. Our house was filled with bookshelves and the books spilled out onto the floor. When it was wet and cold, I would curl up in a chair by the fire and lose myself in other worlds. My very favorite books at the time were The Story of Dr. Dolittle, The Jungle Book, and the marvelous Edgar Rice Burroughs Tarzan books. I also loved The Wind in the Willows, and, to this day, I remember the beautiful and mystical experience shared by Ratty and Mole when they found the missing otter cub curled up between the cloven hoofs of the sylvan god, Pan. And I was enthralled by one other book: At the Back of the North Wind -- a story full of Victorian moralizing that would make no sense to the children of today. Little Diamond, its boy hero, slept in a loft above Big Diamond, the cab horse upon whom the family, which was poor, depended for its livelihood. The icy north wind blew into Little Diamond's loft, and then appeared to the boy as a beautiful woman, sometimes small as a tinkerbell, sometimes tall as an elm tree. Then she would take him to see the world, safe in the still place behind the wind, curled into a nest that she made for him in her beautiful, long, thick hair. It was magic, mystical, and it introduced me to human suffering in story form, preparing me, in a way, for the real-life suffering of war. For the war was raging in Europe and, all too soon, it would make itself felt even in sleepy Bournemouth.

More and more often we would hear the drone of a German plane and the thunder of an exploding bomb. We were fortunate, as nothing fell close enough to do damage. But the windows rattled loudly, and some panes of glass were cracked. How well I still remember the wailing of the air-raid warnings. They usually sounded sometime in the night, for that was when the bombers came over. Then we had to leave our beds and huddle together in the little air-raid shelter that was erected in our house in the small room (once a maid's bedroom) that, even today, is known as the "air-raid." It was a low, steel-roofed cage about six feet by five feet and only four feet high. Thousands of these were issued to households who were living in potential danger zones. And there we had to stay -- sometimes as many as six adults as well as we two children -- until the welcome sound of the "All Clear."

By the time I was seven I was used to news of battles, of defeats and of victories. Knowledge of man's inhumanity to man became more real as the newspapers and radio hinted at unspeakable horrors perpetrated on the Jews of Europe and the cruelties of Hitler's Nazi regime. Although my own life was still filled with love and security, I was slowly becoming aware of another kind of world altogether, a harsh and bitter world of pain and death and human cruelty. And although we were among the luckiest, far away from the horror of massive bombings, nevertheless, signs of war were all around: Our own father, far away and in uniform, somewhere in the jungles of Singapore. Uncle Eric and Olly setting off on air-raid duty, out into the dark night when the air-raid warning sounded. Audrey working as a land girl. The blackout that dominated our lives every evening. The American soldiers with their tanks who occupied the road outside the Birches. One of them became a real friend, but then went off to the front with his regiment and was, like so many hundreds, killed.

Even we had one narrow escape. It was during the fourth summer of the war. Judy and I, with our best friends Sally and Susie, were spending a week's holiday a few miles along the coast where one could actually get onto the sand (England was prepared for a possible German invasion, so most of the coastline was barricaded by miles and miles of barbed wire). One day, as our mothers sat on the sand and we children played, Vanne suddenly decided to take a different route back to our little guest house -- a very long way around that meant we would miss lunch. But she was determined. Ten minutes after we set off, and as we were walking over some sand dunes, we heard the faint sound of a plane flying very high, heading south toward the sea. I can still remember, absolutely vividly, gazing up and seeing two tiny black objects, looking no bigger than cigars at that height, dropping from the plane into the blue, blue sky. German bombers often dumped their bombs along the coast if they had not managed to get rid of them on designated targets. It was safer when they met our planes on their way home. I can still remember the two mothers telling us to lie down, then trying to shield us with their bodies. I can still recall the terrifying explosions as the bombs hit the ground. And one of them made a deep crater halfway up the lane -- exactly where we would have been but for Vanne's premonition.

When the war finally ended in Europe on May 7, 1945, the grim rumors about the Nazi death camps were confirmed. The first photographs appeared in the newspapers. I was eleven years old at the time, very impressionable and imaginative. Although the family would like to have spared me the horrifying Holocaust pictures, I had never been prevented from reading the newspapers and they did not stop me then. Those photographs had a profound impact on my life. I could not erase the images of walking skeletons with their deep-sunk eyes, their faces almost expressionless. I struggled to comprehend the agony of body and mind these survivors had gone through, and that of all the hundreds of thousands who had perished. I still remember seeing, with shock, a photo of dead bodies piled on top of one another in a huge mound. That such things could happen made no sense. All the evil aspects of human nature had been given free rein, all the values I had been taught -- the values of kindness and decency and love -- had been disregarded. I can remember wondering if it was really true -- how could human beings do such unspeakable things to other human beings? It made me think of the Spanish Inquisition, and all the medieval tortures that I had once read about. And the terrible suffering that had been inflicted on black slaves (I had once seen a picture of rows of Africans chained in the galleys, a brutal-looking overseer standing with an upraised whip in his hand). I began to wonder, for the first time, about the nature of God. If God was good and all-powerful as I had been led to believe, how could He allow so many innocent people to suffer and die? Thus the Holocaust dramatically introduced me to the age-old problem of good and evil. This was not an abstract theological problem in 1945; it was a very real question that we had to face as the horror stories mounted.

I found that things were not as clear-cut as they once had seemed; that life was full of ambiguity and contradictions. The Holocaust unsettled me deeply. All my life I have felt compelled to buy books about the Nazis and the death camps. How could people behave that way? How could anyone endure and survive such torture? It seems I have been asking these questions my entire life.

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Wendy Wasserstein
One of the ten most influential women ever.
— Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright
Stephen Jay Gould
Jane Goodall's work with chimpanzees represents one of the Western world's greatest scientific achievements.

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Reason For Hope 4.6 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 20 reviews.
Guest More than 1 year ago
Dr. Jane Goodall is best known for her pioneering research with chimpanzees in which she discovered that they share more traits with humans than previously realized. In this book, she shares her personal perspective on what her research means for human beings. This is a spiritual memoir, and it focuses on the battles between good and evil that occur. Dr. Goodall optimistically sees the potential for humans to do good as outweighing the potential for evil, and she relates her prescription for how each of us should seek to become more saint-like in order to heal the evil that has and is still being done every day to humans, animals, and the environment. While Dr. Goodall will probably never be thought of as a great prose writer, the testimony of her actions, emotions, heart, and thoughts is a powerful inspiration for all to find one's own special calling and to follow it. Reason for Hope has several rare qualities. First, it describes how Dr. Goodall's Christian faith is reconciled with her scientific beliefs. Few scientists do that in public, and both religious and nonreligious people will find the comments to be valuable. Second, she describes one of the most unusual reactions to the Holocaust that I have read. Much of her work with overcoming cruelty towards animals is inspired by seeing them as unwilling victims of zoo and animal research concentration camps. Third, she describes in moving detail the religious epiphanies she has experienced. Fourth, Dr. Goodall describes how she has balanced her personal and professional lives in a very vivid way, that connects to her chimpanzee research. Fifth, she takes what she has learned in her research and connects it to a prescription for humanity. In case you haven't been following her work recently, Dr. Goodall mostly campaigns now for animal rights and to obtain funds to permanently endow the continuation of her work at Gombe in Africa. She is on the road around 300 days a year doing that, and spends the remaining time writing books to publicize her ideas. Her view of animal rights will probably expand your own perceptions. Beyond pointing out the poor conditions applied to animals employed in research and food production, she also makes a persuasive case for how unnecessary pain, discomfort, and a lack of normal pleasantness are instilled on those animals. Basically, she points out that animals share the human qualities of benefiting from lack of pain, freedom to follow one's natural instincts, and receiving loving care. When we treat animals like inanimate objects, we dehumanize ourselves and operate below our spiritual potential to create natural harmony while inflicting real pain and suffering on the animals. Unlike many animal advocates who take extreme positions, she argues for making easily achievable progress towards eliminating abuses of animals as part of a longer path towards ending inhumane treatment of animals. She sees the potential for a future in which there is no animal testing and research and little use of animals for food. But we have to focus on that vision before it will happen. She is even more concerned about the ravages done to the Earth that affect humans and animals alike due to overpopulation, overexploitation of natural resources, and use of chemicals. I found the way she handled the spiritual challenges she faced to be the most interesting part of the book. Her second husband died unexpectedly of cancer. Four of her students were kidnapped at one point from Gombe. She visited two concentration camps. How can a living, loving God allow such evil? You will find her thoughts and experiences helpful with that fundamental question that we all face at various times. In many sections of the book, she shares brief poems that she wrote to describe her thoughts during her various spiritual challenges. I found those to be a helpful way to delve deeper into her heart and mind. Dr. Goodall is clearly a saint-like person in many ways. I am sure you
datahunter More than 1 year ago
What can be said for a person who realizes their dream and follows it wherever it takes them. Jane read the Tarzan books as a child and fell in love with a continent and its animals. Jane Goodall followed her dreams to Africa where she met and then worked for Louis Leaky. It was not a matter of luck. It was a matter of being in the right place at the right time with the tools of knowledge to do the job correctly. Her passion for animals became her spiritual journey and her growth followed a logical path. By studying the Chimpanzees she learned the mysteries of the relationships between God, man and the animals of our small planet.
Guest More than 1 year ago
Jane Goodall's book Reason for hope is amazing! She shares her feelings and passion for her chimps. It should speak out to everyone to help save these animals. Jane Goodall has dedicated her life to these animals to show us what we are losing. I think everyone should give a little to the enviroment to help save all these animals. I loved this book and i think other people will to.
Guest More than 1 year ago
I particularly liked the concept that good will win over evil.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Having the incredible fortune of recently meeting Dr. Goodall and hearing her speak, not lecture, about her passion and love, I was immediately reminded of Dr Albert Schweitzer's credo of "reverence for life."  In this book, Dr. Goodall speaks openly from her heart of the spiritual lessons she has learned throughout her  history-changing studies.  But moreover, she  speaks of the  spiritual roots that  took her to Africa , to the animals, and to the people in a prose that, having heard her speak, is intimate and conversational while still being  insightful .   This book  allows the reader to sit alongside her and hear her reflections, both academic and spiritual, of her life-long devotion to animals and the lessons they bring to humans--if only we can understand.
Guest More than 1 year ago
Thoroughly enjoyed this easy read. Very insightful and entertaining for me as a spiritual person and an animal lover. She offers some interesting theories and ideas, as well as a look at her inner self apart from the Scientist.
Amelda More than 1 year ago
I L.O.V.E this book. It has inspired me to reach for my dreams and it has changed the way i see others and the world
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I'm a high school sophomore and I had a research project to do. My topic is Jane Goodall and I chose this book to read to get more  information about her. I really liked this book because Jane put her life into detail and made it sound interesting at the same time. She starts off the book with her early life experiences and stories that she remembers so well. Jane then tells about her teen years and how she was able to go to Africa. From there she became so successful and Jane is still admired for her work today. In Africa, she observed chimpanzees for a few months and found lots of new information about them. This started the world's longest running research project and researchers are still finding out new things about chimpanzees. Jane noticed that sometimes the chimpanzees have a dark side but Jane always saw the good in them and in what they do. Jane not only views this in animals but in people too. She grew up in times of World War II and the Holocaust but she still overlooked what people did. Jane wants to try to make this world a better place little by little. She also wants to stop human or animal cruelty since the chimpanzees were used as experiments and their homes are being destroyed. Jane tries to make these issues known by speaking out and raising awareness about them. This book is inspirational and I would recommend anyone to read it. Jane Goodall inspires me to be like her and to make a difference in the world like she has.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I am a sophomore in high school and I read this book for my research project. I greatly enjoyed this biography Jane wrote. Jane is such an influential woman already and hearing her words on explaining her journey is truly inspiring. I love animals already and  when I read what Jane believes and her ways of explaining why, she makes me love them even more but with a reason. Her descriptive language on her beliefs of these animals shock you and leave you with a smile on your face. Her relationship with the chimpanzees is absolutely incredible. I am moved by the way she writes her experiences with animals. The way she approaches them, befriends them and even gives them names shows how beautiful her relationship is with the Gombe chimpanzees. What makes the book interesting is her stories with her individual chimp friends. She really goes in depth with the stories of the chimps she meets and how their relationship strengthens. She shows respect and courage throughout her life with the chimps and her family. She is a role model to me and her biography applies the fact that we must do what we love. It is so inspirational how she was studying to be a secretary, dreaming that one day she can go to Africa, and she did! She accomplished her dreams and teaches us today to never give up on ours.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
 I am a high school sophomore and i chose to read this book for my project.  I liked this book very much though it wasn’t what I expected.   I thought it would basically be about chimpanzees and Jane Goodall’s interaction with these apes.  Surprisingly, this book was so much more than that.  I was only vaguely aware of Jane Goodall and her research work with the chimpanzees.  Reason For Hope began with the childhood of a little girl who loved animals and being outside more than in.  Born in England, in the 30’s, she became aware of the horrors of war at much too early an age.  This love for animals, particularly chimpanzees, and hatred for war would impact her whole life.   What I like so much about the book was finding out how the work with the chimps, that she began in her mid 20’s, would go on to consume her whole life.  What I’ve gotten from this book is that she has devoted her life to humans, animals and saving the planet.   She feels that there is still hope we can make things better if we all work together and, after reading this, book I do too.  
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harstan More than 1 year ago
When this reviewer was an undergraduate anthropology major in the CUNY system (perfect prerequisite for reviewing novels), Jane Goodall was already a legend. Now three decades later, Goodall has become so renowned she seems more like an Olympus goddess visiting us mortals. REASON FOR HOPE A SPIRITUAL JOURNEY is Ms. Goodall¿s reflective look back on her life through the events and relationships that led to her spiritual awakening.

Although well written and very insightful, the ¿autobiography¿ is for the purists because of a high cost and that PBS has presented a show based on the book. Still, the book is easy to read and provides fascinating insight into a scientist who has to be considered one of the great people of the last fifty years. Did she make Biography¿s list of the twentieth century notables? If not Ms. Goodall should have as this book and her other works prove beyond a shadow of a doubt they should have, but then again I remain prejudiced.

Harriet Klausner

Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I love you jane you made my mine blowen away and what you did was amazing and I would go with you if Icould cause I think you are powerful and cares and loves everyone but thanks for telling us how to treat animals.